#thread : wicked through and through

[notdelicatc]

- A life of lies all along

mentions: alusius vance, gianna sartori-vianello, ismelda vance, rabastan lestrange, evan rosier, alecto carrow where: venice, italy & vance manor, united kingdom when: august 1979

Vance manor was such a bizarre contrast the rays of sunshine that had covered each and every inch of the streets of Venice. Nothing had changed since she'd left a few days ago. The flowers were still covering the area, the scent of lavender carried all around with each breeze blowing through each corner of the garden. When she'd left the weather had tried its best to compete with Venice yet upon her return the clouds drifting above held an anger words could hardly describe, the wind blowing with a roughness that that was only surpassed by her the disappointment the witch standing in front of its doors held within her.

Emmeline had thought things would be easier, that coming home would simply be a discussion with words that would make it all make sense, but that was a reality she could not longer see for herself. For minutes at a time she'd stood in front of the heavy oak doors, refusing to enter simply because she couldn't even dare to think of the words that would flow. Had her father not once been everything she'd wanted to be? No longer, no. He was family, but he was also a liar. What explanation could he possibly give her to make sense of all his lies?

Her mind drifted back toward the documents left on her kitchen table in the flat above the shop she shared with Rabastan. A bitter chuckle echoed through the silence as she thought about her friend. Not because she didn't appreciate him, no. Emmeline felt ever so grateful for the honesty and the, well, kindness the other had shown even if the whole thing had completely unraveled the floor underneath her feet. Without him the witch would have walked the rest of her life believing herself to be a half-blood. Emmeline still felt like a half-blood, despite the written word, the documents that confirmed it.

Finally her feet moved, carried her through the manor toward the room the elves had indicated her father could be found; the library. A place of documentation, what a funny twist of fate. With each step her anger seemed to grow. Despite that her face seemed oddly calm, the storm only found within her eyes. A part of her wanted to run, to find anywhere but here to stay and make her stand, oh, but how silly the idea alone was. Where else would she confront her father?

How long had she stood within the door frame? How long had she stared at the wizard in question before those words slipped out without so much as a chance for her to prepare. Truth be told, there was no way of ever being prepared for this. "I know." Emmeline watched as her father looked up from the desk behind which she'd seen him so many times throughout her life. "Emmeline. How was your trip to Venice?" The question alone caused her blood to boil yet years of masking came in handy. "I know." She did not care to talk about a vacation. It had been anything but that. "I know everything." Emmeline didn't know everything, but enough to demand answers from the man in front of her.

"Whatever do you mean?" Yet he could not fool the girl who had grown up with a mask, turned into a witch walking a path that constantly caused her to assure her steps were masked with shadows as her companion. "You know. I know. Why?" Would he attempt to cover it up again? Would he come chasing her down with silly explanations. "I know she isn't my mother. I know that I am not the disappointment you've made me out to be, for all of wizardkind to see." No, the brunette wasn't going to give him a chance to make up more lies or questions of utter pointlessness. There was a sickening satisfaction in watching as Alusius Vance's face dropped in a twisted mix of shock and confusion.

Emmeline took a step toward him, then another. "Why would you let them all believe I am lesser than them? Because of her?" There was no question as to whom she was referring to. "I hated her. And she hated me all my life. All her life." She paused. "I always wondered why. She was dragging you down but whatever reason could a mother have to hate her own child? Her own flesh and blood." The answer seemed so simple now that she knew. How could that woman not hate the child of another woman? A part of her could almost understand the way she must have felt, the way that betrayal had crept into her bones and fed off of her thoughts until it was all consuming. But there was no pity.

"Tell me!" Her father sagged down onto the chair he'd occupied, almost giving off an air of defeat. Emmeline knew better. "No lies, no stories. Tell me. What was so bad about a child that was pure but illegitimate?" There it was, that word her father seemed to shrink down from. "It was an arranged marriage with someone I did not care to marry. I wanted to be with your mother." Emmeline felt the chuckle, the bitterness evident in the sound alone, before it had even made its way out. "She is not my mother. She never was." Her father only nodded. "I didn't wish to marry someone I didn't love." The brunette stared at him, listening. No, she wanted the full story.

A sigh from the older man broke through the silence that threatened to settle between them. "The wedding was held in Venice, on an island in the bay area. Ismelda hated it, hated that she had to make room for another." Emmeline refused to move, glued to her father's every word. For anyone not in her position perhaps it would have been one of the more tragic love stories. To her it was only a painful reminder of what could have been. "Clearly my mother had me, though. So what happened."

There was silence for a moment before her father spoke again. This time his voice seemed to carry a hint of regret. "Ismelda couldn't have children. We wanted to be together so we did the only thing we could think of." Silence, for a moment, a split second that felt drawn out into infinity. "We arranged for you to be taken. Your mother never knew I was in on it. A divorce happened because it was decided to be better this way and we left. She never knew." There it was, the truth of what her father had done to her mother. Emmeline stared at him through tears threatening to spill. "So you've let my mother believe I was dead or lost for the last twenty eight years? Well, she knows now."

Emmeline had gone in search for her mother mere days after Rabastan had left, staying in Venice just enough to finally find her mother. Perhaps in time things could be repaired, bridges mended and broken fences fixed, but it would have to be without her father in the picture. "Gianna sends her regards, by the way." For a moment it seemed almost calm, the way she had let that information go and flow through the room. Alusius Vance seemed shocked at that, but said nothing. What more could he say? "I admired you. I always have, but you've been a liar and a hypocrite. You committed crimes, covered them up and had me carry the fall out all my life. All for that muggle wench." For a moment it looked as though her father wanted to speak up, complain about the usage of harsh words and then he did speak up. "I did what I thought was right; what I thought was best."

It was the final straw, the words that broke the camel's back. "You did what was best for you! You and my step-mother, with no care for how it would affect the world around you. You left a mother heartbroken, you left a child to carry your sins." With each word her voice was getting louder, thinking of the way she'd made sure never to offend, never to be in the way. Always be the asset, never the one in need; the one with no rights to anything. Oh, she did not regret assuring proper etiquette shown to her friends; to Alecto and Rabastan and all the others. But the way she'd held back, never gone for anything she wanted, it broke something inside.

"You got to live, you got to love. You got to be happy." Her anger was roaring inside her. "I never dared to love, to live. Always worried I might overstep boundaries and taint bloodlines or offend someone. I didn't get to be in love. I got to watch people I love-..." Emmeline stopped herself. No, she wasn't going to let this humiliation show even further than she already had. Her silly crushes of the past, suppressed until she could no longer feel it. Evan, gone with the wind and engaged to someone else. Now, she'd never been foolish enough to assume he cared, but the reality was that for anyone she'd ever cared enough for Emmeline had not even been an option; not even a thought. Even her friendship with Alecto felt tougher. It had taken years to feel like the friendship was truly what it was. She couldn't help but wonder if she had to work as hard as she did simply because of her blood. Not that she had minded, if only there hadn't been this lie. "I was never enough for anyone or anything. And I was okay with that, if only that had been true. But you lied. For your own benefit."

Somehow she did not want to hear anything beyond that. In that very moment she just wanted to go. Her face was filled with the evidence of disappointment. "I am not your pawn to use. I never was." And with that she turned around, tired of the conversation and, for the moment, her father's coimpany.

[portuguesedisaster]

So... I had a mental breakdown. I'm not proud of it.

[pancakeke]

who told me that I wouldn't be able to repot my big plants very easily without putting them in nursery pots btw cause I've done it twice now and both times it was super easy. most recently one went from a 14 inch to 16 inch pot and that boy has been eating his vegetables. sorry I'm not a weakling. I absolutely hurt my wrist moving this big idiot though so I am kinda weak actually but in a different way.

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — heizou, neuvillette, wriothesley, albedo

— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding, lots of cum n spit, hitting it raw, petnames used: darling, baby, rough syx

⚝ — HEIZOU

it's addiction, a form of fixation and heizou doesn't stop until you're crammed full of his cum— literally as his fingers spread his seed from your lips down to your chin to watch it mark you, your tears mixing in as he presses his thumb past your tongue, just to see how far you'll take it.

"you're a damn masterpiece," heizou coos, tilting his head with a grin that's not just wicked— it's fanatical, wild, the kind of grin a man gives when he's long past the point of reason and fully drowning in sexual passion. his fingers were still wet with you, his knuckles glistening, and yet he kept them poised just out of reach, just enough to make you twitch, grind, gasp like you're coming undone without him even touching you.

"look at you," he drawls, voice so sweet you'd never tell he's feigning innocence, "quivering mess for me already? you don't even know what to do with yourself, do you?"

without looking away once, the detective watches— fixated as your thighs tremble, as your hips lift just barely from the mattress, chasing friction like you'll die if you don't get it, body slick and aching, soaked enough to stain the sheets beneath you— and archons, does it make him smirk wider, you feel it, the raw sting of overstimulation threading through your gut, curling your toes, making your stomach pull tight with the weight of everything he isn't letting you have.

"fuck, i knew you'd take it all baby," heizou's already painted you in his spit and cum— yet it's still not enough, it never was— instead, he pulls his cock from your tightness just to smear the tip over your swollen entrance, patting his dick on your folds, laughing breathlessly when it makes a filthy squelch, "this mess? this is mine, mine, gonna fuck it into you until it's leaking out onto the sheets, no one else gets to see you like this,"

and the detective makes sure of it— everlastingly keeping you plugged full of his slender fingers, thick cock and tongue and when you cum again, after he's bred and bred and bred you the entire night, you're spasming and gushing so violently it splatters all over the sheets. yet he doesn't stop, instead, heizou just shoves his cock back in deeper, harder until you writhe beneath him, back bowing again and again— each arch a reflex, a raw plea for mercy as numerous sparks burst behind your eyes, "gonna mark you with it baby, yeah? you'll be dripping for days."

⚝ — NEUVILLETTE

neuvillette's formality cracks the moment he realizes what he's done— your folds already glistening, your mouth open and wanting, wanting him and archons, dragons beyond, the way you soaked him up was putting him on edge as he drops to his knees like it's judgment, tongue diving in to taste his mess, face buried, nose brushing your clit as he moans like it's the only language he knew, "so wet already, you— you need correction,"

he rasps— voice rough, an octave lower, soaked in something that might be reverence if it weren't so wretchedly obscene— and still, he doesn't let you touch yourself, not even when your thighs begin to shake around him, not even when your body rocks with the force of how close you were, how desperately your slick pussy clenched around nothing in search of friction.

you ache, no, you burn, for the pressure the moment his girth was pressing into your walls again, the smallest touch setting you on fire, for anything to soothe the overwhelming throb between your legs.

your hands twitch where he's pinned them down, the need so sharp it's nearly painful as your stomach coils, tight and low and heavy, and all you could think about was grinding your hand down to help yourself out, circling your clit fast and frantic until you fell apart.

but neuvillette only watches you, drinking in the sight of your helpless squirming, the flushed heat of your skin, the lust in your eyes, the way you beg without words.

the man wanted to see it— that aching edge where pleasure becomes unbearable, he wanted to know how far he could take it, how much you'll squirm, how much of his seed he could store inside you, how loudly you'll whimper, all because he won't let you come.

"you want it that badly?" he whispers, lips ghosting your throat, "oh so greedy, darling, so desperate, do you even know how you look like this? shaking for me?"

and he still doesn't let you touch yourself.

he fucks you until you sob, fills you until you cry, until your juices were slicking up his pelvis, spit frothed into the mess, his hands keeping you open wide before he pulls out to slowly rub his shaft between your folds again, your slick and his cum coating his erection so fucking nicely the overstimulation has you grinding down against his cock in mindless circles, hips chasing friction like you're possessed, like your body had forgotten how to stop.

"i need to see it," he growls, standing, slapping the head of his cock against your cunt, "need to watch it drip out," and when neuvillette fucks you full, it's with unbearable precision— every thrust calculated, dragging your walls wide and making you feel how his cum fills every inch, "don't try to hold it in, darling, let it spill out, let them all see how thoroughly i've claimed you."

⚝ — WRIOTHESLEY

to wriothesley it was certainly not enough to just fuck you— he wanted to destroy you, breed you until you're feeling only him and his warm seed pooling from your hole, the man wanted to see his release flooding your pussy, cum mixed with spit and arousal as he mouths at your chest, grunting into your skin.

"you're so fucking good at taking it," he pants, "i'm impressed," as his voice turns husky, cracked open at the seams, like he's trying to growl but the sound gets caught somewhere in his chest— because fuck, you're tight, yeah? tighter than he expected, tighter than he could handle without his breath catching and his rhythm faltering for just a split second.

naturally the handsome man doesn't say it out loud, but you could feel it— how his hips were stuttering every now and then, how his hands gripped you harder, how his mouth parted like he's choking on the heat of it all.

he's supposed to be in control, isn't he? always was, right? but the way you clenched around him made something shiver through his whole body as his forehead falls against yours, damp and hot, "fuck, you're gonna make me cum too fast like this— shit—'", as his cock drags so deep inside you it knocks the rationality off your head, your toes curling and thighs twitching in exhaustion, hips jerking involuntarily, yet he's thrusting down harder just to make you feel more of that unbearable stretch.

the obscene pressure made your mind go white and your slick drip down his thighs, "but you're gonna take more, aren't you? I'm gonna stretch this hole until it can't hold another drop," as wriothesley shamelessly spits between your legs before watching it drip down to mix with your slick, his groans landing on your ears as if it's heaven.

"gonna fill you again," he growls between thrusts, hips slamming into you, "again and again until i fucking see it running down your thighs," as he doesn't stop even when pretty tears bead your lashes— wriothesley just flips you over, presses your cheek to the soaked sheets and fucks you through your whimpers, "you're gonna wear my cum like a brand."

⚝ — ALBEDO

scientific? sure, terrifying and obsessed? please.

albedo watches every twitch, every pulse, every droplet that slips from your hole after the first round, "fascinating," he mutters something dark underneath his breath, fingers sinking into the obscene slick between your thighs— warm, wet, and clenching as though your body itself was begging.

he groans low when he feels the way you pulse around nothing, fluttering and soaked, hips twitching like you cannot bear the emptiness. yet his hips don't move at first— just press deeper, just spread you wider, parting the mess to watch how it drips and sticks, how your whole body quivers from the exposure.

albedo curses, "ahh, you're throbbing for me already? this way? this wet?" it leaves him like instinct, resembling life— something deeper than thought, older than want, "you're clenching so tightly, it's trying to hold me in," as he continues to be brutal the second time— driving in so hard your breath leaves your lungs, his mouth messy and open against yours.

"do you feel that?" he hisses, sharp and low, but you barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears, your toes curling helplessly, nails digging into his back as sparks of raw lust flare through you— wickedly so, unrelenting shocks that made your body flinch and jolt against him.

your stomach felt tight, heavy, on the brink of exploding— like it's about to break open from how close you were, how full you felt of his cum, how deep albedo was inside you.

every thrust knocks your head back into the pillows, making your body seize up like it's trying to run and stay all at once as he groans when you clamp down at his cock, and the way you twitch around him drove him into madness, "how it gushes back out when i pull? yet i hate seeing it leave you," as he spreads you wider, studies how his cum seeps out, then pushes it back in with slow, filthy thrusts, "again, you'll take it all again, i want you dripping from the mouth and cunt, maybe both— marked inside and out, i need to make it happen."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[melodiesz]

⊹₊⟡⋆ Head is wicked ⭑.ᐟ

Aizawa loves eye contact in situations other than just hero work !! warning: nsfw, oral sex

“Mind making me one too?” a voice called out, followed by a head popping into the doorway.

You turned from where you were setting up the kettle to prepare a nice, relaxing tea before bed. “Yeah of cour-“ you stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open when you caught sight of him.

Aizawa was leaning against the doorframe, fresh out of the shower with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, v-line adorned with a mouth-watering happy trail.

Your eyes ogled his abs and biceps before trailing lower and lower down, frowning when what you wanted to see most was obscured by the towel.

He noticed your gaze, obviously, and sighed like he was questioning life itself.

“Close your mouth before you start drooling.” he grumbled, cheeks tinged pink at your relentless staring.

“I know something I can drool on.” You grinned, earning a judgemental glance your way.

“You’re shameless,” he groaned, but you quickly noticed the way his cock was rising and making a clear imprint in the thin towel—just begging for your attention.

You smirked and made your way over to him, tracing a finger down his still slightly damp chest to feel those toned muscles yourself. “and you like it,” you point out, earning a huff from him that leads him to adjusting the towel to no avail.

His eyes follow you when you drop to your knees in front of him, giving him a sweet smile before tugging down the towel swiftly and nearly being hit in the face when his length bobbed up. He let out a surprised huff at your restlessness.

“You can’t wait to move to the bedroom?” He raised a brow, and you shook your head.

“Want you now,” you answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Demanding.” he murmured, but you didn’t miss the way his hips subtly inched forward to press his flushed head against your lips.

With a knowing smile you waste no time in spitting on your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling him twitch in your grasp when you started to pump your hand up and down.

At the same moment you lick a stripe up his cock, tongue tracing the prominent vein on the side that had his teeth grinding from the sensitivity. When you reached the top you pressed a wet kiss against his tip, eagerly licking up the dribbling precum.

He looks down at you with his hooded eyes, a flicker of lust in his gaze before they rolled back in his skull when you took him into your mouth.

Sucking his fat tip like a lollipop, you pushed your head further and further—hand still pumping the area your mouth didn’t yet cover.

He brought a palm to his face to stifle the loud moans threatening to spill at the feeling of your warm mouth enveloping him, swallowing inch after inch without any hesitance.

When he finally bottomed out with his tip brushing the back of your throat, your fingers stayed wrapped around his base as you took a second to breathe through your nose.

Your tongue swirled around him, focusing on that one vein that had his hips jerking and cock forcing its way deeper into your throat. You choked around him, making him curse and pull you off of him swiftly.

“shit- sorry sweetheart.” He ran his fingers through your hair apologetically—an innocent action that had a less so idea sparking into your head.

Leaning into his fingers threaded into your hair, you suddenly blurted out, ”facefuck me.”

His worried expression turned to surprise and he was now the one to choke. “Come again?” he blurted, and you fought the urge to make a suggestive joke about that too.

”Use my throat,” you repeated, blinking up at him with desperate, wide eyes you knew he couldn’t resist. “Please?”

He released a shaky breath before the gentle fingers running through your hair turned to a firm grip. “The things that come out of your mouth—” he grumbled, other hand lining up his cock with your mouth.

“—so filthy.” He tapped his flushed tip against your lips a few times, smearing the mix of pre and spit like a lipgloss. He pushed into your mouth slowly, eyeing the way you swallowed him up eagerly.

His head tilted back in pleasure when you took him to the base again, the happy trail that started this in the first place brushing against your nose.

Just like you demanded requested, he bobbed your head up and down his length, using your throat for his pleasure. Breathing through your nose, you looked up to once again admire his toned abs that flexed every time you swallowed around him. He looked back down at you, mouth open and panting and eyes locked onto yours.

His eye contact was strong and you suddenly felt awkward under his gaze, looking down instead at where his dick appeared then disappeared into your mouth as your head was maneuvered down it.

All of a sudden he stopped, heavy cock sitting idly on your tongue. You looked up at him with a confused expression, pussy dripping when you were met with the dark look in his eyes.

“Did I tell you to look away?” he asked, and you made a muffled sound of confusion around him.

He pulled you off of him, hand moving from your hair to the side of your face to cradle it.

“I said, keep those gorgeous eyes on me.” he ordered, his deep monotone voice making you clench your thighs together in desperation. He wiped some drool off your chin affectionately, a direct contrast to the rough way he shoved your head back down his cock.

You choked around it, moaning loudly and sending vibrations that had him groaning. “Come on, you were staring so shamelessly at me before, why so shy now?” he chided.

Drool was spilling from your lips and your cunt throbbed at the way he manhandled you up and down like a toy. Your eyes watered when you gagged around him, but still you managed to look up at him with teary eyes.

He smiled devilishly and wiped a stray tear from your cheek, hips thrusting into your mouth at the same time his firm grip brought your head down.

He was twitching wildly in your mouth and you knew he was close, sucking him harder and paying special attention to that sensitive vein and his fat tip.

“Ugh- fuck, yes. Just like that,” he praised, moaning desperately and moving his free hand to grip the doorframe for dear life.

With his eyes still on yours, you winked up at him cheekily, and that was it. He tipped over that edge and came hard.

“oh, fuckkkk” he moaned, head tilting back and fingers tightening in your hair as he spilled down your throat. His abs tensed, cock jerking as it pumped load after load down your welcoming throat.

He kept up his movements until his high was finally ridden out and his breath evened, hips stilling before pulling you off of him with an obscene pop!

You were gasping for breath, choking with a mix of spit and cum dripping down your chin into a messy puddle on the ground. He gazed down at you lovingly, moving to grab the discarded towel to wipe the mess off you.

With a whine you rubbed your sore throat, earning a forehead kiss in apology.

“I’m sorry, pretty. Was I too rough?” he asked with a guilty expression.

You shook your head. “No, I liked it,” you smirked, wincing at the rough feeling of your throat when you spoke. He chuckled and helped you off the ground, motioning for you to go rest on the couch.

“How about I make you that tea,” he hums and you nod in agreement.

[andy-15-07]

hey guys fred weasley throwing my legs over his shoulders and fucks me so good he can’t help but laugh at the puddle i am before him hi

Wicked

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word count:1149

Harry Potter Masterlist | request (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Warnings: Smut (18+), oral (f receiving), teasing, dirty talk, pet names, established relationship, aftercare, fluff

Fred Weasley had a gift for many things,blowing things up, bending rules, getting out of trouble with a grin,but making you completely lose your mind might’ve been his most potent magic.

You were tucked up in his room at the Burrow,summer air warm, windows cracked open, and the low sound of enchanted wireless humming lazily from the corner. You’d stolen one of his shirts again, the old one from the shop with the neckline stretched and sleeves too big, hanging off your shoulder just enough to drive him mad.

He was watching you from the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your body like he hadn’t just had you the night before. Or the morning before that. Or up against the bathroom sink not twelve hours ago.

You peeked over the top of your book, trying not to smirk.

“You’re staring.”

Fred didn’t deny it. “I am. You look so good like that. All casual. Comfy. Completely fuckable.”

You snorted, but your thighs pressed together.

“Bit needy today, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head, grin wolfish. “You calling me needy? You, who literally screamed my name loud enough last night I think the ghoul in the attic clapped for us?”

You laughed, and that laugh earned a low growl from him. He moved, slow and controlled, like a lion stalking prey,crawling up the bed until he was hovering above you, nose brushing your cheek.

“You calling me needy…” he whispered, dragging his lips across your jaw, “…while you’re sitting here, soaking through my shirt with your thighs clenched and pretending you don’t want me to ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. “Fred—”

“Let me eat you out, Y/N.”

“...what?”

He grinned. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I just—no foreplay? No kissing? No—”

Fred’s hands were already sliding down your body. “Baby, we’ve been doing foreplay since the minute I saw you in my shirt. I’ve been suffering.”

He kissed down your neck, hands lifting the hem of the oversized tee until it bunched at your waist.

“I need you on your back. Legs over my shoulders. Right fucking now.”

You’d never obeyed so quickly in your life.

He slid your underwear down slowly, teasingly, sucking a kiss to your thigh as he settled between them.

“Look at this,” he said, voice in awe. “You’re already soaked. Merlin’s tits, love.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him,but then his tongue flattened against your clit, and all that came out was a moan so loud it echoed.

Fred groaned, latching on like he was starving. His tongue circled and licked, slow at first, building gradually, fingers digging into your hips like he was holding onto the last threads of control.

He loved eating you out. It was one of his favorite hobbies,up there with Quidditch and annoying Filch.

And he was good at it. Filthy. Passionate. Worshipful.

“Fuck, Fred—please—”

His fingers slid inside you just as his mouth closed around your clit again, and your back arched off the bed.

“That’s it, darling,” he murmured against you. “Let me hear you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as you whined, thighs shaking. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.

“Oh—fuck—I’m gonna—Fred—fuck—”

You came hard, grinding into his mouth, eyes screwed shut, legs trembling on either side of his head.

He moaned like he loved it,like tasting you was the highlight of his entire day.

And when he finally looked up, face soaked and smug, you were a breathless, blissed-out mess.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You blinked at him. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughed so hard he had to lean on the bed for balance. “Holy fuck, Y/N. You’re literally a puddle.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really. You’re like—dripping. If you die, I’m blaming that book you ignored me for.”

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it with one hand and tossed it aside.

Then he was back on you,pulling off the rest of his clothes, lifting your hips like you weighed nothing.

“You think we’re done?” he teased.

You squeaked when he spread your legs and lined himself up. “I—Fred—wait—”

“Just a little more,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “I’ll go slow.”

But he didn’t. Not really.

Because the moment he sank into you, tight and warm and still twitching from your orgasm, his control shattered.

He groaned like you were the best feeling he’d ever known. “Fuck—fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—how are you this perfect?”

You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re huge, Fred—oh my god—”

His pace started steady, but it didn’t stay that way.

Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he went deeper. Harder. Faster.

Your legs instinctively locked around his shoulders again, heels digging into his back as he slammed into you over and over.

Your moans were shameless now,raw and honest and wrecked.

Fred leaned down, face close to yours, grinning like he’d just discovered treasure.

“You love it,” he panted. “Being fucked like this. All stretched out and cock-drunk for me.”

You nodded helplessly, tears in your eyes from how good it felt.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath hot on your lips. “Tell me you love it.”

“I love it—I love it, Fred, please—”

“Please what, baby?”

“Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

His hand reached between you, fingers finding your clit again. Your body jolted at the stimulation, already too much and somehow not enough.

“You gonna come again for me?” he whispered, kissing your temple.

You nodded desperately. “Y-yeah—yes, fuck, please—”

“Good girl.”

That pushed you right over the edge.

You shattered beneath him with a scream, body spasming, stars bursting behind your eyes. Your walls clenched so tight around him, it pulled his orgasm out of him seconds later.

“Shit—Y/N—”

He buried himself deep, groaning your name like a prayer as he came hard inside you.

It was messy. Intense. Fucking glorious.

When he finally collapsed beside you, both of you breathless and sweaty and clinging to each other, the room was dead silent except for the ragged sounds of your breathing.

Then, softly:

“Still mad I interrupted your reading?”

You snorted into his chest. “I don’t even remember what the book was about.”

Fred chuckled, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Exactly.”

You both laid there for a moment, tangled in sheets and limbs and sweat, before he grabbed his wand and muttered a quick cleaning spell with a flick.

You sighed. “That’s cheating.”

He smirked. “That’s magic.”

A beat passed. Then, softly, Fred looked down at you.

“Y’know I love you, right?”

You blinked. Heat rose to your cheeks. “What?”

He smiled. No teasing. No joke. Just Fred,completely sincere.

“I love you, Y/N. Like... all the time. Even when you’re ignoring me for books.”

You cupped his cheek. “I love you too.”

His grin widened. “Even when I turn you into a puddle?”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again.

“Especially then.”

[mazeeelabyrinth]

☆ — sᥡᥣᥙs after teasing him all day

♡ Sylus x afab!reader

tags. smut, oral sex—cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, mild orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy drunk Sylus, petnames—kitten, sweetheart

wc. 1k

a/n. Idk how to format my blogs anymore lol, I'm getting lazy

masterlist ☆ ao3 ☆ navigation

You had been teasing him all day—half on purpose, half just existing in that damn oversized shirt he liked too much. Sylus did not say anything at first. Just watched you, eyes dark, tongue flicking briefly over his bottom lip.

Later, you caught the shift in his mood when he locked the bedroom door behind you that night—no smirk, just simmering intensity.

You had barely finished teasing him—just a bratty little smirk, a shift of your legs in that silk robe when you prepared for bed—and suddenly Sylus was kneeling between your thighs as if prayer was a sport.

“You’ve been a naughty kitten,” he murmured, slowly removing your panties and brushing his nose against your inner thigh. “It’s time I finally pay attention to this pretty cunt, don't you think?”

Then, he kissed your thighs like they were sacred—each kiss slow, open-mouthed, deliberate, like he wanted to taste your pulse before he got to the main event.

His hands stayed firm on your hips, thumbs circling your skin as though he was trying to memorize the feel and shape of you.

When his mouth finally landed between your legs, it was not soft. Sylus licked like he was attempting to slake his thirst—and your cunt was water and he had been crawling through a desert.

Your breath broke into fragmented syllables of his name. Sylus did not rush—of course he did not. Everything he did was calculated, elegant in its cruelty.

Those crimson eyes, intense and sharp, never left yours. Not even as his tongue kept dragging in slow, hypnotic circles over your labia. Each one ended with a flick against your clit that made you gasp—as though he was ringing a bell only he could hear.

Certainly not even when your hips arched off the mattress in response. He only pinned you down harder, one strong arm wrapping beneath your thigh while his other hand splayed over your stomach—holding you in place like a pinned butterfly.

“You always tremble right here,” he murmured, voice sonorous as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin on your mons.

“Sylus, please…”

You reached down to thread your fingers in his hair, but he caught your wrist with maddening ease and pinned it to the mattress beside your hip, fingers firm but never bruising.

“Let me work, sweetheart,” he said, low and amused, breath skimming against your slick cunt. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He spoke as if you were a decadent feast meant to be devoured by kings, not a writhing, breathless woman beneath his mouth. But then he moaned against you, like your taste was something divine, and your thighs clenched helplessly around his ears.

“Sylus, I’m—” you gasped, already feeling your climax building—sharp and quick and terrifying.

He smiled. That smile should have been illegal.

“You’ll come when I tell you to,” he whispered, lips brushing your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking against your cunt again, this time faster, tighter, ruthlessly precise.

Every flick of his tongue was done to leave you whimpering. Every suck of his lips around your clit came with a wicked gleam in his eye. He was too good at this. It wasn’t fair. He mapped you like a battlefield, found every weak point, and exploited it with finesse.

You didn’t stand a chance.

It didn’t take long before your first orgasm crashed over you, violent and shuddering. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t let up—he growled softly, like your resistance only thrilled him.

Again, one hand gripped your thigh, the other slid up your trembling belly to rest over your sternum, keeping you pinned while he continued to lick and suck like you hadn’t just shattered for him.

“Sylus—fuck—I can’t—” you tried to twist, to move, to escape the overwhelming pleasure spiraling into pain. “Too much—too soon…”

He only hummed in response. The bastard was smiling. You could feel it against your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re done, sweetheart,” he said, voice ragged, like it physically pained him to lift his mouth from you. His fingers slid in then—two of them, deep and slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched. “Not when you’re still this wet.”

Your body jolted, overstimulation crashing over you in waves—each touch too sharp, each stroke too much. Your second orgasm dragged out of you like a scream in reverse. You clenched around his fingers, thighs clamping against his shoulders. He didn’t flinch.

“Fuck—there it is,” he said against you, the vibration of his voice against your clit making you jolt. “Keep squeezing me like that, and I’ll come without even touching myself.”

No mercy. He did not stop there. You wondered if his jaw even ached.

Sylus was nothing if not indulgent when it comes to your pleasure. His teeth scraped your swollen clitoris, nipping the hooded, overstimulated bud just enough to make your cunt begin squirting around his pumping fingers and hungry mouth.

“Sylus! Oh fuck—please!” You gasped, hips writhing, too much—it was too much—but he lapped through it like he was starving. Like your orgasms had been an appetizer and he was determined to feast.

You tried to pull away but his arms locked tighter, pulling you right back against him.

By the time the third hit—harder, meaner—you were whimpering into your hand, too wrecked to speak, too far gone to beg properly. He licked you through it, slower now, gentler, but no less thorough.

His sharp features contorted into a wolfish pride when he finally pulled back, mouth slick and chin glistening. He leaned over you, bracing himself on one arm, and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

“You always taste like heaven,” he said, voice low and reverent, like he had just discovered a religion and it wore your body.

You tried to answer. Your lips moved. Nothing came out but a ragged sigh.

Sylus chuckled, kissed the tip of your sweaty nose, and whispered, “And sweetheart, I am feeling religious.”

God help you—you got what you wanted but you were not getting sleep tonight.

[iloveacaibowls111]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

thinking about giving bf!gojo the silent treatment.

you haven’t said a word since he showed up an hour late to dinner — no explanation, no apology, just that casual grin and a shrug like he hadn’t left you waiting with your hair done and your heart sinking. now you’re curled up on one side of the bed, facing the wall, arms crossed tight.

he sits down behind you. quiet at first.

“you’re mad at me,” he says eventually. like he’s stating a fact, not asking a question.

you don’t answer. don’t move.

he shifts, leans forward, elbows on his knees. the bed dips. “i deserve that,” he admits. “i know i do.”

still nothing from you.

“i should’ve called. i wasn’t thinking. and i hate that i made you feel like you weren’t worth showing up for.”

his voice cracks, just a little. enough to make you hesitate.

“i know how lucky i am,” he murmurs, softer now. “and i swear i’m not gonna take you for granted.”

you hear him shift again—closer this time. until he’s kneeling beside the bed, one hand braced near your hip, his other brushing gently down your arm.

“look at me, baby.”

you turn, slow. his eyes are already waiting for yours—clear and open, and aching in the way that only satoru gojo can.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, voice low. “and if you need space, i’ll give it to you. if you want to yell at me, i’ll take it. if you want to ignore me all night, fine. but don’t think for a second i don’t want to be better for you.”

he rests his cheek on your thigh. lets out a breath like being near you makes it easier to breathe.

your fingers twitch at your side before finding his hair, threading through it absently.

“you’re not off the hook,” you say quietly.

he grins against your leg, voice muffled. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you roll your eyes, but your lips are twitching. “you’re exhausting.”

“and yet,” he lifts his gaze to meet yours, something wicked and warm flickering behind the blue, “you still let me touch you.”

you pause. “barely.”

“but you are.” his hand slides slowly up your thigh, stopping at the hem of your shorts. “and i’d be very, very grateful if you let me keep going.”

you raise an eyebrow. “gojo.”

“yes?”

“you’re on thin ice.”

he leans in, kisses the inside of your knee. “then i better warm you up.”

and you try to look annoyed. really, you do.

but your fingers curl in his hair, and your breath hitches, and your silence finally, finally breaks.

[chanelrolls]

Love & Deepspace Men reacting to you giving them head while they drive

warnings. mdni, nsfw, explicit content, sexual themes, blowjob, dick-sucking

pairings. sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb (separate) x reader

notes. it's my first time to write a full-blown nsfw piece so please excuse me if it doesn't come as good. anyway, requests are very much open.

SYLUS

Sylus is focused, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift—relaxed, poised, in control. Or at least, he was.

You lean in, lips ghosting over his thigh, barely a whisper of contact. At first, there’s no reaction—no sharp inhale, nor a startled twitch. Just the steady, unwavering presence of him, ever composed.

You press another kiss, this time firmer, lingering just a little longer against the fabric of his pants. His grip tightens. "You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten."

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. His leg shifts slightly, as if to subtly press closer to your lips, but before you can take the invitation, his fingers suddenly catch your chin, tilting your face toward him.

He doesn’t look away from the road, but his grip is firm, thumb brushing against your lower lip with deliberate slowness. "If you’re going to test my patience," he murmurs, voice impossibly low, "at least be prepared for what happens when you lose."

"By all means, don't let me stop you," Sylus would purr, a wicked glint in his eyes as he watched you work on his shackles. "In fact, I insist you continue. Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can really do." He'd chuckle darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Sylus would make no move to stop you, instead watching with a critical eye as if evaluating your performance. His breathing would remain steady, his heart rate barely increasing, a testament to his ironclad self-control. He was Sylus, after all. Nothing could ruffle his feathers, least of all a little roadside dalliance.

"Faster," he'd command, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Put your back into it, sweetheart. I know you can do better than that." His fingers would tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, pushing you to take him even deeper. "That's it, just like that."

He'd grip the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to surge forward, to take over, to claim his pleasure for himself.

And when he can't hold himself back anymore, he forces the tip to rub against your throat, and you wince in response, but he doesn't bugde, no, he keeps you there. "Keep going," He'd say, teasingly rubbing his tip against your throat, not caring about the way that you're already tearing up. "Don't you dare stop now. I want to see you finish what you started."

And then, suddenly—the car swerves. You barely register the motion before he pulls onto a quiet side road, the tires crunching against gravel as he slows to a stop.

Then, finally, he turns to you fully—one hand still on the wheel, the other trailing down your jaw, tracing the line of your throat before gripping the base of your neck. His touch is light, teasing, but there’s an unmistakable warning behind it.

"Congratulations," he murmurs, tilting your face up, "You got my attention."

ZAYNE

Zayne drives with precise, almost mechanical ease. One hand rests on the wheel, the other draped over the console between you.

Your fingers skim along his thigh first, light and teasing, tracing patterns against the fine material of his slacks. He doesn’t react. Instead, he exhales steadily, like someone who anticipated your next move before you even thought to make it.

Lips grazing over the fabric, the warmth of your breath seeping through, so close yet still not quite enough. Then, his fingers flex. "Do you think this is wise?"

A few beats pass in silence, and you almost think he’s going to ignore it completely, let it roll off his shoulders like he does with most things. But then, suddenly, his hand moves.

Not in warning. Not in restraint.

But to press you down. Fingers threading into your hair, keeping you close, firmly and deliberately, like he’s giving you a choice but already knows what you’ll pick.

"You're trying very hard to test me tonight," he murmurs, and now his voice is lower, rougher, something just a touch undone.

And when you finally took him into your mouth, he'd let out a low, sharp inhale through his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control. He'd say your name, voice strained, "we're in the middle of a..." He'd trail off, his words lost in a soft groan as you took him deeper.

Despite his initial surprise, Zayne would make no move to stop you, instead trying to focus on the road ahead. He was a pragmatic man, after all, and he knew the dangers of distracted driving. But damn if your sloppy mouth wasn't making it hard to concentrate.

"Careful," he'd warn, his voice a low rumble. "I don't want to cause an accident." But his words were undercut by the way he rolled his hips slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

Suddenly, he lets his grip loosen, fingers tracing the nape of your neck before slipping away entirely.

And then—just as quickly—he accelerates. The car surges forward, the sudden force pressing you back against your seat, "That's enough," the air shifting around you as he drives faster, sharper, more reckless than before.

He exhales slowly, smoothing a hand over his tie, regaining that signature poise—but when he finally speaks again, his voice carries that same unshakable authority as always. "Seatbelt on," A small pause, then, "You’ll need it."

RAFAYEL

He’s humming some tune under his breath, something slow. Then, your hand moves first, fingers gliding over the firm muscle of his thigh, innocently enough that he doesn’t react right away. But when your lips followed after, pressing into the fabric of his slacks, his hum falters.

Then stops entirely. For a moment, all you hear is the steady hum of the engine. The way his grip subtly tightens on the wheel. Then—

"You’re a real menace, y’know that?"

His voice is airy, light—like he’s amused, pretending to be unfazed. But you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you press another kiss, this time dangerously close to the inside of his thigh.

He exhales sharply, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. "Go on," he muses, tilting his head slightly, glowing eyes flicking down at you, and dark with something indulgent. "See what happens, cutie."

You know exactly what will happen. Because Rafayel is all bark until he’s bitten. Until he’s whimpering, breathless, fingers trembling with the effort of keeping control he never really had in the first place.

And when you do press forward, when you start to eat him out, he lets out a sound—soft, bitten off, caught between a laugh and something much filthier.

Rafayel lets out a startled gasp as your lips wrapped around his sensitive cock, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "H-hey, what do you think you're doing?" as if he didn't challenge you outright.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, not pushing you down, but not pulling you off either, torn between his desire and his stubborn pride. "I never said you could just... just do this, you know," His nose wrinkles in a mixture of annoyance and arousal. "Such a bold little thing, taking what you want without asking..."

But even as he spoke, Rafayel's body betrayed him, his cock twitching and throbbing against your tongue, growing harder by the second. He bites his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill out while you swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had already formed at the tip.

"Nngh... y-you're not going to distract me that easily," Rafayel insisted, even as his grip on your hair tightened, his fingers trembling slightly. "I'm not just going to let you... ah! ...just take control like this, without even asking me first!" He tried to sound indignant, all the while rocking his hips to match your movements.

"Y-you're... hah... you're not going to win this way," Rafayel panted, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over with lust. "I won't let you... just... just have your way with me like this..." But even as he spoke, his head fell back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure entirely consumed him.

XAVIER

The night stretches long ahead, the road open, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across Xavier’s sharp profile. His hand rests on the wheel, fingers drumming idly, while the other is perched casually on the gear shift.

Leaning in, you press your lips against the inside of his thigh, soft and fleeting, just enough for him to feel it. Then, his whole body goes rigid.

His foot presses down a little too hard on the gas before he corrects, rolling his shoulders back like it was nothing, like you didn’t just do that.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Don’t start." His voice is firm, clipped—but there’s something beneath it, something unraveling at the edges.

You don’t listen. You never do. Another kiss, slower this time, your breath warm against denim.

His fingers tighten around the wheel. "I said—" He stops, inhaling sharply through his nose. A slow, controlled breath—like he’s trying to center himself.

But then he does something unexpected. He shifts in his seat, just slightly—just enough for his thigh to press closer against your lips.

Your lips curl. "Thought you said not to start," you murmur, letting the heat of your breath fan against the fabric of his jeans.

Xavier smiles to glance at you—a short, breathy huff coming out of his lips, almost like he hates that you caught him. "I also told myself I wouldn’t let you get to me."

He keeps driving. Still in control. Still composed. But you can feel it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his body is slowly but surely giving in. "...Keep going," he murmurs, almost absently, like he’s already resigned himself to the inevitable.

He would keep himself unnervingly still and eyes on the road while you lap up his girth, but barely seeing it. "When have you gotten good... at this?"

As Xavier would reach his peak, he'd let out a sharp, hissed intake of breath through clenched teeth, his body going rigid for a moment. He'd rasp, your name a little more than a breathless whisper.

Then, with a sudden, violent jerk of his hips, he'd bury himself deep in your throat, his thick, hot seed erupting forth in thick, heavy spurts.

Xavier's eyes would flutter shut, his head falling back against the headrest as he rode out the intense waves of his climax.

A low, guttural moan would rumble in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to echo through the confines of the car. His fingers would tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he emptied himself into your eager mouth, ensuring you took every last drop of his essence

As the final, weak spurts dribbled out, Xavier would slump back in his seat, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and a faint flush colored his usually pallid cheeks. He'd shoot you a heated look, his eyes half-lidded but intense as they raked over your face. "Swallow it."

CALEB

Caleb would react to a sudden blowjob while driving with a mix of intense arousal and possessive desire lurking beneath the surface.

His eyes would flash with a fierce, hungry light as he glanced down at you, grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, you're brave, huh?," he'd growl, your name falling from his lips like a dark promise. "You're playing dirty, my love."

Despite his words, he made no move to stop you, and instead of grabbing your hair, his veiny hand finds your nape, holding you in place as you worked over his throbbing cock. "Silly girl, trying to distract me like this..."

Caleb's hips would start to rock, fucking into your hot mouth with a growing sense of urgency. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good," he'd pant, his voice rough and strained with pleasure.

As his climax approached, Caleb's eyes would darken, a fierce, almost manic light burning in their depths. "You're mine, you're... mine." he'd rasp, his voice a dark, dangerous rumble. "Only mine. And I won't let anyone, not even you, take that away from me." He'd tighten his grip on your nape, a touch of pain mingling with the pleasure.

He always had a habit of continuously praising and showering you possessive nothings while reaching for his climax.

With a harsh, animalistic cry, Caleb would reach his peak, his hot seed spurting forth to fill your mouth. "Fuck, yes, take it all!" Even pushing himself deeper to the point you wouldn't be able to breathe anymore.

And after he cums? "I'm not done yet." He pulls over the side of the road, and gets on you. Literally.

[southlandvamp]

Good Enough to Eat (Remmick x F!Reader)

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI (you will be blocked), oral (f!receiving), period sex, teasing, humping, fingering, implied endometriosis (I'm projecting), fanon Remmick.

1.3k Words

---

“Please, don’t make me beg.”

“Sounds like you already are, sweet thing.”

Remmick hadn’t fed in days. She knew what she was doing to him, refusing his touches, swatting away his hands, keeping him at arm's length; and the sickest part? He loved it. Loved it when she bossed him around, made him desperate for just the smallest instance of relief.

“One more day, Remmick. If you can’t last until tomorrow evening, help yourself to a chicken.”

He groaned, grasping onto her hand and placing a kiss on her palm. “You’re torturin’ me, sweetheart. Like asking a man dying of thirst to drink turpentine when a clean fountain is right there.”

“If you want it bad enough, then you’ll just have to wait.”

He could’ve cried, but he was far too proud to. Or, better described, wasn’t hungry enough to yet.

He finally realized what she was up to the next afternoon. He’d stayed cooped in the house during daylight hours, like always, and she only graced him with her presence when she needed some water or a quick bite to eat.

He could smell her as soon as she walked in the door. Dirt stained her hands and knees and the flyaway hairs stuck to the sweat on her forehead. There was another scent added to the mix, though; a metallic twang that only he could smell. That wicked little woman had waited until she was on the rag to let him feed.

She saw his eyes light up before she scoffed. “Don’t get excited just yet. Those weeds ain’t gonna pull themselves. You’ve still got three hours til sundown.”

“Sweetheart, please,” he followed her into the kitchen, licking his lips as she poured herself a glass of tea. “I’ll make you feel real good. Bet you’re hurting awfully bad, especially working so hard in this heat. Let me help you out.”

“You sound desperate, Remmick. Sure you don’t want me to bring that mean ol’ rooster in for you to snack on?”

"I want you, darlin', now, not later." he whined, approaching her and trying to kiss at her neck. She allowed him to, for a moment, until she felt his fangs scratching against her skin.

"Oh, you poor thing." She gave him a teasing pout, threading her fingers through his hair before pulling him away harshly. "As much as I'd love to stay in the house and love up on you, I've got to get back to my chores."

He paced the house for the next few hours, sometimes even daring to peek out the windows into the daylight for a split second before his skin began to burn. She kept her word, though, and as soon as the sun began to set, she came inside.

Just as he was about to pounce, she held up a hand, stopping him. "I think I need a quick wash before bed. Be waiting for me when I'm through, ok?"

He wanted to cry, and he was hungry enough to let himself go completely. Even she couldn't deny how pathetic he looked. His eyes glowed fiery orange in the dim lighting of the house and he was actually drooling for her. Still, he did as told and waited on the bed, hands shaking as he slowly undressed himself for her.

She didn't take too long washing up. She decided on what her mama used to call a whore bath, where she just scrubbed herself down with a wet rag instead of submerging herself completely in the tub.

She walked into the bedroom, naked as a jaybird with blood dripping down her legs and a towel draped over her arm. Remmick was on his feet as soon as she entered, snatching the towel and hastily laying it out on the bed. He was drooling even more now, fangs visible as he spoke while tugging her towards the bed. "Come on, sweetie. Let me take care of you, make you feel good."

She sat atop the towel, legs dangling over the side of the bed as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He rested his head against her knee, following the trail of blood up her legs with his fingertips. She relaxed at his touch. As much as she had put on a domineering facade these past few days, she was sore and hurting. Her monthlies had always been more painful and heavy than what most women experienced, and she was glad to finally be able to relax.

Remmick watched her wince as a cramp hit her. His hands were at her thighs now and the scent of her blood nearly drove him feral. He planted a kiss against her thigh, blood smearing his lips as he spoke. "Jus' lay back and relax. I got ya now."

He drove his face forward, licking a fat stripe up her cunt and collecting as much on his tongue as possible. She let out a shuddering sigh and slumped back on the bed, closing her eyes and focusing on the feeling of his mouth on her.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was worth the wait. The mix of her blood and slick satiated his hunger, both literally and sexually. He licked up her cunt again and again, groaning at the taste. He was stiff as a board now, cock straining against the fabric of his boxers as he pressed himself against her leg.

Her head swam as he brought his hand up, tentatively rubbing her clit in slow circles as he tongued her opening. He pulled away briefly, causing her to sit up and look down at him. His face was coated in her blood and wetness, chest rising and falling in heavy pants as he grinded himself against her. He caught her staring and flashed a toothy grin. "See what starving a man does to him?"

"I do," she giggled, causing more blood to spill. "I think I ought to do it more often."

He dove back in, this time focusing his tongue on her clit with rapid, featherlight kitten-licks. Her hips rose, begging wordlessly for more. He took the unspoken request seriously and moved his hand once more, fingers teasing at the opening of her cunt. He gathered the blood on his fingers and made sure that she watched as he licked them clean. Once he had, he slowly pushed them inside of her and curled upwards.

"Remmick, please..." Her voice came out in a high-pitched moan. "I need more, give me more."

"Look who's the desperate one now." He teased before going down on her again, fingers moving inside of her and playing her like an instrument. She was the one panting now; a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin as she hiccupped out moans and babbling praises.

"Jus' like that, don't stop. Please, don't stop."

"I ain't, baby, don't worry." His words sent vibrations against her skin and she squeezed even tighter around his fingers. Her release was near, he could feel it. His own hips stuttered at the thought of her cumming just from his tongue and fingers. He hissed, quickening the pace at which he humped her, like a damn dog.

Her moans grew in pitch and her hands flew down to grip onto the locks of his dark hair. He groaned, sucking at her clit as his tongue circled around it. Finally, he felt her spasm around his fingers as the warm liquid covered his hand and began to drip down his arm. She repeated his name like a prayer and didn't stop until he went over the edge, spilling out into his boxers and leaking through the fabric, onto her leg.

He kept going until she started pushing him away with shaky hands. "Hol-Hold on, gimme a minute."

He removed his hands and gave one last lick before pulling away completely. He was covered in blood now, all on his face, throat, chest, hands, and even his forearm. He watched her and waited for her to speak up, sucking the liquid gold from his digits. She looked down at him again and let out a tired laugh.

"I think we both need to wash up now."

"Lead the way, darlin'." He grinned. "Just gonna get messy again anyways."

[notdelicatc]

It was harsh to think about and even harsher to note and then acknowledge after that Emmeline couldn't bring herself to hate this person in front of her. Apart from the glaring reality that it wasn't her fault, or anyone else's for that matter, she was simply sweet. Now, while Alecto and Rabastan may been her chosen company, the occasional sweet and almost warm person did not exactly cause the brunette's frustrations to grown. Quite the opposite.

"My favorite? Oh, I'm afraid I'm rather plain in that regard. Well, to a degree. Chocolate, always, but I have recently discovered my love for Italian desserts." A soft smile, despite the hints of sadness that were mixed in and almost all too well hidden among it all. "I suppose one could make something happen with that. Then again, my forte were potions and not cooking." Alara was quite the accomplished witch. If one could figure it out, how to turn a dessert into a cake, surely it was her. - @alaraselwyn

Alara was oblivious to the inner turmoil the brunette was going through. A smile remained plastered on her features, proud of her work in front of her and knowing that this would only help increase sales at the bakery. It showed her that hard work did pay off. "This is my sixth wedding for the season. I always have a few more being the end of the year." Normally there was a break in the wedding season, but it seemed to be going strong, knowing of a few that would be happening next year.

There was something sweet about the witch in front of her. She knew of Emmeline, but with her age, they never had any reason to converse. "That is very kind of you. I will talk to him." Eventually the two of them would have to talk more wedding plans. She could only avoid it for so long. "What is your favourite kind of cake?"

[notdelicatc]

where: Vance Manor when: Toward the end October, late evening featuring: Alusius Vance, Rabastan Lestrange (@r-lestrcnge)

Audacity, sheer audacity. And a desperation that reeked to the heavens and beyond. One would have thought that Emmeline would be granted a chance to be informed, to be granted any sort of warning about what was to unfold and yet the Daily Prophet within her hands was the first time she’d heard of things. Grasped so tightly one had to almost worry the paper itself might be crushed, or worse, set ablaze by the fury the witch was clearly feeling.

Emmeline Vance had started at the page, and for at least twenty minutes she’d been questioning her own sanity. Surely her father wouldn’t make yet another utterly stupid mistake by once again betraying her trust. If there was something the witch had forced to learn it was that parents, no matter how much they seemed to care or however much one cared about them or admired their deeds, still could have something bad hiding underneath layers and layers of perceived perfection. Had she been that much of a fool? Of course, she cared. This was her father after all, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere along the lines she had been betrayed by someone who had held that much of her trust.

Would Emmeline have ever found out if not for Rabastan? Somehow, she trusted the wizard so much more than her very own father. Angry orbs gazed down at the papers still held firmly in her grasp when she stepped into the entry hall. The foyer seemed emptier, far hollower than ever before. Despite the eery silence, though, it wasn’t hard to find the man in question. Apparently, Emmeline hadn’t been the only person to receive the latest copy of the Daily Prophet.

A loud banging could be heard when the doors were flung open by the witch in question, having forfeit her need to knock in favor of the storm that was raging on without her. “Did you have any intention of telling me before you announce it to the world?” There was no respect, in that moment. No time spent waiting for the other to be ready to have this conversation. Alusius Vance hadn’t bothered to assure his daughter was ready either. “You know, even Rabastan had the decency to make this my choice. But no, the world had to know.” And then there was something else that bothered her. “It’s full of lies. Aren’t you scared they’ll find out? Cause that’ll be on you, not me. Never again me.” Lies, layers upon layers of them, meant to fill the pages of the prophet to paint them in colors entirely different from the truth. Instead of a mother who was wronged by the wizard in front of her and the mother she never saw as such the pages were filled with stories of a father deceived by those he considered foul blood. Emmeline couldn't believe the way her father had wiggled his way out of it. His actions, handed off to make him the victim.

It was true. While some may judge her for the things a relative of hers had done, she now held the superior position, respected among most of them simply for the accomplishments she herself had made. No name, no blood status that could have elevated her to the position until that very moment. Only time would tell what this latest mess of her father’s would lead to. “I will keep your little secret, if only because my mother asked me to. And quite frankly, because we both know why you’ve done this. The fear of what might have been coming your way had you not pulled this stunt, I suppose it was a little bit too strong to handle?”

Eventually, one day she would forgive him simply because she still cared. For now, though, Emmeline Vance could only shake her head. “I did what I thought was best.” The witch didn’t move, just listening for a moment. “What was best? For you. He wouldn’t have told anyone.” At the end of the day Emmeline had more faith in Rabastan than her own family. “Do me a favor and talk to me next time. Before you do something.” It wasn’t as much a request as a demand. After all Emmeline was no longer the little half-blood, desperate to fit in with those she considered her home. They were her home. And with that she left, leaving her father to think about things; whatever that may have been.

[yeyinde]

18+ | heavy noncon. implied kidnapping. Simon is not a good person.

What was supposed to be a casual hike turns into a nightmare when you step on a bear trap and the massive, terrifying man who set it up comes to get his catch. And unfortunately for you, he isn't he a kind stranger.

In fact, he oozes nothing but a rotten, gangrenous malice as he stares down at your helpless form. Taking a wicked, depraved sort of delight when he tells you he doesn't really see the point in letting food go to waste after you plead and beg for him to help you, to let you go.

At least—

Not without some incentive.

It's a dog eat dog world out there, after all, he says with slow, lax roll of his thick shoulder; words much too casual, too nonchalant, for the thread of cruel, mocking venality needling through. But from the way he stares at the congealing blood splashing up over the curve of your bare thigh, you work out pretty quickly what exactly it is you can barter with.

He's already staring at you like you're a piece of meat, anyway. Might as well sate his hunger for the kind that keeps you alive for a little while longer. And then you'll escape because that's the deal. He gets to whet his appetite and you—

You get to go home.

(but you should know better than to trust wicked men—)

because it really is dog eat dog, don't you know? And even old, grizzled wardogs like himself start to crave something sweet. Something they can sink their teeth into, and fuckin' hell, aren't you just the sweetest little pup he's ever seen? 'nough to give rotten men the biggest sweet tooth.

And he knows a deal is deal and he always keeps his word, but it really is too bad that his truck won't start, he tells you later on, fingers prodding into the swollen skin of your ankle, pressing cruelly against shattered bone until you howl. Otherwise he'd definitely let you go.

("maybe tomorrow," he adds, staring down at the mess he made of you spilling over his old mattress—aching something awful—and nudging your knee out of the way as he slips back between your slick, sticky thighs. "might start workin' then, birdie. But—"

He cocks his head to the side, eyes glinting like a blade as he gazes at your raw, swollen cunt; fingers dipping to catch his pink-tinged cum as it leaks out of you. Wetting them before smearing it over the deep, red puncture marks he bit into the tender meat of your thigh. It stings. Burns. But you don't think anything could ever hurt as much as your ankle—physically, of course, because his next words, the cruel coo in them, seem to rip you down the centre:

"—you better start thinkin' 'bout 'ow you're gonna pay me back for lettin' you stay 'ere, birdie," the mean twist of his mauled mouth at your hitching sob belies the mocking pantomime of compassion he scratches into his tone. And when your sore legs fall open further for him, he can't stop the flash of amusement from frothing over the edge when he huffs out a patronising good girl, pup. Maybe we can train you after all—)

[zaynessbeloved]

The door had barely clicked shut before his hands were on you.

Still sun-warmed and tasting faintly of salt, you barely had time to laugh before Rafayel’s mouth captured yours—hungry, molten, reverent. He pressed you back against the nearest wall like he couldn’t bear the space between you a moment longer, his fingers skating over your skin slick with sunscreen and sun, and want, barely held back all day.

“You’re cruel, you know that?” he moaned against your lips, his voice low and soaked with longing, words curling around you like silk. “Wearing that little thing… knowing what it does to me…”

His hand slid around your waist, fingers teasing the strings of the bikini he’d picked for you months ago—delicate, barely there, the color designed to make your skin glow. He’d forgotten you even still had it. You hadn’t. You’d saved it.

And judging by the state of him now—kiss-bruised mouth, flushed cheeks, eyes molten and dragging across your chest like they were starving—he hadn’t been prepared for the way you looked in it. Perfect. Divine. His.

“You looked like a dream out there, cutie…” he breathed into your skin, his lips trailing down the column of your throat, damp and shivery. “Like something the sea spat out just for me to worship. You should’ve seen yourself.”

“I did,” you murmured with a sly smile, letting your fingers toy with the hem of his linen shirt, sticky now with salt and sweat, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. “You made sure of it, the way you couldn’t stop staring.”

He groaned deep and low, and rutted his hips against yours gently, letting you feel just how true that was.

“I tried to behave,” Rafayel whined, dragging his teeth gently across your shoulder, tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. “I was so good, cutie. I played in the sand. I let you win that race to the pier even though you cheated. I even let that lifeguard flirt with you for two whole minutes without setting the entire coastline on fire.”

You laughed, breathless and heat-drunk, and tugged him closer, nails ghosting down his back until he shuddered against you.

“You’re not very good at pretending you didn’t enjoy every second of it,” you whispered.

“Of you? Sun-kissed and smiling and wearing the damn bikini I hand-selected with trembling hands and the purest intentions?” he nipped at your jaw and moaned like he was in pain. “Cruel. Absolutely heartless. I should file a complaint to the gods, really.”

“Mhm, still…here you are,” you murmured, dragging your tongue just behind the shell of his ear, delighting in the way he gasped, “begging to be punished.”

His head dropped to your shoulder with a whimper, his hair damp with sweat, strands sticking to his flushed neck. His body was so warm pressed to yours, all taut muscle and bare chest, the heat between you clinging like second skin. Your bikini still clung wet and snug to your hips, a contrast to the way his hands roamed like he was trying to undo every tie with touch alone.

“I’m not begging,” he breathed, hands skimming lower, lower, drawing your thigh up around his hip so the contact turned dizzying. “You already know I need you so damn bad, don't ya?.”

“Mmhm.”

“Cutie…” his voice dropped, silk dipped in sin. “You taste like sun and salt and every dream I’ve ever had. I need to touch all of you. Right now.”

And he did—every inch, every curve, every place you’d teased him with that wicked little smirk across the shoreline. His palms were firm and reverent, sliding along the slick warmth of your skin, mapping the path from ribcage to hip with a devotion that bordered on religious. He pressed open-mouthed kisses wherever his hands traveled—under your jaw, the valley between your breasts, the soft curve of your stomach—his moans constant, muffled against your skin.

“You were made for this,” he whispered between kisses, dazed and drunk on you. “For the sea. For me.”

Your fingers threaded through his lavender strands, now damp and curling slightly at the ends, and pulled until he looked up at you—eyes blown dark, lashes wet, lips kiss-swollen and parted with want.

“Take me to bed,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He groaned again, like the words had physically knocked the breath from his lungs.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured, lifting you easily into his arms, mouth already on yours again, deeper this time, messier, made of sun-warmed desperation and hours of wanting you too much.

“Hold on tight, cutie,” he whispered against your lips. “Because I plan on making you forget your own name.”

He carried you like second nature, strong arms cradling you with all the reverence of a man handling his most precious work of art. His skin glistened, sun-slicked and flushed, his breath shallow where it brushed against your collarbone. The bedroom was already heavy with heat, both from the weather and from you—your body still humming from a day of being watched, worshipped, wanted.

He laid you out on the bed like you were the only masterpiece he’d ever cared to study, eyes roving across your still-wet bikini, the one he hand-picked as a gift a while back, his name practically stitched into the way it hugged your hips. You stretched languidly against the sheets, smirking, and that was all it took—he was on you in seconds.

“You’re cruel, you know that?” he murmured against your stomach, lips trailing down with soft, reverent kisses that made your thighs twitch. “Wearing that little thing… knowing what it does to me…and still smirking like you’re enjoying seeing me at your feet, desperate for a taste of you.”

“I won’t lie, you look so good like this,” you breathed, fingers tangling in his damp hair just to feel the weight of him, the heat, the tremble. “All flushed and needy.”

His hands slid up your sides, palms wide and hungry, and his mouth pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses over your belly, then down, tongue flicking at the curve of your navel. He moaned like he was feasting, like the taste of sunscreen and you was too much for him to bear. Then his teeth tugged at one of the delicate strings of your bikini bottoms, slowly, dramatically, until it came loose with a whisper.

You laughed softly, curling your legs around him. “Using your teeth now?”

“I was being polite before,” he groaned, biting softly at your hip. “But I’ve gone too long without tasting you, cutie, and I’m this close to losing the last of my sanity.”

He moved to come up for a kiss, eyes glassy, mouth parted—and just as his lips neared yours, you pressed your foot firmly to his chest.

“Ah—” he choked on his breath, eyes widening as you pushed him back with just enough strength to keep him pinned where he was. “Oh, you’re evil.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “Mhm, you love it.”

“I do,” he groaned, falling back against the sheets with a dramatic flair, flushed and completely, hopelessly gone. “Gods, I do. Look at what you’re doing to me.”

You trailed your toes down his chest, letting your heel press to the waistband of his swim shorts. He shivered, hard. Then arched a brow at you, pupils blown wide, chest rising with sharp, shallow breaths.

“You’re going to kill me, cutie,” he whispered. “One day, you’ll smile at me like that, and I’ll just drop dead.”

“Mmm, even so,” you murmured, spreading your thighs in invitation, “you’re still breathing now, no?”

He stilled. Then slowly, like a predator tasting victory, he lowered himself again, hands curling under your thighs, dragging you down the bed with a strength that stole your breath. His eyes were locked on yours as he placed a kiss at the inside of your knee. Then another. Then lower.

When he reached your inner thigh, he hummed a sound that was more growl than sigh.

“I love you,” he murmured like it was a curse, voice cracking. “I love you so much it hurts. You’ve ruined me.”

And then he devoured you. His mouth was hot and slick, tongue moving with practiced, fervent devotion—every stroke tailored to the exact sound he wanted to rip from your throat. He moaned into you, like the taste of you could keep him alive for centuries. Like this was a high he’d never come down from.

Your fingers found his hair—his wild, tangled, damp purple strands—and twisted. His breath stuttered. You pulled, and he groaned, hips grinding into the mattress like he was unraveling just from the pleasure of giving.

“Rafayel—” Your voice broke.

“Mmm, say it again,” he whimpered, mouth not stopping for a second. “You sound so pretty when you’re about to come for me, cutie.”

You whined, eyes fluttering shut as your body writhed under the spell of his mouth, his fingers now working in tandem with his tongue, curling and coaxing every ounce of heat from your core.

And just as you were teetering on that delicious edge—he stopped.

You blinked, dazed and breathless. “What…?”

His mouth was glistening, chin wet, eyes dark and electric. That familiar smirk pulled at his lips as he slowly crawled up your body like a storm, all heat and weight and tension.

“You didn’t think I’d let you stay in charge forever, did you?” he purred, his voice like velvet dragged over flame.

You swallowed, eyes wide.

“Now,” he murmured, nudging your legs open wider with his knee, pinning your wrists gently above your head, “be a good girl and let me show you exactly what you do to me. Let me make you feel so, so good, yeah?”

Of course he loved seeing you like this—sprawled out beneath him, glowing from sweat and sun, pupils wide with need, lips parted with unspoken pleas. Your body arched toward his, trembling on the edge of that final fall, but he denied you just a little longer, dragging it out like the artist he was, savoring every second of your unraveling.

His gaze devoured you, dark and gleaming, like watching you come undone beneath him was a masterpiece he’d been dying to finish.

But you… gods, you knew how to coax him. Your fingers slid down, lazy and deliberate, tracing the thick outline of his arousal through the soft fabric of his swim shorts. Just enough to make a point. Just enough to make him twitch in your hand.

He whined, a sharp, guttural sound that melted into a growl as his hips jerked forward instinctively.

“Oh no you don’t,” he breathed, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head again, harder this time, his frame hovering over you like the storm he always carried inside him. “You don’t get to tease and touch and pretend you’re not trying to kill me here, cutie.”

You barely had time to smirk before his mouth crashed into yours—wild and open and hot, all teeth and tongue and heat. He kissed you like a man starved, like he needed the taste of your moans to stay breathing.

Your bodies tangled, slick and desperate, the remaining pieces of clothing falling inevitably and rapidly to the floor. His hand found himself, stroking with a shudder before guiding his cock to your entrance—and you barely managed a gasp before he thrust in with a single, delicious motion, hips slamming flush against yours with no patience left to spare.

You bit into his neck with a cry, half praise, half plea, legs wrapping tight around his waist as he drove into you without restraint, without pretense, chasing something raw and sacred in the heat of your joined bodies.

But it was what came next that made you clench around him with a sharp, helpless moan. You felt it first—the frantic movement of his hips, the tremble of his breath against your throat—and then you heard it. Words. Not in your language. Not in anything you could understand.

Lemurian.

He was whispering it into your skin, into your mouth, your neck, your chest. Rough syllables, fevered and low, thick with worship and desperation, tumbling from his lips between gasps and groans. The ancient rhythm of his native tongue wrapped around your body like a spell.

You didn’t know what he was saying—gods, you wished you did—but the sound of it, the way it trembled out of him like prayer, ignited something deep and primal in your chest.

“Rafayel—” your voice broke, almost pleading. “Say it again.”

He growled, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his temple as he thrust harder, deeper. And then it came. A string of Lemurian, slower this time, more deliberate—followed by the only words you did understand. The ones he had taught you in the hush of a moonlit night, laughing as you struggled to pronounce them, only to melt when you finally did.

“You’re mine.”

It hit you like a wave crashing through your core—his voice, his rhythm, the way he buried himself so deep inside you it felt like you would never be whole without him there.

Your body tightened, back arching violently as you cried out his name, your release crashing into you in full, blinding waves.

Rafayel groaned, deep and broken, as your body clenched around him like a vice, and he followed—hips stuttering, voice hoarse and filled with reverence as he spilled himself inside you, still murmuring Lemurian into your skin like a prayer offered to the gods.

When the storm finally passed, he collapsed onto you, his breath ragged, face buried in your neck.

“Mine,” he whispered again, softer this time. “Always, cutie.”

[dollgxtz]

Night Of Secrecy (Unfolded)

Word Count: 3k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, creampie, fluffy near the end, petnames like kitten, sweetie, my love :3

AN: Yeah so, I typed this up really quickly cause the whole "fade to black" isn't enough for me. Infold I wanted to read some action, not innuendos! (¬_¬"). So here it is, my personal take on what happened between us and Sylus that night <333

The room was charged with unspoken desire as your eyes locked with Sylus's, the air thick with anticipation. His question hung between you, a silent plea for confirmation of your shared longing. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice a low rumble, his crimson eyes piercing through you. "Kitten, do you want it?"

Your heart raced, its beat echoing in your ears, a rhythm that seemed to sync with his. You knew this moment, this silent understanding, was Sylus's way of seeking your consent, his unspoken question hanging in the air.

With a deliberate move, you reached out, your fingers gently threading through his short, damp hair, the sweat a testament to the passion simmering between you. You felt the tension in his muscles, the coiled energy of his desire, and you wanted to soothe and stoke the fire simultaneously.

Leaning closer, your breath mingled with his, your lips an inch from his, you held his gaze, your eyes conveying the depth of your answer. "This," you whispered, your voice a caress, "is my answer."

Your kiss was a declaration, a surrender to the desire that had been building between you. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a language of passion and consent, your lips moving against his with a hunger that matched his own.

Sylus responded with fervor, his hands cupping your face, his kiss deepening as he claimed your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual rhythm. The kiss was an affirmation, a seal on the unspoken agreement, a promise of pleasure to come.

With deliberate slowness, Sylus lowers himself, his hands trailing down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His lips brush against your skin, tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone, the warmth of his breath a teasing promise of pleasure. Your body responds, a shiver running through you as he kisses his way down, leaving a trail of molten heat.

When he reaches the apex of your thighs, his touch is gentle yet insistent, coaxing your legs apart with a confidence that leaves you breathless. He pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, seeking that final confirmation, that last unspoken consent. The intensity of his gaze is a question, a challenge, and an invitation all at once.

"Say it, kitten," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. "Tell me what you want."

Your breath catches, the words tangled in your throat, a heady mix of need and anticipation. "J-just go down there already...," you manage, your voice a whisper, a plea, and a command all at once.

With a wicked grin, he lowers his head, his lips finding your clit with a precision that makes you gasp, your back arching off the bed in response. His tongue is a velvet caress, teasing and tormenting, each flick and swirl sending jolts of pleasure through you. He takes his time, savoring every moan, every shiver, guiding you to the brink with a skillful patience that leaves you trembling.

Your body quivered with the intense pleasure as Sylus's skilled tongue danced over your sensitive bud, sending sparks of delight through your core. "It's...too much, Sylus..." you whimpered, your voice a breathless plea, your fingers tightening in his hair, holding on as if seeking solace from the overwhelming sensations.

"You can handle it, kitten," he murmured, his husky low voice sending vibrations through your body. "Let me show you how much more there is to explore."

His tongue, warm and wet, continued its dance, licking and swirling, building the pleasure to a crescendo. Your breath came in short gasps, your body trembling, your hips moving involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.

"Ah....mhgn..." you moaned, your voice a surrender to the sensations. He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound, his tongue increasing its pace, pushing you further into the realm of ecstasy.

"That's it, my love," he encouraged, his voice a low, primal growl. "Let go, let me take you there."

His words, spoken with raw desire, spurred you on, and you surrendered to the climax, your body convulsing under his skilled tongue, your release a powerful wave of pleasure that left you trembling. He continued his oral ministrations, riding the waves of your orgasm, his tongue moving in rhythm with your body, drawing out the pleasure, ensuring you were sated and satisfied.

As you lay there, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, your body still trembling from the intense orgasm Sylus had coaxed from you, he smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're so responsive," he whispered, his fingers trailing along your sensitive skin, making you shiver under his touch. "Just as I imagined."

"I need a moment…" you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your body still recovering from the overwhelming waves of pleasure. But Sylus, ever relentless, leaned in closer, his intentions clear and unwavering. His fingers found their way to your soaked core, teasing the sensitive flesh there. The sensation was electric, a jolt that made you gasp and arch instinctively towards him.

"Shh…" he soothed, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Just one more." With that, he slipped another finger inside you, his skilled digits working in perfect harmony, coaxing you to the edge once more. The ache was relentless, a tide that surged through you, each movement of his fingers a spark that ignited your senses.

Your body, still sensitive from the previous orgasm, erupted with ecstasy once again, your inner walls clenching around his fingers, your release a powerful wave that left you trembling and breathless. Sylus, ever attentive, captured your climax with an almost reverent precision, his fingers now drenched in your essence.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste delectable, sweetie" he murmured, his voice a velvet purr that sent another shiver down your spine. "I think we're both ready for the main course now, though."

With a fluid motion, Sylus rose, his fingers deftly working the zipper of his pants, the metallic sound slicing through the air like a promise. He freed himself, his cock standing proud and ready, a testament to his desire. The sight of it sent a thrill of anticipation through you, a visceral reaction that tightened your core and set your heart racing.

Yet as your eyes traveled the length of him, another feeling began to grow within you, winding its way through the anticipation like a serpent.

Fear.

You'd figured he was big, had felt the weight of him against you in teasing moments, but the reality was something else entirely. His cock was long and thick, a formidable presence marked with prominent veins that seemed to throb with every beat of his heart. It jutted out with an air of authority, each pulse a silent declaration of its intent.

A tremor ran through you, a mix of awe and nervousness. How was that ever supposed to fit inside you? The sheer size of him made your stomach flutter with nerves, a delicious yet daunting challenge.

"I don't think that's going to fit…" you managed to say, your voice a breathless whisper laced with both apprehension and a reluctant excitement. Your eyes were glued to him, unable to look away from the imposing sight of his cock, each moment stretching into the next as you tried to reconcile the image before you with the anticipation of it penetrating through your body.

Sylus, sensing your hesitation, moved closer, a reassuring presence that grounded you in the moment. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a soothing gesture that belied the intensity in his gaze.

"Oh, but it will, sweetie," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Every inch of it. I promise I'll start slow".

His words eased the growing fear in your chest and you nodded, a reassurance that melted some of the nervousness away, leaving in its place a simmering desire to see just how far you could go together. Though you couldn't help but inwardly laugh at his promise to only start slow.

Sylus hovered over you, a smirk playing on his lips, reveling in the power he held in that moment, the anticipation he was crafting with each deliberate movement. He guided the swollen tip of his cock to your entrance, brushing it against your slick folds with a teasing gentleness that made you shiver.

The sensation was electric, a fleeting contact that sent jolts of pleasure zipping through your body, but it was also a maddening tease, leaving you aching and wanting. You tensed, a soft whine escaping your lips as your hips instinctively pressed forward, seeking more, craving the fullness you both needed and desired.

Sylus chuckled softly, his amusement a warm rumble that vibrated through you. He continued the tantalizing game, the head of his cock sliding against you, slick with your arousal, each pass a whisper of what was to come. The teasing was relentless, a slow torture that had your nerves singing, your body begging for more.

Finally, the tension became too much, the need too great. "Please," you breathed, your voice laced with a desperate edge that surprised even you. "Please, I want you inside me."

The words hung in the air, a plea and a command intertwined, and Sylus's expression softened, his teasing smirk giving way to something deeper, more intense. He nodded, positioning himself with care, his hand steady on your hip.

"Tell me if it hurts too much," he instructed, his voice firm yet gentle, a promise of consideration and care. With a slow, deliberate push, he began to enter you, the initial stretch a sweet, exquisite burn. The fullness of him was overwhelming, a delicious pressure that filled you completely, and you gasped, your body adjusting to the intrusion. He let out a soft grunt, clearly experiencing his own sensations.

Sylus's breath was ragged, his voice hoarse as he began to speak, his eyes dark with desire. "You're so tight...fuck," he whispered, his expression intense, a raw display of lust that sent a shiver down your spine. His reaction to your body's response was a powerful affirmation, and it sent your mind reeling.

The sight of Sylus, so consumed by desire, was both thrilling and intense. His raw, unfiltered expression of lust took your breath away, leaving you lightheaded and your body responding instinctively to his, moving in a rhythm that felt like a dance of pleasure and surrender.

You whimpered, a soft sound of discomfort, as the sensation of being stretched by his impressive size became almost overwhelming. "It hurts..." you breathed, your voice a plea, your body squirming beneath his, seeking relief from the intense sensation.

Sylus, sensing your distress, tightened his grip on your hips, his hands firm yet gentle, his body leaning over you, a protective shield. "Don't run from this, sweetie," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "You're doing so well, let me help you through it."

His words, a soothing blend of reassurance and raw desire, eased your nerves, even as your body continued to adjust to the intense sensations. Sylus's strong arms held you firmly, his grip a comforting anchor in the storm of pleasure and pain. He guided you through the intricate dance, his body a source of both comfort and arousal, his movements a delicate balance between pushing you to the edge and providing solace.

"Just breathe, kitten," he murmured, his lips brushing your cheek. "I'm right here with you."

He paused, watching you intently, giving you a moment to acclimate, his presence a comforting weight above you. The sensation was intense, but with each passing second, the discomfort ebbed, replaced by a building pleasure that spread through your body like wildfire.

With your nod of encouragement, he began to move, each thrust a gradual exploration, a dance of desire that left no room for fear, only the shared rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

Sylus began with a gentle rhythm, his thrusts slow and measured, allowing you to savor each inch as he filled you. The initial tension melted away under his careful ministrations, replaced by a growing pleasure that spread through you like honey, sweet and all-consuming.

With every movement, he watched you closely, reading the subtle shifts in your expression, the way your body responded to his. As he sensed your discomfort give way to enjoyment, he gradually increased his pace, each thrust more confident, more insistent.

"God, you feel amazing," he murmured, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "So tight, so perfect… and those sounds you're making, kitten, they're driving me wild."

His words were a heady mix of praise and possession, and you couldn't help but flush under his gaze, the heat of embarrassment mingling with the pleasure coursing through you. All you could manage in response was a series of whines and moans, your voice betraying the intensity of what you were feeling.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if to anchor yourself in the storm of sensation he was creating. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body moving instinctively to meet his, driven by a need that obliterated everything else.

Sylus's pace quickened, his movements a symphony of power and precision that left you breathless, your world narrowing to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of skin against skin, the intoxicating scent of him surrounding you. His whispered words, his touch, the way he moved—it all combined to overwhelm you, leaving you adrift in a sea of sensation.

"You're so beautiful like this," he groaned, his voice rough with desire, and the compliment only added to the fire burning within you. You whimpered, the sound escaping you unbidden, a raw expression of the pleasure that built with each thrust, each breathless moment shared between you.

The crescendo of pleasure swelled between you like a tidal wave, building in intensity with each thrust, each gasped breath. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, the rhythm of your shared desire driving you both to the brink of release. The air was thick with the sounds of your passion, a symphony of moans and gasps that filled the space between you.

Sylus's breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a rough whisper laden with emotion. "I love you," he murmured, the words a caress that wrapped around your heart, grounding you even as the pleasure threatened to sweep you away.

"I love you too," you managed to reply, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment, the truth of your feelings laid bare in the heat of your shared passion.

As you hovered on the precipice, your body tensed with anticipation, you whispered his name, a soft plea that slipped from your lips like a prayer. "Sylus…"

He responded with a low, questioning hum, his voice vibrating through you. "Hm?"

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless plea that sent a shiver down his spine. "Please, cum inside me."

He paused, his movements faltering for a heartbeat as he processed your request, the weight of its implications hanging in the air between you. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice taut with restraint, his desire a palpable force that surrounded you.

You nodded, the movement small but certain, meeting his gaze with a steady intensity that left no room for doubt. "You said you'd give me anything, and this is what I want most right now."

The world seemed to narrow to that single moment, the connection between you electric and alive. You could practically see his pupils dilate, his eyes darkening with a mix of lust and something deeper, something more profound.

With your consent granted, Sylus's restraint unraveled, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate as he chased the release you both craved. The pleasure built to a fever pitch, the pressure within you coiling tighter and tighter until it shattered, your body convulsing around him in a blinding wave of ecstasy.

With a final, deep thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt, his body taut and trembling as he reached the pinnacle of his pleasure. It was as if time suspended, the world narrowing to the intense connection forged between you, the shared pulse of desire that bound you together.

His release came in a series of powerful, pulsing waves, a hot flood that filled you completely, marking you as his in the most primal sense. The sensation was overwhelming, a liquid heat that spread through you, claiming every inch of your being. It was an intimate surrender, a mingling of bodies and souls that left no room for anything but the raw, undiluted truth of the moment.

Sylus's breath was ragged in your ear, his voice a low, guttural moan that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You felt his body shudder against yours, the aftershocks of his climax reverberating through both of you, a shared symphony of sensation that left you breathless.

As the fervor of the night began to settle and both of you lay entwined together, breathing heavily in the dim glow of the room, he stirred beside you.

His hand gently brushed your hair back from your face, his voice soft but sincere. “I'll help you clean up,” he murmured, his concern evident even through the haze of his own exhaustion.

But you shook your head and clung to him tightly, unwilling to let go. Your fingers curled against his skin as you whispered, “Stay.” You didn’t want to lose the warmth of him, the sense of connection that still lingered between you.

You didn’t want to lose his seed either—not yet, not now.

He sighed, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest, and leaned back into the embrace, unable to say no. “You’re so needy,” he teased, his tone playful but filled with affection. The corners of his mouth quirked up as he pressed a kiss to your temple, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin.

But you were already drifting, your eyelids heavy, lulled by the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your cheek. Cocooned in his arms, wrapped in the intimate quiet of the moment, you felt a contentment you hadn’t realized was possible. This was no longer just passion—it was something deeper, something unshakable. Things between you were now more certain, more official than they had ever been, and the thought filled you with an overwhelming happiness.

In the comfort of his embrace, you surrendered to sleep, knowing you were exactly where you belonged.

[p1astr81]

Casually mentioning being watched could be hot and oscar arranging for Lando to watch the both of you as a birthday treat.

warnings: exhibition, voyeurism, lando has a gay awakening😭, unprotected piv (just wrap it mate), oral (f&m receiving), rough sex, reverse cowgirl, dacryphilia

Oscar didn’t go out often, but when he did, you were sure to take advantage of it.

The congested crowds, loud music, people too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to what was going on around them. It all made it too easy for you to rile Oscar up, get him all hot and bothered so by the time you make it back to the hotel, he’s handling you like a rag doll.

This time, you were standing with your back to his chest. Your ass purposely rubbed against his crotch, and you could feel him grow harder with every sway of your hips. His hands found your curves there, halting your motions. He lowered his lips to your ear. “Lando’s watching.” He muttered.

Sure enough, lando stood with Alex and George across the room, pretending to nod along to their conversation. Unfortunately for him, his wandering eyes weren’t very secretive.

Nor was the tent in his dress pants.

You bit your lip, looking over your shoulder. “I think he’s rather enjoying the show.” You pointed out.

But Oscar didn’t notice Lando’s excitement at the scene. That was thrown to the back of his mind when you ground your ass against him harder than you had previously. “I think you’re enjoying his gaze.” He chuckled.

Spinning on your heels, you faced him now, arms tightening around his neck. “Hm, I don’t know.” You shrugged, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “I think being watched could be hot.”

When you pulled away, he laughed at the wicked smirk on your face. His gaze flicked from your eyes to Lando. Oscar could tell the older man was now trying desperately to not turn his gaze back in the direction of the couple.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth on you.”

“Even dirtier mind.”

The hotel door was thrown open. It hadn’t even clicked closed before Oscar pounced on you. “Happy birthday,” he rasped into your mouth, swallowing the moans that escaped you when he squeezed your ass.

“Thanks, winner.” You grinned, hands trailing under his shirt before you pulled it over his head with a practiced ease. He cocked his head at that, hands on your hips, taking control easily. Your legs hit the bed, falling to the mattress with a gracious ease, hair splayed like a goddess. A ravenous groan vibrated his chest while his hands snaked under your dress to curl his fingers around your lacy panties. He didnt need to ask questions, you were already moaning in anticipation, “please, Osc I need you so bad.”

He chuckled, shoving the dress over your head, but taking his sweet time to pull your panties down your legs. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips at how wet you were.

“Please,”

He didn’t make you wait any longer, dipping his head between your legs. The usual teasing kisses to your folds was skipped and he dove his tongue right into you. “Oh, fuck!” You shouted, shocked at the intrusion.

Like a lion starved, he devoured you from the inside out. The air was filled with the sounds of his slick while he messily ate you out and sucked on your clit like it was his own personal lollipop. Your hands thread through his hair, back arching off the bed, hips grinding against his face. “Fuck, you’re so good a this,” you gasped, trying—and failing—to catch your breath.

His hands found purchase in your thighs, fingertips digging into the skin there. “Osc! I’m so close! Please-“ you gasped, the both of you pausing at the knock on the door.

Pulling away, Oscar’s mouth and chin were coated in your juices while he grinned at you. He wiped his face with his middle two fingers before slipping them into his mouth an sucking them clean, all while keeping his eyes on yours.

A loud whine escaped you involuntarily. You shooed him off to the door when there was another knock, then scrambled up the bed, legs curled to your chest in an attempt to cover your most intimate parts.

Lando stood in front of a shirtless Oscar, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I heard you already started.” He attempted to ease his own nerves by getting Oscar to laugh. For Lando’s sake, thank god he did.

“Yeah, come in.”

Your brows furrowed hearing Oscar’s words, scrambling for the sheets. They were tucked in place, leaving you vulnerable to the lustful gaze of your boyfriend’s partner.

“Lando-“ your eyes searched the room for an answer.

Oscar graced you with one. “You said you thought it would be hot, so…” he gestured to Lando, “happy birthday.”

“Are you both okay with this?”

The older man groaned, his eyes hadn’t left your partially exposed pussy. “Fuck yes.” He gasped, jumping to the bed and trying to crawl up it to get a taste of you.

Your foot hit his chest, keeping him at a distance. At the same time, it exposed more of you to him and the boy fucking whined like a wounded puppy, palming himself through his pants.

Oscar grabbed him by his collar, effortlessly removing him from the bed. “I said you could watch. Not join.” He booted him off to the couch adjacent to the bed. It was a perfect view.

You sat for a moment, pitying the fool. “Perhaps if he’s good?”

Scoffing, he shook his head. Not a disagreement, but bewilderment. “You’re a filthy girl.”

“I think you secretly love it.” You whispered against his lips before kissing him. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and filthy moans.

You were distracted, and he took the opportunity to stuff two of his fingers into your crying cunt. You cried out as his long fingers repeatedly slam into your g-spot. “Fuck, fuck,” you panted, gripping onto his arms. “Hmmm! I’m gonna-!”

He moaned as he felt your liquids gush all over his fingers, your back arching off the bed while your mouth hung open in a silent scream.

One hand of his continued to pump inside you, slowing, helping you come down. The other ran up and down your side, soothing you. “That’s it,” he encouraged, soft kisses finding your face.

He let you come back down to earth before flipping you over, mangling your body into reverse cowgirl. “Look at him,” Oscar muttered in your ear, his hand steady on your jaw. At who? You’d almost asked before your eyes found Lando. You forgot he was there. “Look at how bad he wants to join, how hard he’s gripping that couch. God, his knuckles are turning white.” His teeth grazed your ear. “Bet you want him to join, huh? Show me what a filthy girl you really are, how much of a slut you can be.”

You whimpered, feeling his hard dick pressing into your clit. “Please, Oscar,” you breathed, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder.

“Yeah? Want him to fuck you in front of me?”

You shook your head quickly. “Want you.”

Holy fuck, Lando’s brain was going crazy. He didn’t know what to focus on. The curve of your tits, how perky and on display they were for him—that was the obvious answer. But fucking hell, the way Oscar spoke to you in that low voice and commanded your attention so easily, that really seemed to do something to him.

Oscar didn’t wait for you to beg any more, lifting your hips and slamming you down onto his cock. “Oh, fuck!” You gasped, eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sudden intrusions

“Cmon baby, you want it?”

You nodded.

“Then take it.”

You tried to, you really did. Tried to bounce on his dick and show him that you were only a slut for him. But your attempts were feeble, too clouded by the pleasure—you just couldn’t get more than a few bounces in before stopping because it felt too good.

“Already fucked out and you’ve only cum on my fingers.” He feigned sympathy.

Hands gripping your hips, he took control. The speed at which he was forcing you to ride him made it evident he didn’t care about prolonging the pleasure. He just wanted to see how quick he could make you break.

It was a welcome switch up from his usual form in bed. He tended to be more gentle, favoring to make it feel more like a connection than a simple pleasure escapade.

He let your body drop, propping your ass up and fucking you from behind. He used your hips as leverage, pumping his cock into you like you were merely an object for his enjoyment. Gasps and moans of his name were the only coherent noises you could make.

It felt heavenly, and tears started to brim your eyes. Moans were punched from your lungs with every harsh thrust of his.

Lando—forgotten about by you, but not by Oscar—was fully losing it. He couldn’t stop squirming. He should’ve looked away, spared himself some of the torture. But he couldn’t. And truthfully, he was beginning to question himself. He didn’t know if he’d rather be in Oscar’s position, or yours.

“Touch yourself.” Oscar commanded of him.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved his pants down his feet, along with his boxers. A shuttered moan left his lips as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. “Fuck,” he whispered, matching the fisting of his cock to the pace of Oscar’s thrusts. He was losing himself quickly, his moans mixing with yours and Oscar’s grunts and the lewd wet squelches.

God, if anyone were to walk by…

A new sound joined the symphony—a choked cry, followed by a desperate plea of Oscar’s name.

Lando gripped his cock harder at the sight of tears rolling down your face.

Scared he’d hurt you, Oscar slowed down. “No!” You interjected quickly. “Don’t stop, I’m so close!” You balled the sheets up in your fist as Oscar’s thrusts sped up again. His hand snaked down to your clit, fingers pressing hard and rubbing in tight circles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, please Oscar!” You cried, feeling his full fingernails dig into the skin of your hip.

Your eyes focused on lando, then trailed lower, lower until-

“Oh, fuck! Oscar, yes!” You came with a shout, the sight of Lando getting himself off to your activities pushing you over the edge.

Oscar spilled inside of you as soon as he felt you squeeze around him. He groaned your name, the loudest sound of the night. He fucked through your highs until he heard your little whimpers of overstimulation. He was careful when pulling out, planting soft kisses up the curve of your spine. “Did so good for me, my pretty baby.” He muttered into your skin, earning a soft mewl.

Across the room, Lando was still trying to reach his own orgasm, whimpering with each stroke of his own hand. He was desperate for it, you could hear it in his noises, and see that in the way his head was thrown back and his eyes were squeezed shut.

When Oscar stepped out of the room to retrieve a towel, you crawled from the bed. You stopped right in front of Lando, on your knees. He hadn’t noticed you.

Your boyfriend returned and you gave him the widest, biggest doe eyes you’d ever given him. “Os,” you whined, pouting.

Lando’s eyes shot open. He hadn’t even known you were there—lips inches from his leaking tip—until you’d spoken.

“Go on, help him out.” Oscar gestured.

You gave your doe eyes to Lando while you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. “Huh, fuck,” he groaned, involuntarily thrusting into your mouth.

“Nah uh, let her do the work.” Oscar instructed, nodding to where you were now bobbing your head up and down his length. Still giving him those big glassy eyes. Oscar sat next to Lando.

The older man was approaching his peak quick, faster than he’d ever before. “Fucking hell, she’s good.”

Oscar chuckled, “I know. Who do you think taught her?”

What a stupid question, lando thought—only because it put an equally stupid image in his head: Oscar sucking him off instead.

“Oh!” Lando shouted, spilling his release down your throat without warning. He wasn’t even thinking, and grabbed hold of Oscar’s throat, kissing him.

Your brows shot up, moaning around Lando dick at the sight. You felt him soften in your mouth, releasing him with a pop. You giggled at the stunned look on both men’s faces.

“Mate I’m not-“ Oscar started.

“No, no I know.” Lando interjected. “I think I’m into guys.” He confessed, panting.

You hid your giggle behind your hand—albeit, not that well. “You think?”