𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

ahh hello lovely!! Your Sinful Soiree is gorgeous and looks so fun! So excited to read what you make for it.

And would love to send something in! I think about your kinktober Obi-Wan all the time, would love to please request something for him + this prompt: “shh. there’s people in the other room.”

Hope you have a great day! 💖💕

SWEETENED CRAVINGS

a/n: so i sat on this for a bit trying to find the inspo for obi-wan again. but i seriously didn't expect to get it back to this degree. i wrote this quickly and possibly not even paying attention to what i was putting on the paper because my mind was going a mile a minute. so this is probably extremely messy, but i hope you enjoy it darling. (also thank you for reigniting my love for this man. i am now swooning again).

summary: "he’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved."

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, bad explanation of the force, cumplay, cumeating, obi-wan being a tease, possible exhibitionism (if you squint with a magnifying glass).

If you could scream, you would. You would allow every sound you pushed down, every whimper you bit back, free. In fact you wanted to hear it echo around you. Until he went deaf with it. Although knowing him, he’d want that too. He’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved.

“F-Fuck. Obi—” Your head fell back against the wall behind you, nails digging into the rough fabric of his robes.

His eyes met yours, the brilliant blue still stealing your breath after so many months of seeing them like this. Darkened with a lust that reverberated through your entire body. A feeling unlike any other. When in fact it was you that showed it to him first. You who got to watch as he discovered what real pleasure felt like—what it did to his psyche.

“I know darling,” he whispered, his lips glistening in you.

One hand gripped your leg that was slung over his shoulder, the other focused on prolonging every little sensation that coursed through you. His fingers curled, brushing against a spot that he always found with astounding accuracy every time. And he watched—a small smile playing on his lips—as you nearly crumpled in on yourself. A sharp gasp leaving your mouth.

“I can’t…” Oh but you wanted to. You wanted to dig your hands into his hair and drag him back to your cunt that practically pulsed with each shift of his hand. You needed to fall off that cliff.

“Yes,” he said, his voice slipping into a tone you were rather familiar with. A demand that only came from a general in war. “You will.”

Nodding without another thought on the matter, you felt his tongue slip back through your folds. A sound clawed up the back of your throat as heat filled your stomach, spreading to the very tips of your fingers. But you fought against it. Did whatever you could to hold it back in your chest. Except then he sucked your clit into his mouth, a soft moan reverberating through your entire body.

A cry tore from your throat, your thighs shaking in his grip. You were right there. And you tried to drag it closer, allowing it to fill your entire being with that white hot burn you loved. You craved it. Desperately needed the sweetness that only he could give to spread along your tongue, but you felt it began to fade. Whatever licked hotly at the edge, sunk back into the darkness.

“No,” you gasped. “No, please. Please I want to—”

He rose to his feet, his hand covering your mouth with fingers that were still covered in your slick. “I know. I know what you want.”

A muffled whine echoed beneath his palm. You hoped that the sound would spur him on; show him how much you needed him to continue. Yet it only made him smile. A light in his eyes that told you he wasn’t done with you yet. Far from it.

Shuffling with one hand, he pulled at his robes with a speed that suggested he wasn’t as calm and collected as you expected him to be. In fact, seeing you like this—tasting you on his tongue—drove him to the brink of a madness he could no longer deny. A state of being he’d happily settle in permanently.

He gripped your leg, hooking it around his hip as the firm head of his cock swiped through your folds. Sending a shiver through your entire body. A broken moan escaping you. He nudged at your clit, his hot breath panting across your skin, and you nearly told him to get it over with. To finally give you what you both wanted. But the feeling of him sinking into you completely, until his hips met yours, sent your head flying back. A ragged cry slipping free.

“Darling,” he grunted, his forehead falling against your temple, eyes squeezed shut.

You couldn’t even get coherent words out, a muffled sound coming out louder than you intended. That only made him press his hand down harder, his lips coming up to your ear, the soft grunt he let out shaking your entire being.

“Shh. There’s people in the other room.” He kissed the spot beneath your ear that sent a shiver down your spine. “I need you to be quiet for me. Can you do that? Can you be good?”

You’d go out onto a fucking battlefield with no weapons at this point. As long as he continued with whatever he had planned. Obi-Wan controlled your entire being, bending you to his will, and you happily allowed it. What more could you want? When he held you like the most precious thing in the galaxy; when he looked at you like you were his north star. His eternal light in the battle against darkness.

Nodding, you felt him pull out slightly, only to press back in with a stunted thrust that had his head falling forward. Neither of you would last very long—not with the prospect of possibly getting caught hanging over your heads. Whichever of you thought fucking in the Jedi Temple was a good idea was certainly not thinking about the consequences.

“So tight,” he gasped, his other hand pulling your leg up higher, allowing him to sink in a bit deeper.

His body shook, teeth digging into his bottom lip, as he realized just how quickly this would be over. Obi-Wan—though a little more experienced than last time—still found himself unable to hold on at times. Not when your walls were so tight around his cock. Each flutter sending him a little higher, the self control he prided himself on, slipping further and further away.

“I’ve got you.”

Another short stunted thrust caused your hips to hit the wall softly, but it did exactly what you needed. His cock pressed against that blinding spot that had your eyes welling up with tears. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, eyes rolling back as the release he had built up suddenly came roaring back.

“So fucking perfect,” he muttered, his speed quickening to chase that feeling he felt build up in the base of his spine. “So good for me darling.”

A whimper was pressed into his palm, your hips canting up to match his thrusts with weak movements.

“I’ve got you.” He gasped, his forehead falling to yours. “I want to feel it. Please. I need it.”

He slammed into you, feeling your cunt clamp down around him as you clawed at his back. Ripping his hand away, his lips pressed against yours, swallowing every sound you made and giving you his in return. He grunted with each thrust, your slick coating the coarse hair at the base of his cock and giving him a chance to perfectly grind against your clit.

“I-” You pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips together. “I’m—oh—”

 “Yes,” he panted, his tongue sliding against yours, hand moving down to grip your hip. “Let me feel you.”

One final grind of his hips against yours sent the wave of bliss you’d been grasping for through you. A sob of his name was swallowed by his fervent kiss, your spine arching until you were pressed fully into him. Something burst forward, enveloping him whole, and it was only when he shuddered finally reaching his own peak, did you realize it was you.

A bright light of a feeling you could only define as purely Obi-Wan shoved into your body, sending you higher than before. He cried into your mouth, his hand slapping against the wall beside your head as he shook, sinking into the heat of the Force that you drowned him in.

“Fuck,” you sighed when you finally began to come down, your head spinning from the high that still lingered in your body. Sparking up and down your spine.

He chuckled, remaining as close to you as possible, even as his cock softened inside you. “I believe we got a bit carried away.”

You smiled, cupping the back of his neck. “So much for being quiet.”

“I can come up with an explanation for the noise.”

You scoffed. “And what pray tell is this explanation? I apologize for the noise but I couldn’t stop myself from eating out my lover in an empty room.”

His cheeks stained red until it crept up to his ears. “Something of the sort.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’d much rather prefer the term intelligent.”

You laughed, feeling his lips press against your neck, his own smile curving against your skin. “Whatever you say General Kenobi.”

A soft growl echoed in his chest at the sound of you using his title, his teeth digging into your throat. You sighed softly at the feeling of his cock twitching in curiosity, the knowledge that you wouldn’t be leaving this room any time soon now dawning on you.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his hips pushing forward, eliciting a high keening moan from your throat.

“G-General—” His thumb spread the mixture of your cum along your swollen clit, pressing down until your hips jerked forward—painful sparks shooting up your body.

“Good girl.” A wide smile curved on his mouth, the thumb that had been against your clit, now running along your bottom lip, opening you up. “Now.” He moaned at the feel of your tongue against his finger. “Where was I?”

Following Instructions

[Explicit] AO3

Silco x f!reader, BDSM, Smut, Established Relationship, Impact Play, Spanking, Sex Toys, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Dom Silco, Dom/sub, Praise Kink, degradation kink, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Aftercare

Word count: 3.7k

Inspired by an impact play session/demo I got to enjoy this weekend, I wrote a Silco/reader fic. Thanks to my bestie for the lesson and my husband for indulging me and learning alongside me.

Silco does not take kink lightly. If you cannot follow his rules, he will not indulge you in your fantasies. You try impact play for the first time with your pain and pleasure entrusted to his practiced hands.

"Knees on the bench, elbows on the bed."

Standing in Silco's bedroom, your body buzzes with anticipation and anxiety. You've been wanting to try this for a while, but wanting and actually doing are two very different things.

A bench with a red velvet cushion on top of it sits at the foot of Silco's bed. When you kneel on top of it and bend over as instructed, you realize just how perfect the position and height is for both of you for this activity. Makes sense, given that's the exact reason he has such a piece of furniture.

The cushion is soft against your knees, but not nearly as soft as the thick comforter that lay across Silco's bed. Rich textures tickle your forearms and your palms as you get into position.

"Now repeat to me what we're doing."

Silco's voice is even, a calmness that comes with the quiet confidence he exudes. But you can hear the hint of possessiveness underneath it and it sends heat to pool in your core.

You wet your lips and nod. Silco was very clear that, if you cannot speak explicitly about what you're doing, what you're comfortable with, and what the rules are, he would not be indulging you in this. The professionalism you've come to admire as his business associate does not end at the bedroom door. If anything, he's even more strict.

"You will be…hitting— spanking me…"

Out of your periphery, you see him nod, beckoning you on.

"With a series of instruments."

The aforementioned instruments lay on the bed in front of you, just out of your reach. Silco has four in order of severity. Before you had crossed the threshold into his bedroom, he had made it clear that you are fully in charge of how many of these he will use. He had also told you what type of pain to expect from each.

"Good."

Your walls clench. He prompts you again.

"Where?"

"My… ass."

You hear footsteps behind you as he paces, watching.

"And?"

"The back of my thighs."

More footsteps. He walks into your line of sight, appearing to the side of the bed. A slender arm reaches down and picks up a leather paddle, its handle about five inches long. The business end of it is a rectangle about seven by three inches wide.

He straightens up, mismatched eyes locking with yours.

"What are you to do after each hit?"

You recall his instructions and recite them out.

"Tell you a number from 1-10 on my pain scale."

He nods, his left hand bracing the flexible paddle as he rests the flat end on the palm of his right.

"For today, the highest I will do for you is seven."

You nod.

"I will not do anything past seven until I've deemed you've had enough personal sessions with me."

He leans forward bringing you almost nose-to-nose.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Your throat bobs.

"Yes."

His eyebrows cocks.

"Yes, sir," you're quick to correct yourself.

He straightens back up, hiding the instrument of your pain and—if this goes as you think it will—pleasure behind his back before stepping out of your view to hover behind you.

"Last question. What do each of the colors mean?"

Your lips part as your eyebrows furrow, confused. But then, you suddenly remember.

"Green means to keep going. Yellow means pause or I need a break."

"And red?"

"Stop everything entirely."

You hear the unmistakable sound of leather creaking as Silco's grip tightens around the slapper. Your heart is in your throat, the molten lava in your core growing even hotter by the second as you wait. As you kneel with nothing but a pair of lace panties on, you wonder if Silco can see how wet the fabric is getting as it clings to your pussy.

"Good girl."

Your walls clench again and you almost sigh from his voice alone.

"Eyes forward."

Your eyes stare ahead at the wooden headboard. And then—

Thwack!

Silco hits your right cheek. The strength behind it is weak but your hips jump forward nonetheless, startled by the sensation.

That wasn't too bad.

Silco clears his throat behind you.

"One."

Thwack!

Silco hits the exact same spot again, this time with a bit more force behind it. You can feel the sting of his swing, a wonderful warmth blooming on your skin.

"Two."

Footsteps. And then—

Thwack!

Silco strikes you on the left cheek to even out the sensation. A small sigh escapes your lips and your eyes flutter closed. For a moment, you forget yourself, lost to the buzzing feeling in your head and the stinging sensation on your ass.

Silco says your name sternly.

"Sorry, sir!" You squeak out. "Three."

Thwack!

"Ah!"

Your voice comes out as a startled cry, Silco's timing between hits speeding up. You want it again, so you try to think of a number as quickly as your lust-adled brain can conjure.

"Three."

Thwack!

Silco hits the back of your right thigh and a low moan hums along your throat. You press your face into the mattress, eyes closed and lips curled into a drunken smile. Heat pools between your legs and you let you mouth fall open to let out a contented sigh. As you do, your number tumbles past your lips.

"Five."

Thwack!

Same intensity, other thigh. 

Your fingers dig into the comforter, balling up the fabric into your palms as you let out another sigh. 

Silco lets you savor the moment, not prompting for your number just yet. You wiggle your hips happily as you feel your pulse in your skin, little fires all along the places he's hit you.

Your head feels light, your thoughts a blank slate. All you are is this moment with Silco.

In his bedroom.

Face against the sheets.

Ass in the air.

Your pain and pleasure entrusted to his practiced hands.

"Five," you sigh.

Silco hums behind you. You can feel his warmth as he steps a bit closer. Without warning, he starts to tap the paddle against your right cheek, light and fast. Each slap is only a one on the pain scale, but he's doing each in such quick succesion that it makes your head buzz. There's a wonderful fluttering sound as the leather continues to slap your ass, a sweet stinging against your skin.

He adjust his grip and gives your left cheek the same treatment. Light taps, as if he's trying to keep the warmth underneath your skin from cooling down.

Just as you think he'll maybe do the same treatment to your thighs, he adjusts his stance, pulls his arm back, and sends the paddle thundering onto your right cheek.

Thwack!

"Ahhh!"

Your walls clench as your pussy weeps to soak your panties. Speechless, you arch your back as you ride out the stinging sensation. You can feel pleasure coursing through your veins, radiating outward from your ass until it's rushing through your limbs and settling behind your eyes.

Silco calls your name, a little warmer than before.

"Seven," you whisper.

Thwack!

Equal strength, left cheek.

A long, low, wanton moan purrs along your throat. You find your breath growing shallower as the line in your stomach tightens. You're desperate for friction against your core, to feel Silco's skin on yours. 

While you and Silco have had sex before, it was never after something like this. Before this session, Silco had made it clear that sex was most certainly on the table for tonight and that all you need is ask.

Correctly.

"Sir?" 

Your voice is shaky with anticipation.

"Yes."

"May I…"

He hums and your walls clench at the low rumble.

"May I have your fingers, please?"

Silco steps forward to stand next to you, one warm hand pressed against your left cheek where he struck you. He rubs soft circles into your skin and you hum, content.

"Just my fingers?"

Your throat bobs.

"I want your fingers and then your cock."

He hums in understanding as he soothes the ache in your other cheek with his hand.

"You're done with the demonstration?" he asks.

There's no disappointment or teasing in his tone. Simply asking for full clarity.

You nod your head. He squeezes your ass in response, his instruction from earlier ringing in your head.

I will not accept any non-verbal answers. You must use your voice to answer me.

"Sorry! Yes, sir."

There's a soft thud as Silco tosses the paddle onto the bed to join its unused brethren.

The hand at your ass smooths down, led by the pad of his middle finger. It glides along your panties until his hand is cupping your mound. Your walls clench and you briefly wonder if he could feel it.

He leans down, bringing his chest to push against your shoulder blade, his nose pressed into your hair. His breath is warm as he whispers into your ear and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of being caged by his body.

"Are you done taking orders?"

"No, sir," you reply immediately.

The pads of his middle and ring fingers find your entrance and massage it over your panties. 

"Mmmm," you hum, smiling.

"You want to be my plaything?"

You wet your lips, arousal soaking through the fabric of your panties to reach Silco's fingers.

"Yes, sir."

You're rewarded for your ability to follow instructions with Silco's hands dipping under the waistband of your underwear to pull them down. You shimmy your hips as he does. You feel his hands maneuver your legs so he can fully slide them off you.

With your panties discarded to the floor, you're now fully naked, still on your knees with your ass in the air. 

Silco's hand is at your core again and you feel as if you're going to melt and fuse with the comforter with how good you're feeling. He coats his fingertips in your arousal and the skin to skin contact has you so high you might as well be on shimmer.

"You want these fingers?"

"Yes, sir."

A beat.

"Beg."

You let out a whimper, unable to form words with how desperate you are for relief. Finally, you find your voice.

"Please, sir! Please fill me up with your fingers. I need them inside me."

His fingertips massage your entrance and you mewl at the sensation.

There's a melody behind his voice when he speaks, a teasing, playful tone.

"What pretty begging."

He dips just the tips of two fingers into your pussy, leaving you wanting.

"But I think you can do better."

You whimper again, searching for the right words.

"Please, sir. I only want you. I don't want anyone else inside me. My pussy is all yours."

Both fingers breach your entrance, pushing into you until they can't push in any deeper. Your walls stretch around him and your voice comes out as a low moan. Silco curls his fingers and it almost threatens to send you over the edge.

For a moment, you can't decide how you want to come. Wait for his cock? Come on his fingers? If you come on his fingers now, will he let you come on his cock, too? Will he let you have multiple orgasms or limit you to one?

When all else fails, ask the question.

"Sir?"

"Yes."

"I'm — ah! — getting close."

He hums as if taking notes.

"May I come on your fingers and your cock?"

Another hum, this one with more teasing behind it.

"Such a greedy girl."

You moan at his words.

"Haven't come once and you're already wanting more."

As you continue to have this strained conversation, Silco's fingers curl within you. Meanwhile, your clit has gone completely untouched and seemingly isn't even necessary. You've never felt that before. You've always needed clit stimulation. But with the impact play as foreplay, you're so close already without him even getting close to it.

Your mind scrambles.

"I— I'll come as many times as you want me to."

He chuckles.

For the first time since you entered his domain, you panic. You realize you left yourself open to a very terrible possibility, one you know Silco would notice.

Your assessment is correct as Silco's voice teases behind you.

"Even if that number is zero?"

Your mouth opens and closes idly like a gaping fish. Maybe begging for at least one could work? But something deep within you wants to show just how dutiful you can be, just how well you can follow his instruction. 

And, hell, maybe if you deny yourself orgasm tonight, it'll make the next one even wilder when he does let you do it.

"Yes…sir."

Then, Silco does the most startling thing since you started the entire session. Fingers still curling within you, he leans forward, uses his free hand to swipe your hair away from your neck, and plants a tender kiss to the space between your shoulder blades. It's quick and soft and warm. When he straightens up, you realize you would do absolutely anything for this man.

"Don't worry. It's your first time."

His fingers pick up pace and your walls clench around them in response.

"I won't be that cruel."

The wet sounds of him pleasuring you and his words confirming he won't deny you your orgasm sends you toppling over the edge. Your voice cries out in a long moan as you come undone around him, pleasure flooding your system and making your body feel weightless. He guides you through it, pumping and curling his fingers into you as your walls flutter and pulse.

As the feeling subsides, Silco pulls his fingers out of you. You bask in the afterglow, right side of your face pressed into the mattress as your eyes drift closed.

Then, you feel something at your lips. You open your eyes to see Silco's hand—wet with your arousal—pushing two fingers into your mouth.

"Suck," he instructs.

Obediently, you suck on your own juices. As you do, you can hear and feel Silco's free hand working the button on the front of his pants.

"Very good girl," he hums.

Your walls flutter weakly.

He pulls his fingers from you with a pop and you swallow down your release, humming contently.

In your blissed out state, Silco rubs the head of his cock along your entrance, coating himself in your arousal.

"What a pretty little thing you are."

His cock slides along your folds and for the first time, you feel him rub your clit. A soft moan hums in the back of your throat.

"What pretty little sounds you make."

You whimper in response and you feel his cock stutter a little in reply.

"Does my pretty little thing want my cock?"

You hum, content to be used by him.

"Yes, sir."

He leans forward. The intricate textures of his waistcoat dig into your back as he brings his lips to your ear. He whispers and you can hear the slight shake behind his words as he allows himself to get excited.

"The only word I want to hear from your mouth from here on out is my name. No more 'yes, sir' or 'please,sir.' Do you understand?"

"Ye—"

You catch yourself.

A pause.

You nod.

"Good girl."

Silco's cock pushes into you inch by glorious inch, stretching your walls so that you feel the fullest you've felt since the last time you two fucked. The position allows him to push himself all the way to the hilt, reaching deep, deep within you.

"Silco!" you cry out, hips jumping as you feel his pelvis flush with your ass.

His hands are at your waist, long fingers curled around you as if to say, "Mine."

Silco pulls his hips back to draw his cock along your walks before pistoning forward again.

"Ah! Silco!"

Again and again, Silco's fingernails dig into your waist as he pulls out to the head of his cock before slamming forcefully back in. Over and over in a steady rhythm.

Slow out.

Fast in.

"My sweet girl," he hums, voice ragged with desire. "Being ravaged by my cock."

You whimper at the juxtaposition of his words, the tone of his voice, the heat of his hands on you. You want to hear more. More dirty words. More shaky breaths. But with only one word at your disposal, how can you make your desire known?

"Ah!" You hang onto the bed, desperate for release. "Silco?"

"Yes? What do you want?"

You let out a whine, needy and long.

"Do you want my fingers?"

That actually didn't even occur to you. While, yes, you would love his fingers at your clit, that's not actually what you think you'll need to send you over the edge. Not today. 

You shake your head.

He hums in surprise. He does nothing to hide the curiosity in his tone.

"You don't want my fingers?"

You nod.

"Then what do you want?"

You desperately look over your shoulder. Quickly you lock eyes with him. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead and the messy look causes you to clench your walls around him. As soon as you know you have his attention, you dart your eyes to his lips, lingering there for a moment before going back up to his eyes.

Understanding slowly paints across his face.

"You want me to keep talking?"

Your eyes alight and you nod enthusiastically.

He chuckles.

"Oh, my dear," he growls as he presses his chest into your back. "I'm happy to oblige."

His pace quickens and you can feel his cock harden further within you.

"Does my little toy want me to tell them how good they've been?"

Your eyes flutter closed and you press your forehead against the bedding, mouth hanging open as you sigh and moan.

"You've been so good for me," he whispers. "So obedient. So clever."

Silco lets out a groan of his own and you answer back with the only word you're allowed.

"Silco!"

"I must admit…" he continues to rut into you, less pistoning and more grinding into you, his cock seated deep within you as he does short staccato thrusts. "I am—ngh!— impressed by how quickly you picked it all up."

"Ah!"

"It's as if this is what you've always wanted," he growls, low and predatory.

"To be trained."

His speed picks up.

"To be used."

You feel your body relaxing into the sensation, your building climax promising to be the strongest you've ever had in your life.

"To be mine."

"Silco!" You cry out as you tumble head first into your orgasm, your walls fluttering and milking Silco's cock as he too reaches his peak. He lets out a long, low groan as he drives himself deep into you and halts, his cock pulsing and drawing out your pleasure.

You feel euphoric and weightless as the sensation goes on and on, flooding your senses. As your body ascends to the heavens, you have one fleeting thought.

I don't think I can go back to vanilla sex ever again.

Silco's death grip on your hips finally loosen. You could swear you almost feel the way his hands shake as he pulls out of you. He's about to step away when you stop him.

"Silco."

He wipes his forehead with the back of his clean hand.

"Speak freely."

"Don't go. Not yet." Blindly, you try to reach for one of his hands, which he offers. "We can get clean in a second; I just want your warmth."

He nods. Then, similar to before, he presses his chest against your back, caging you in. The weight of him is comforting and warm, drawing out your afterglow and the heady feeling of subspace.

"Ah, yes," he hums behind you. "It's hard to know what aftercare you want until your first time."

He speaks into your skin, fingers featherlight as they play on your arms.

"You're so good to verbalize so readily."

You hum.

"And you were so good to me," you whisper.

"Yes?"

For the first time, possibly ever, you hear uncertainty in Silco's voice. As calm, collected, and authoritative as Silco is in his daily life as a businessman, he is still, after all, just a man. A man with insecurities. A man capable of caring very deeply for his people. Who wants the best for them.

And does not want to hurt them.

"This was exactly what I was hoping for," you say with a soft, cockdrunk smile on your face. A look you're not sure Silco sees, given how your eyes have fluttered closed yet again. 

"I love the way you made me feel."

Silco shifts above you and you open your eyes to meet his.

"You enjoyed the impact play?"

"I enjoyed you."

His face softens and you continue.

"I don't think I've ever trusted someone as much as I trust you."

The scar at his lips tugs upwards slightly as Silco allows himself to smile.

"I'm glad I could give you that."

He continues to hold you, long after your respective releases have dried on your skin. When finally you signal he can get off you, he does so with a gentle kiss to your hair.

You remain in the same position as Silco retrieves two hand towels from the adjourning bathroom, which he's dampened with warm water from the tap. He carefully wipes you clean with one and then cleans himself with the other, discarding both into a small hamper in the corner.

Then, another unexpected turn. It would seem this encounter with Silco is full of them.

The two of you hadn't discussed what would happen afterward. So it comes as a pleasant surprise when you see Silco start to disrobe until he's as naked as you are. 

His hands at your hips, he guides you into the bed. With a lackadaisical push of his hands, he shoves the four toys onto the floor as he pulls the sheets back for you both. You climb in after him, quick to nuzzle your face to his chest.

In the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his arms, you feel calm. His hand plays with your hair, a light massage on your scalp. After pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he whispers into the small space between you.

"Thank you for this."

Your eyes start to drift closed.

"I would like to do it again, if you're interested."

You hum content, drifting to sleep, two words a soft whisper on your tongue.

"Yes, sir."

A/N: Dom Silco but make it actually have healthy kink practices lol

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @eurydicethesage @thepineapplesimp @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @delta-is-here  @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon @beardedladyqueen

Join my taglist!

Late Night Tutor (BNHA)

Pairing: Shigaraki x Dabi x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Heavy noncon, blood, minor knife play

A/N: Here’s some food uwu

This was a bad idea. A terrible one that you were so stupid to even consider. You frowned at your table, looking at the stacks of textbooks, paper, and pencils and highlighters. Normally, when you tutored people, you would do it at the library. And during the day time. But the two who hired you were so desperate that they insisted it had to be tonight and at your place. For whatever reason.

Keep reading

i am STILL HORNY in the middle of a pandemic. the grind never stops

hi!! can i request a platonic yandere erasermic with a student reader??

Platonic Yandere! Erasermic:

Thanks for requesting! I love yandere Erasermic so much 😤😤 👊

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Platonic Yandere! Erasermic:

The BEST platonic yandere couple to have!

You're a student at UA, part of class 1A. You're Aizawa's favourite student. You're just so polite and so sweet. Always so eager to learn and try out new things. And even the class would notice his special treatment of you. "You forgot to do your homework? Hmm, alright you can submit it to me tomorrow. Denki you forgot to bring your homework? Go run 5 laps right now."

Hizashi would often hear about you from his husband. You sounded like a good kid. But he really became interested you when you came looking for Aizawa in the staff room, but you found him instead. Hizashi started talking to you, really just rambling about the most random things. He was expecting you to just leave and go look for Aizawa, but he was pleasantly surprised when you started talking to him too, easily carrying the conversation. Your eyes would light up when you were talking to him. And since then, you would always give him your complete, undivided attention whenever you guys spoke, no matter what the topic was. You'd sometimes be rambling, and then suddenly forget what you were talking about. It was just so cute!

Gradually, these two would become obsessed with their favourite student. They'd also become very protective of you. When it was time to choose an internship, Aizawa rejected all offers from different agencies on your behalf, lying to you that you didn't get any offers. And then you'd become so sad, near tears and then Aizawa would offer to train you himself, that he sees potential in you. Of course you'd accept, you'd get to train with Eraserhead, a rare opportunity!

When you'd be training with Aizawa, he'd go easy on you, but he'd still give you great tips on how to improve yourself and control your quirk. You still haven't been able to beat him once though. Since you'd be around Aizawa a lot, you'd also meet his partner, Hizashi, often. And since you would accompany Aizawa on his late night patrols, you'd have dinner (made by Hizashi, who's more than happy to cook for you) with them at their place a lot, and it always ended up with them offering you stay the night, and you sometimes did.

Their obsession love would continue to grow the more you spent time with them. And then one night, the couple would be discussing about expanding their family, and then they both knew it, right then and there. Its you. You'd be the perfect addition to their family, the perfect child! You're so kind, soft spoken. Outgoing yet shy and reserved when meeting new people. But you're just so naive, too innocent for your own good. And they've both seen the ugliness of the world, the worst in the people. They cannot afford to just stand by idly and risk you getting tainted by this filth.

It was decided that night that you had to become a part of their family. They'll make your parents disappear, they have both the money and the skills to do it. Maybe they'll say that your family was taken or killed by some villians, or better yet, they were caught doing something illegal. But don't worry, you can stay with them for as long as you want. When you try to refuse, that you can stay with a relative, they'll tell you that it's for your own safety. They don't want the villians to complete their unfinished business. Plus, they are more than capable of taking care you, and since you didn't want to risk another family member's life, you agreed.

You'll be having the best time of your life. They'll spoil the hell out of you, Hizashi especially. Aizawa does too, but he's just more protective of you.

Hizashi is a great cook! He'd learn to make your favourite dish too. And if you like something from a restaurant, he'll take it as a challenge and try to replicate the dish, or make a better one! At school, all 3 of you would sometimes have lunch together, you always bringing Aizawa's lunchbox along too, since he often forgets it. If you try to cook a dish for them, they'll treat it like its a Michelin star dish!

Aizawa would be the more protective one, always the harder one to convince to let you go out with your friends, especially at night. Hizashi would always convince him in the end, they're gonna follow you anyways so why stop you? Aizawa's a bit possessive too. He doesn't like it when you talk about other pro heroes, you're his little girl, you should be looking upto him. He won't say anything about it though.

Hizashi would love to just talk to you; you guys would often gossip. Oh and you always go to him for any fashion advice. Since he also has long hair that he styles up a lot, he can do your hair too! Just show him a picture of what you want, and he'll style hair exactly like it. Aizawa likes to do your hair too sometimes, but he only knows how to put it in a simple braid.

They're will be a lot fun activities for you to do with them. You can be having karaoke nights with Hizashi, Aizawa watching you guys with just pure adoration in hie eyes. You can play video games with Aizawa, which he is scary good at, especially at Among us. Family game nights are a must!

If you have any other hobbies or passions, you'll have 2 dads, cheering for you. They'll get you the best supplies available. If you win an award, any award, no matter how small, they'll tell you how proud they are and put your achievements either on the fridge or somewhere where everyone can see it.

Of the two, Aizawa would be the to quickly pick up on your mood. He knows when you're lying, when you're sad, or when you've just had a bad day at school. Hizashi would notice too, but it would be Aizawa who would know if you needed some space or if you needed to talk it out; they've always it clear to you that the latter option is always open.

Once they find out whats the reason you're feeling so down, they'll comfort you. You guys would often cuddle on the sofa as a funny movie played on the TV. Once you've gone to bed, they go and eliminate the cause of distress. Oh did you fail a test? Its okay, they'll tutor you personally. Oh did your favourite character die? Cry it out sweetie and let's go buy some of the character's merchandise . Oh did someone confess their feelings to you and you don't know what to do? Don't worry, he's taken care of.

Dating isn't an option. They'll be quick to reject him/her, listing reasons to you exactly why they're not good for you. Of course, nobody deserves their baby. But if you do go against their wishes, and still get an s/o in secret, they'll find about it. If they're thinking about how to separate you guys, and you walk in all heartbroken because your s/o broke up with you, with no persuasion from the couple; on the inside they'll be both glad and mad. Hizashi will be comforting you, cooing sweet nothings in your ear, while Aizawa would be standing with a "I warned you" look on his face at first but then he sees your red, teary face, your lips wobbling, your eyes full of pools of tears, and immediately his stern exterior would melt and he'll gather you in his arms and let you cry into his chest, while his mind will go to "MURDER". You're their sweet girl, their precious little baby. How dare someone play with your feelings like that. Your ex better sleep with one eye open.

If you do somehow find about what really happened to your parents, and you try to run away from them, not only will they have you back in their arms within the hour, they'll take you somewhere countryside. Its always been noisy in the city anyway. They'll try to explain to you, that they really just did all of this to protect you and that it should show how much they love you and care about you. No physical punishment will ever meet you. No, they can't bear the thought of hurting you! They'll use manipulation to control you, and they are master manipulators. They do so much for you, aren't they enough?

Just be happy they still allow you to roam around the countryside, and not had you locked up in your room. School would be off the table for a while, as will any connection to your friends. Its about time they all had a family vacation anyway.

I'd let Erasermic adopt me in a heartbeat, ngl. 👊 Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this! Requests are OPEN. :)

ok but can we talk about possession, praise and degradation all together? because being called his pretty little slut makes me melt every time <3

Heya! Could you write a little something about f! reader getting a massage from Dutch? It can get nsfw if you feel up to it :D Thanks if you decide to do this 😊🤍

send me a smutty rdr2 request!

a/n: @woman-with-no-name might fuck around and write a sequel to this (i'm already in the middle of writing a sequel to this), so let me know if you want to be tagged in that too <3. also, i am very much aware of the irony of this being a dutch fic and the title being a line from a song named 'no plan'.

rating: teen and up for vague descriptions of being horny and heavy suggestiveness, but nothing explicit.

warnings: sowing needles, dutch being bad at flirting, slight power imbalance, vague descriptions of getting shot.

Thrilled By The Still Of Your Hand – Part 1 (1.7k words)

The needle moves as if it has a mind of its own. In fact, it kind of does.

You've been mending clothes for hours now, hands working on their own volition, confident in their movements after years of doing the exact same menial task, as you stare at the shirt you're repairing as if transfixed.

In truth, your mind is blank, exhaustion permeating every part of your being, muscles sore and tender from the heavy workload you've taken onto your shoulders.

It's all thanks to Williamson. Because of course it is.

The asshole had fucked up so bad that you had to move camps once again, leaving behind a sizeable amount of potential stolen goods and money, and thrusting more work onto the shoulders of everyone in the gang; Especially you and the other women.

What you wouldn't give for just a few minutes of peace and quiet and stillness.

A voice, deep and rough, halts your fingers. It lashes at you like a whip, in spite of the pleasant tone, the peace and quiet disturbed – a rock thrown into still water.

"Ah, hello, miss."

Your start, feel the pinprick of your needle before you see it, thin metal sliding through the flesh of your forefinger. It hasn't just breached your skin though; It's sunk into your finger so almost a fifth of the needle is embedded in you, and there's a slow trickle of blood emitting from the prick when you pull it out, all gentle and careful. The quiet rush of scarlet glides over your skin and you watch in tired defeat as it drips onto the white fabric you've been working on for the better part of half an hour.

Great. More work.

"Mr. Van der Linde," you reply, polite but short-handed, too fatigued to make real conversation, and cast him a sidelong glance.

He's looking as impeccable as ever, well put-together and handsome, his white sleeves rolled up above his elbows, revealing long expanses of sun-kissed skin and the dark hair strewn across his forearms. You wonder, as impulsive and brief as the thought is, what he would look like all disheveled and raw – what he would look like if he worked even half as much as you or miss Grimshaw or even Abigail, heavily pregnant as she is.

He's got a cigar curled between his fingers, a faint shroud of smoke floating in the air, curling around his head and throat with the familiarity of the gentle caress of a lover.

You press your bleeding finger past your lips and place it on your tongue. Its warmth and wetness soothe the sting, the metallic tang of blood spreading in your mouth.

"It's Dutch," he says, but it's strained, twisted – a mockery of the gentle cheeriness in his voice just moments before, and you turn yourself to face him better, to get a proper look at him, only to falter and freeze, caught in the stare he gives you. His eyes are dark, jaw set tight, and you can do nothing to stop the quiet shiver flowing forth within you. "How are you doing on a fine day like this?"

You slide your finger out of your mouth. There's spit sticking to it, your stained skin glistening in the sun, and you wipe it off in your already grimy skirt.

You think you see Dutch following the motion, the dark irises of his eyes shifting around until they eventually land on your face, but you're not sure.

Probably just the fatigue getting to you.

However, you are certain that his grip on his cigar has tightened, a small dent in the tobacco visible even from where you're sitting.

"I'm fine, sir."

Dutch looks as if your voice has snapped him out of thought and he clears his throat, takes a drag.

"I've seen you working, much more than usual. You must be terribly sore."

"Oh, I guess I am. It's been a busy few days. You know how miss Grimshaw gets."

Dutch chuckles, a low, rumbling thing that sends tingles down your spine. "I sure do."

He watches you for a moment, gaze searching in a way you're unused to, feel a scarlet flush rising in your cheeks. You avert your eyes, and focus on the needle and thread going in and out of the fabric instead.

Then, there are hands on your upper arms. Though you thought it impossible, you grow tenser, shoulders rising, breath catching in your throat. That is, until those hands – those big, warm hands – start making a path up and down your upper arms, soothing in a way that has the tension crawling beneath your skin dissolving like sugar on a wet tongue.

When they come to rest where your shoulders meet your neck, fingers dig into tender muscles.

A moan brushes past your lips, faint and pitiful, but inevitable. You're aching, beneath it all, stressed and on edge after working yourself to the bone. Yes, it's somewhat miss Grimshaw's fault, but you wanted to help out as much as you could on your own accord too. She pushes you, but you're the one taking the leaps, damn near wrestling any and all heavy workloads out of Abigail's hands, even if she is only five months along.

It's like heaven, the way his hands move across the expanse of your back and work at the strain and stress contorting every part of your being, something strange yet tempting curling in your stomach when he delicately pulls at your sleeves, exposing the naked skin of your shoulders to the tepid weather.

"So tense."

Your mind, in that exact moment, catches up to what's going on, Dutch's voice much closer to your ear than before. Close enough to feel faint puffs of breath brush against the shell of your ear. He's moved behind you, rendering you unable to see him, your only point of contact being his strong hands on your shoulders. Your back. Your collarbones.

He's so soft-spoken, every word spoken with gentle charisma and sympathy, tongue curling around syllables in the most delectable way. And yet, he's so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest when he speaks, giving his voice an air of menace – a predator soothing an unsuspecting prey.

"It has not escaped me, miss, that you've been working extra hard these past couple of days. Trying to make up for Mr. Williamson's blunder?"

Yes. That's exactly what you've been doing. Miss Grimshaw too. As much of a pain in the ass she is from time to time, you have to admit that she's only trying to do right by the gang, and you do your best to follow in her footsteps.

And you attempt to express this, say, "It's the least I can do,"

His laugh is a rumble. "Now you're just selling yourself short, my dear."

He tears another groan from you, thumbs digging into a particularly sore bundle of nerves in your shoulders. His fingers, deft as they are, grab onto and exterminate any point of stress or tenderness they can find, working over naked, pliable flesh, and you just sit there and take it, caught up in the wonderful relief of it all, eyelids fluttering close. Exhaustion takes over.

"I, too, have found myself in need of relief from all this stress, you know."

And you're wide awake.

You open your mouth to reply, to protest – assert that you never meant to imply otherwise and that you're grateful for everything he's done and does for the gang; For you. However, as your lips part, the words get stuck on your tongue, breath hitching at the exact same time your stomach swoops.

Dutch rests a hand on your throat.

It's a heavy thing, his rings cold against your flushed skin, fingers curled just enough to apply a gentle, yet unyielding pressure against your larynx, his skin coarse against yours. Your heart picks up speed, fluttering in your chest with the speed of hummingbird wings, and you know he can feel it because his thumb rests on your pulse point, pressing down slightly

"You know, there are other more pleasurable ways of helping you relax. Really relax. Take your mind off of things."

You were shot once. In the gut. You remember so vividly the suddenness of the wound, the swell of equal parts warmth and mind-numbing pain in your abdomen. It rendered you lost and helpless – as if you were drowning – in the middle of a shoot-out, vision blurry, like you were watching everything through a window while it's raining. The only thing you could focus on through it all was the warm hands on you – the dash of bright scarlet by your side.

It feels like déjà vu.

Except now, along with the warmth in your gut and feeling of helplessness seeping into your skin, bone-deep, there's a throbbing. Lower than your gut. Between your legs. And coursing through your veins is something gushing and fiery and impossible to rule.

He moves further up, cups your jaw, fingers digging into bone. There is pain there, but it pulses along with pleasure. He could crack your jaw if he wanted to.

A part of you – a foreign part you did not know existed – would let him.

The tip of his thumb is on your lower lip, pulling down, barely dipping in. A brush of his fingertip over the dryness there has you releasing a shaky exhale. His touches are delicate but purposeful, akin to how an artist runs a paintbrush across his canvas. You cling to it, blooming beneath his caresses. They warm you like bright rays of sun from the inside out, flames licking beneath your skin in a way you've never experienced before.

"My tent is always open, dear." Breathless. Helpless. What can you do? "Come to me if you need anything. Anything at all."

He pats you on the cheek – his fingers like claws – and walks off as if nothing happened. As if he hasn't left you a blushing mess, heat curling and burning in the pit of your stomach, thighs rubbing together in a vain attempt to ease the pressure that's gathered at the crux of them, sensitive skin flush with goosebumps.

The promise in his voice, carefully wrapped in pretty words and resolute touches, is delectable and lascivious and terrifying all at the same time.

You carry on with your work. It's all you can do. Except, now, your mind is everything but blank.

touch starved shigaraki who gets hard at the slightest brush of hands, at your thigh pressed against his on the couch, at the heat radiating off your body. touch starved shigaraki who can’t help it, he needs it, it’s all he can fucking think about, who loses all semblance of rational thought and restraint the instant your bare skin touches his, the instant your fingers run though his fluffy hair or your palm sits hot and heavy on his thigh or knee. touch starved shigaraki who becomes insatiable the moment you give him an ounce of affection. touch starved shigaraki who cums within seconds of you stroking his cock. touch starved shigaraki who wants more, more, more, who gets overwhelmed easily but is too stubborn to stop. touch starved shigaraki who’s growling at you through full body shudders and tears in his eyes to keep going, goddamn it, who just can’t seem to get enough, who seemingly has endless loads of cum, who can’t control himself, who pushes his hips against you and just humps whenever he can. touch starved shigaraki who wants your hands on him, his hands on you, at all times, even when it’s inappropriate—especially when it’s inappropriate. touch starved shigaraki who becomes obsessed with the idea of leaving marks—scratches, bite marks, bruises, hickeys—little visual reminders of his touch on your body, of your touch on his, proof of your combined presence. just touch starved shigaraki.

forgive me father for i have sexualized an older man

Honestly? Grinding with clothes on is one of my biggest turn-ons. The desperation, feeling wanted, like god if only my clothes weren’t here. Feeling his bulge. Holy shit I cant.