Kinktober 2021, 03: Bondage (Reader x Solomon | Obey Me!)
You paused at the edge of the bed, feeling it brush the back of your legs. You were lucky not to accidentally tumble backward onto the sheets as thoroughly distracted as you were by Solomon’s lips moving against yours and his hand on your waist. Clinging to him as if desperate until the kiss was broken from the need for air, you were left panting and flushed, heart thudding in your chest as you looked into cunning eyes cloud with desire.
You moved to kiss him again, but Solomon didn’t return as expected, much to your dismay. Instead, his fingers danced beneath your clothes, swiftly stripping them away. He tossed most of them into an untidy pile, placing one garment you were almost certain was your panties aside mindfully. With a fleeting look of craving, he pushed you gently, urging you back onto the bed. You fell down onto your back, scooting up the bed and sitting up on your palms to watch the snowy-haired sorcerer.
When your eyes moved to him, Solomon seemed preoccupied, gathering something from beneath the bed. His glance flicked up after a moment of search, meeting your curious stare. “I won’t take long. Can you roll over and wait for me?” he asked nicely.
Pursing your lips and furrowing your brow as you pondered what he had planned, you agreed with a quick nod, flipping over and easing yourself onto the sheets. You waited, enjoying the cool sensation of the bedsheets on your overheated skin. You tried not to think about the slick, pulsing heat between your legs or how pleasant but agitating the brush of the bedding against your pebbled nipples was.
Solomon’s fingers found your arms in a soft, firm grasp, and you nearly jumped. He guided them above your head, laying your cheek flat on the sheets without them to brace yourself with. There was an urge to twist your neck and see just what Solomon was doing, but you ignored it, trusting that whatever he had in mind was nothing to be worried about. You were used to Solomon giving you a surprise here and there, some of them greater than others, but almost all enjoyable, whatever they were.
After your wrists were pulled together, the coarse texture of what you could only assume was some kind of tether or rope coiled around them. The rope was quickly tied, tight, but not enough to chafe or sting unless you struggled dramatically. You wriggled your hands and fingers, testing the bonds curiously.
Solomon moved on, trailing his fingertips teasingly down your skin as he dipped toward your legs. He gathered your ankles next, and the same sensation of coarse ropes wrapped around them, a bit looser than the ones around your wrists. You tested those gingerly, too, finding them comfortable enough as well, and Solomon moved away. When your focus turned from the ropes, you noticed Solomon had come back into line of sight, and you eyed him with continued interest. He bent down, giving you another much quick quicker kiss, and lifting your head up. When the kiss came to an end, he slipped a band over the back of your head and slid an accompanying blindfold down over your eyes.
The blindfold left you in comfortable darkness, resting against the sheets, waiting for whatever came next. With only your ears to rely on then, you listened to Solomon walk around the bed, before feeling him climb onto it from the opposite side. He grabbed you around the waist, carefully coaxing you to roll onto your side so your back faced his chest. When you obliged him, he moved closer, and the heat of his own naked body greeted you. You licked your lips in anticipation, wriggling unconsciously against your ties.
Releasing your waist, Solomon pressed two fingers against your wetted lips, and you took them in, sucking on them for a second before he drew them back. Quick he replaced them with some sort of makeshift gag, a wad of cloth whose texture was suspiciously alike to the panties you had worn. You made a muffled noise of half-hearted protest at what you suspected was his choice of gag but made no attempt to spit it out.
Deciding you were bound well enough, Solomon turned to indulging himself, teasing you in the process. His fingers stroked along your skin again, light and unhurried. Starting at your neck, they swept down your body, pausing at the swell of your chest to grope and squeeze in a way that made you arch your back and moan into your gag. A stifled squeaked to squeeze past your gag when he tweaked your nipples roughly, before moving on again. His lips brushed your ear and jaw, and you could feel a smile on them
He continued, massaging your stomach and waist and hips, before one hand ghosted over the top of your inners thighs, alternating from one to the other, just as light and frustrating on either side. His other hand migrated back up, returning to cup your breast and roll the nipple between his fingertips once more. You squirmed against the ropes, against Solomon’s body, and into his teasing hands, wishing he would touch your boldly.
He chucked behind you, warm breath washing over your cheek. “Eager?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he had no idea what his touch did to you. “You’ll have to hold on a little longer,” he added, the hand on your thighs caressing a little more roughly, closer to their apex for a hopeful instant, before drifting away.
You whined petulantly, the sound almost completely drowned out behind the gag. As much as it frustrated you, Solomon was determined to tease and take things slow, the anticipation only making you feel more turned on as the seconds and touches went on. For a time, his hand crept too far down your thighs for your liking, and you let out another muffled sound expressing your displeasure. Another sharp pinch to one of your tits distracted you from the less than pleasing behavior of his lower hand, and you arched back into him.
When his hand moved back up between your thighs, finally dragging in an agonizingly slow line up your slit, he ground himself against your backside. Before, when you had squirmed and bucked into him, you had felt evidence of Solomon’s arousal. Now, though, he was using his erection as purposely as his fingers, just another tease and torment you with, while eliciting more pleasure for himself at the same time. It left you little way to turn his game in your favor, left only with the option to play along. He added his teeth and tongue, moving from soft kisses on your neck and jaw to sharp nips and sucking marks into your skin. Combined, all the sensations drained away whatever resolve you may have yet held on to. It reduced you to groans, writing needily against the sheets and his body.
You longed for him to stop playing with you, to fill you with something, whether it was a toy or his fingers or cock. You longed to escape your ropes and pin him down to the bed and give him a taste of his own medicine. To tie him up and take your time until he hadn’t a coherent thought left in his head, save for the thought of your body on his. But none of that was up to you, and you were left little time to dwell on what you wanted to do to him while he continued to torment you.
His hips pushed harder against yours, and his cock slipped between your thighs. HE thrust lazily, the heat of his erection brushing your dripping lips. You clenched your hands into fists as Solomon thrust, working into a slow rhythm, each roll of his hips rubbing him against your cunt, but granting you little satisfaction. You wanted to shout, to demand that he just fuck you already, but any attempts to speak only came out as muffled gibberish.
Finally, though, he granted you some form of reprieve when his fingered dipped between your lips, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. Your eyes rolled back for a second beneath your blindfold, and you arched into his touch again, chasing the new friction. It wasn’t long before your hips rocked as readily as Solomon’s, and he moaned against your neck. The sound struck you in the gut, adding to the fire mounting from his touch and the teasing rub of his cock.
He bucked harder, faster, and so, too, did you, bent on following the pleasure to its peak and beyond. His hand on your chest switched back and forth, more uncoordinated and less careful as his moans grew in your ear and his breathing hitched. You whimpered, an airy, almost pitiful sound that nearly cut through the gag, dancing just before the point of no return you chased so madly, the feeling coiling hotter and tighter until it all exploded.
When your orgasm swept over you, your cunt clenching frantically around nothing and your hips rocking wildly into Solomon’s fingers, you heard his breathing reach a fever pitch. His cock twitched hard against the lips of your cunt, and he shifted himself urgently, guiding the head of his length to your hole. He thrust up into you, hard and fast, and you cried out into the gag all over again from the intrusion that gave your pussy something to cling to.
He thrust a few more times, still rubbing your clit dutifully, before he stiffened, biting down lightly on your neck. A few more hard rolls of his hips, and he pumped you full of his cum in hot spurts. The sheer obscenity of your muffled groaned mixed with Solomon’s equally primal one sent a shiver through you, even as your orgasm wound down.
Solomon lay still after he had come, his fingers easing to a stop and then pulling away from your clit. He breathed hotly against your neck, his head tucked into the hollow there, his hair tickling your sweat-slick skin. You felt hot, over-sensitive, and sticky, your breathing matches Solomon’s own taxed breaths. He withdrew slowly, and you shuddered again at the sudden emptiness, feeling a trickle of cum seep down your thigh.
He kissed the marks he’d left on your skin, the touch of his hands returning to being light and gentle, soothing skin assaulted beforehand. “You always take my cum so well,” he murmured in your ear in praise, the affectionate lilt of his words starkly contrasting their lewdness. The words elicited another comfortable shiver, and he laughed, kissing your cheek.
Solomon’s hands left you, and the familiar sensation of magic in the air met you. In an instant, the ropes binding your limbs vanished as if into nothing. He likely hadn’t felt like bothering to untie you in the traditional fashion. You laughed weakly at the thought, moving to pull your blindfold off as Solomon withdrew the makeshift gag from your mouth. With a quick glance, you confirmed it had been your underwear as you thought.
Your wrists weren’t completely free just yet, though, and Solomon languidly captured both in a hand. “When’s it your turn to get tied up like that?” you complained playfully, craning your neck to glance back at him.
Solomon smiled, answering you without skipping a beat. “When I’ve had enough of you like this,” he assured you confidently. “And I haven’t had nearly enough yet.”
(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)
This is more magical aphrodisiacs than a physical one, but I think it still fits. Had been tossing this around for a bit, as well as how I wanted to end it. I’d like to write more with Urianger, but, as much as I love him, his dialogue really breaks my brain mostly (and in saying that I hope the dialogue here is suitable!).
Summary Practicing archaic spells is risky at best when done in a proper setting safe from tampering or reasonable error. When mischievous pixies or illusions get involved, things can go rather awry, even for an experienced caster.
Kinktober 2021, 02: Aphrodisiacs (Reader x Urianger Augurelt)
It was a day not unlike many others. Well, at least a day in the life of the champion who served some goddess of light and carried on their shoulders the fate of not just one world, but many. You had been granted a blessed respite among the numerous tasks that needed tending, thank the Twelve. Though, that respite didn’t mean you could afford to simply lie idle in the meantime. No, even on a day of rest, there were preparations to attend to, subjects to learn and study. Preparations that ought to give you a greater chance of success in your seemingly impossible ordeals.
Your preparations had taken you to Lydha Lran that day, home of the fae, to the little cottage estate that Urianger had taken up residence in during his time among the pixies. There had been some ancient, ritualistic spell, many eons old, unearthed from among the multitude of equally old tomes. You were unsure whether it had been Urianger’s discovery alone, or the pixies or nu mou had a hand in things as well. Whatever the case, Urianger seemed confident in the spell’s beneficial nature.
You had agreed without hesitations. After all, why shouldn’t you trust your fellow scions and dear friend? True enough, Urianger had been guilty of grand falsehoods in the past, but they had always been for the greater means to aid the scions and keep the world from calamity. Through all that, his loyalty had been proven unwavering.
With the assurance of your steadfast trust in mind, you had met him at his little home away from home one morning, not long after the sun had peeked past the horizon. As usual, it took some fussing with the pixies, over yourself and Urianger before they had been eventually convinced to disperse and grant you some privacy and silence. You had to admit, though, that it was always rather cute just how fond of the elezen man the pixies were.
Everything necessary for the spell had been gathered before and was carefully put into place around the room, to the finest detail and marking. Standing amidst glyphs and drawings, surrounded by tables, books, shelves, and various research aids, you cast a subtle glance toward Urianger. His nose pointed toward the pages of the ancient book, concentration written across his features. He ran his fingers lightly over the page, and his lips subtly, as if becoming better acquainted with the words staring back at him from the archaic tome. He paused briefly, before seeming to read a line over once more.
As he turned his focus from the tome, you looked at him expectantly. “I believe all is in order,” he stated, “On they leave, we may begin.”
“Let’s get started then,” you declared with a firm nod to match your eager tone.
With another swift glance at the tome’s musty pages, Urianger set about speaking the incantations, loud and clear as a bell, peppering in the various gestures and other necessities of the spell. You breathed a soft sigh to clear your mind and relax, to let the magics take hold. There was no room for aether stirred up by any potential lingering nerves associated with your heavy burden to the First and Source now.
The spell wasn’t long, its invocation taking only a minute or two, and at first, there was little difference in you. A sense of slightly energized refreshment, surely, but you had been imagining the spell’s effects to be something more noticeable or impressive. Yet just when you were about to ask Urianger if he was certain the spell had succeeded - or if mayhap the effect was one of the delayed kind - you were struck silent.
Your breaths came a little harder, sharper, and each gulp of air made you feel hot and tingly. Each breath seemed to draw down and into your center, bring with them a prickling warmth that wasn’t quite unpleasant. From that center of heat, the sensation crept outward to each extremity, to the tips of fingers and toes. Once the tingling warmth had enveloped you completely, it intensified, roaring hotter under your skin.
You were in no pain, though, and it was hardly even something you truly label as discomfort. It was simply something like a burning, a yearning for something to scratch the itch the tingling left in its wake. Despite leaving you unscathed, the feeling startled you.
“Is aught amiss?” Urianger asked, concern breaching his speech as if he could read the shock and newly spun worry on your face. Something for sure told the man something wasn’t quite right.
“I-I’m not quite sure. What-what does the tome say the spell should feel like?” you asked uncertainly, having to almost force the words out.
Your whole body throbbed now with the heat as if your blood was surging alongside it, too. It was a most distracting thing to feel, making it hard to focus on your words. The incessant heat seemed to only be fueled to greater heights when Urianger had spoken, brief as he had been.
Urianger’s pale eyes shot down to the page, quickly skimming again. Your heart skipped when noticed them widen slightly in what you could only assume was surprise. “I-What manner of trickery is this?” He flicked several pages, back and forth, as if searching for the spell that had presumably been right in front of him. “The incantation from before, ‘tis gone, and a new spell doth remain in its place,” he said, almost in a hush, as if in disbelief.
“Then what-aah,” your words faltered, the strange sensation choking your speech for an instant. “What spell was cast? I feel rather… hot, prickly almost,: you hesitated, trying to properly describe the sensation. It was something beyond prickles or tingles, rather something that had become a pulse, settling in your core and making you feel jittery, anticipatory.
Pale gold met your eyes when Urianger spoke again, and there was alarm, concern, and something akin to embarrassment. “A ritual many eons past, cast proceeding an ancient version of Eternal Bonding. A magic to ensure the newlyweds suffered no difficulties in the night thereafter,” he explained. His tone and demeanor would have seemed level enough, given the circumstances, were it not for the rosy flush of embarrassment dusting his cheeks.
“To ensure newlyweds suffered no difficulties?” You repeated, turning the words over in your heat-addled mind. You shuddered when the meaning, at last, struck home, giving the pulsing and heat in your center much more gravity.
Somehow, the book itself must have been magicked or disguised until the illusioned page’s spell has been cast. It had been an illusion great enough for Urianger not to see through, and he had unintentionally cast what was essentially the magical equivalent of a powerful aphrodisiac upon you. What you felt was not some horrid pain or sinister curse that would leave you in dire straights or with loss of life and limb. Though understanding that didn’t make the newly understood effect it had upon you any easier to resist or endure.
Each new second your eyes lay on the handsome elezen who seemed so shamed by his mistake magnified the ravenous heat in your gut by some degree as if he were some catalyst for it. Though perhaps in a way he was, in a way, though you had never told him outright. Here and there you had taken hints or advice from Thancred on flirting and subtly invitation, struck down by what seemed to be Urianger’s sheer obliviousness to the attempts. Hanging around him when you had spare time or making excuses to aid with his research, any effort you could spare to convey your feelings without actually speaking them had been worth it to you. Your desires had never been made quite plain, though.
Yet the potent sorceries coursing through you now were demanding you make it clear, and in the rawest and most physical sense. The intensity with which it was beginning to consume you was frightening on its own, even if it was otherwise harmless, only inconvenient.
“W-well, undo it then!” you insisted, your words wavered, your focus directed toward disobeying the spell and not besetting Urianger like some beast in heat.
Another quicker flicker of his eyes to the page, frantic searching, and another flash of regret. “There is naught I can do to dispel it. The spell must run its course.”
The admission made your stomach sink, though the rolling heat was more than happy to fill the emptiness left in its wake. You reeled, wondering if you should just flee, get far from the one man who had the greatest effect on your desires, even if he was unaware of it. Yet, the idea of being alone and ensorcelled to be boundless horny in the trickery-filled land of Il Mheg was not much more appealing of a prospect. The consequences you faced out there could likely be much more grave.
“Urianger, I…” you forced yourself to stop, cursing your traitorous tongue, already trying to decide for you. Would you go mad if you didn’t satisfy the howling desires in your gut and your mind? Such a spell suited to assist such sacred tradition seemed far more a curse than a boon. “There is a way,” you muttered, words low in shame and apprehension.
“Pardon?”
“A way to dispel it, I mean.”
If Urianger rejected your solution, rejected you, it would only compound the physical strain of the spell with an embarrassment that would surely never recede. But your muddled brain shouted at you, compelling you to just try . Never had you thought in your wildest dreams that this would be the manner in which you solicited Urianger, in any sense.
Urianger wasn’t daft, though, to be certain, and his eyes thinned at your proposal that a solution existed. “Prithee, explain what manner of dispelling thou doth speak of?” he asked cautiously.
For an instant of indecision, you weren’t sure whether to put it delicately or be straightforward and tactless. The latter won out though as another burst of heat blossomed in your core, radiating outward with startling swiftness. “In short, Urianger, I need you to fuck me.”
The crude words set Urianger’s cheeks aflame immediately. Though you imagined he’d already had an idea of what you meant to say, you hadn’t seen him quite so flustered in many moons. His new knowledge of what the spell was for didn’t protect him from the rush of pink and red to his cheeks, no matter how much he might have been prepared. Your stomach sank a second time as Urianger was silent for a moment, looking to be struck dumb by your bluntness.
“Nay, the spell doth color thine words and cloud thine judgment,” Urianger denied with a quick shake of his head.
In that instant, you silently cursed and blessed him for his sincerity. But you knew where your desires had lain dormant before the spell-twined mishap. The spell hadn’t clouded your judgment, only brought them seething to the surface and shattered your ability to keep them bound in silence. You shook your head fervently, ignoring another wave of throbbing heat.
“Trust me, please. I know what you think the spell has done to me, but even now I wouldn’t dream to ask anyone else to dispel it in such a way,” you explained, as coolly as your predicament allowed.
You punctuated your words with a pleading gaze. A plea to believe in your words. A plea to rescue you from the torrid heat tormenting your entire body. A plea, as you had so crudely demanded of him, to fuck you.
Several more heavy seconds passed, a resolve overtook Urianger, a notable flicker in the set of his lips and his amber eyes. “Very well, I shall do wilt though has asked of me to dispel the magics plaguing thee,” he agreed at last, and hope flared alongside the heat.
You sensed as if there were more Urianger meant to say, by the way his lips opened again for a bare instant before closing again. You didn’t need to be a mind reader, or to see into memories or have any gift to understand what lingered beyond his lips.
‘I pray thou wilt feel the same once the trouble sorcery has fled thee.’
You set upon Urianger, despite your insistence that he dispel the magic, overeager to soothe its effects. You slung your arms around him, pressing your lips to his urgently. He stiffened at first, despite his assent, but the tenseness loosened steadily. Large palms fell over your biceps, gentle and warm, neither trying to urge you closer or push you back. You pushed even further into the impromptu embrace and the desperate kiss.
Urianger pulled back, and the concern in his eyes that had never left shone back at you. “Twelve, thou art on fire,” he noted.
The heat of your form then was not just your imagination. It suffused not only your skin but your clothing as well, emanating off you in a way Urianger could easily feel despite the layers between you.
Feeling your plight for himself seemed to encourage Urianger, enlightening him to your desperation. You silenced his alarm with another kiss, moving slowly backward and pulling him along with you, though not allowing his frame to move an inch from your own. When the backs of your legs met the tome-strewn table, you shifted back, leaning your weight against the heavy wood. You tore one hand from the embrace, clumsily sweeping it behind you and displacing several heavy, leather-bound tomes. The thud of one colliding with the floor caught your attention only passingly before the concern was brushed away.
Urianger’s movements remained slow, uncertain almost as if you might draw back and change your mind at any moment. As if he still didn’t quite trust the certainty of your words from before. In the back of your mind, you were grateful for his respect, even if in the forefront of it a cacophony of carnal demands screeched. In spite of his hesitation, his touch was firm, and it comforted you somewhat through the raging heat of desire, even as it stoked the flames higher. His skin felt wonderfully chill to your burning body, and you clung to him more earnestly with each second passed.
Beneath the turbulent, intense arousal brought on by the magic, a buried part of you wished things could have happened slowly, enjoying each new lingering touch and glance and kiss. But there was no time for that now, no control left to support such a manner, not on your part. All that was left was the unbridled need that bade you reach for the skirts of Urianger’s flowing outfit and his small clothes beneath them and drag them down. A multitude of emotions flashed through his golden eyes: surprise at how bold the spell had made you, uncertainty at being so well exposed, and racing hints of his own burgeoning desire.
He was only half-hard beneath his small clothes, and you seized him in your grasp without a second thought, stroking him fervently to full mast. Urianger gasped and groaned at your unfettered, brazen attention, burying his nose against your sweltering skin for a time until your brought your hand away.
Next, you set about prying your own clothing keeping him from you, and his hands gently aided you in your task, until you were bare to him. You urged him even closer, wrapping your hand around his cock once more, the sight of his lurid, flushing erection sending you into an even greater lust-fueled frenzy.
“Urianger, please, please,” you begging instinctively, the desperation taking over again.
Eyes hooded, seemingly infected by the waves of desire rolling off of you despite his initial reluctance, Urianger did as you bade, moving to fit himself between your thighs. Laying his hand over yours, he guided his head to your entrance, well-soaked and dripping. He slid effortlessly through your sopping lips, and when his thick head slipped inside, there was no discomfort to be found. There was only pleasure, euphoria even, a body high that was nigh incomprehensible, as if the magic burning blood made it sing as you began to fulfill its purpose.
(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)
The first day of Kinktober 2021 has arrived! We’re going to start off with something not super-extra-spicy for day one and move into things.
This story features a non-Miqo'te Reader (Sorry Miqo WoLs, but with the headcanons this fic goes by, it wouldn’t make much sense). This should be readable as a gender-neutral Reader using you/your. Please correct me if I am wrong!
Without any further ado, here’s the info you need and the fic itself!
Summary
Sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes, those accidents turn out to be a lot of fun.
Kinktober 01. Accidental Stimulation (Reader x G'raha Tia)
“Guess who?”
G’raha Tia would never have thought such ordinary words could put him into such a flustered state of being, and so easily to boot. Though perhaps it had to do with the familiar voice speaking them so mischievously and so close to his ears. The fur of his ears prickled, twitching receptively toward the low tone. Soft palms wrapping around his face and covering his eyes did nothing to help the fluster, their heat leading his mind down a risque path of where else their owner might be warm and soft.
He had no need to ‘guess’, as had been so playfully demanded of him. He knew it was you from only those few words. Though he didn’t mind humoring you, even if the hush of your speech made him feel something far more than playful. Or at least, not playful in the manner you intended. Surely you hadn’t meant your voice to dip breathily and caress his sensitive ears so. His wandering mind regarding your warmth and tone was surely all of his own imagination, nothing more.
You must have been put off by his silence, a silence gone on longer than he had realized, caught up in his own tumultuous mind. Your hands didn’t waver, though, and it was only the hint of annoyance in your tone that belied your mood. “C’mon, guess who,” you repeated, a bit louder. G’raha was thankful you hadn’t chosen to whisper once more.
“Hmm, I’m not sure. Don’t I get some sort of hint?” he mused, pretending ignorance.
He could imagine how you rolled your eyes at his feigned naivety, and a short, soft huff of laughter softened the mental image. With a light sigh, your hands lifted away, and you spoke again, mock disappointment coloring your voice. “I’m hurt you don’t recognize my voice. For shame,” you joked.
You blew playfully at one of his ears to punctuate your words, stepping away and ghosting a hand over the tip of his upheld, swaying tail. Immediately, G’raha felt the hair on his neck rise. His ears fluttered and dipped, the fur on his tail puffing outwards. He turned as swiftly as he could while still maintaining a guise of calm. Again, he reminded himself your teasing was only in good fun, as much as he would have loved it to be something more.
The twitching and shifting of his ears and tail were ordinary enough, not quite strange enough to make you wonder. It was difficult to miss the splash of red coloring his cheeks once he turned around. “You’re awfully red, G’raha. You’re not getting sick, are you? It’s alright to take a break if you’re not feeling well, you know,” you assured him, taking a step forward to more closely inspect his flushed face.
His eyes flared wider for an instant, and he took a small, reflexive step back. What he needed was not rest or concern over some cold that didn’t exist. What he needed was space, lest he gave in to the hungry feelings stirring in his gut and groin. Feelings he was certain were very much one-sided, just the same as his admiration. His ears flattened further, and he tried to calm himself before his face reddened any more.
“I-I… N-no, ‘tis nothing, I’m fine! Just warm tonight, that is all,” he excused quickly.
His excuses were unconvincing, though. Red, jittery, and ill at ease, all were signs something was amiss. You moved to close the gap between you again, oblivious to his want for space. Eyeing him carefully, you drew up one hand, brushing his long bangs aside and placing a palm on his forehead. He was warm to the touch, overheated, mayhap, but not in a sickly way. G’raha stiffened at the touch, his fur prickling more, but he didn’t pull away.
After a moment, you pulled your hand away. A sly expression drew across your face, erasing the concern as if you had come to some sudden epiphany. Your eyebrows arched knowingly, and your eyes narrowed in scrutiny. G’raha swallowed nervously, and as you watched, the normally slim catlike pupils of his eyes had blown themselves considerably wider. Your attention swept downward briefly, observing a subtle bulge beneath his clothes in his trousers.
“Oh, I know what’s going on here,” you claimed cheekily.
G’raha gulped uneasily again. The shame swelled up, and his face grew more hot, sure now that you had caught onto his most impure desires. He couldn’t bear even to try to refute your words.
“You can be honest with me. Though I think I already know.”
G’raha tried to speak, though couldn’t bring himself to get out more than several half-starts to explain himself. His ears lay tucked against his hair, tail held low, whipping to-and-fro. You spoke as if admitting it was the simplest thing in the world. Yet if that were so, then why did he feel so utterly incapable of speech?
“So, what did it then?” you asked, deciding not to wait for an answer you suspected would likely not come.
Taking another step forward, you reached for his blushing face, running the back of your hand gently across his cheek, letting it linger against his skin.
Finally, G’raha felt words rise fully formed, though he remained feeling frozen in place, not daring to pull back. “Please, you needn’t tease me,” he said, something almost sad in his voice. You were most definitely playing with him now, mayhap punishing him even.
“Teasing?” you sounded shocked. “Who said I was teasing? I’m just curious. Pray, tell me, what do I do that troublesyou so?”
You moved on from his face, reaching next for both of his ears, leaning close enough that your noses nearly touched. You fondled the soft red fur gently, losing your train of thought and marveling for a moment at just howsoft it truly was. Despite seeming to stand on end, his fur prickled higher, and something in between a half-strangled groan and a purr slipped free from G’raha’s lips.
“Was it these, mayhap?” you pressed, noticing the way his red eyes had slid shut.
His hands twitched at his side, itching to reach out and return the maddening touch you granted him. But he held onto the threads of his control, refusing to let them break and keeping his arms stiffly at his sides. The last scraps to convince you didn’t know what you were doing were vanishing, and it was making his blood run dangerously hot.
“Come now, Raha. If you won’t tell me, how am I supposed to know? Or would you prefer I keep guessing?” your voice dipped low, inviting almost when you breathed his name with such familiarity.
Surely his face was redder than a ruby tomato now, or so it felt. Already flush with heat throughout his body, another wave of rousing that was anything but subtle struck him, making his previous need seem trivial in comparison. His teeth dug into his lip, the small, sharp canines threatening to draw blood with the force he bit down. Even releasing his lip, with his jaw clenched, it remained plain to you he was resisting something rather valiantly.
Not yet satisfied, and yet without an answer, you continued to push. You pressed yourself closer, abandoning G’raha’s ears in favor of capturing his swishing tail. Stroking it lightly, you relished in its softness as well. It writhed against your touch, straining to escape. So close to him, it was much easier to catch how his breathing pick up, even subtly. A moan escaped him, and G’raha tipped his head back, unable to resist losing himself in the sensation.
“Everything. Your touch, your voice, your very presence fills me with something I can’t control.” The words burst free from him at last, husky and certain and unapologetic. His hands whipped up to capture yours, coaxing them from his tail. “But you already knew that, did you not?” he asked, fixing you with a pointed stare.
The tables had turned, and you fell into silence as if G’raha Tia’s sudden resolve had put you on the back foot, not expecting such sureness from him. Head down, you dared not speak for a passing moment, before returning his fierce gaze. An eternity passed in a few quiet seconds, and he leaned in toward you, the empty space slowly disappearing. His lips brushed over yours but didn’t quite come together with them.
Your wits returned to you, along with your own resolve. “And what if I did? Tell me, what then, Raha?” you murmured as if in challenge.
“Mayhap then it is best I return the favor, and demonstrate much and more how you vex me,” he promised evenly. Though beneath the smooth tone, something intense as his eyes roiled.
He closed the final small space between you, his lips sealing over yours and moving against them needily. It was a kiss full of feeling, one that started slow, but quickly came to a boil with his tongue sweeping insistently over your lips. You were all too glad to grant him access, your tongue joining his in a sensual, winding dance. Still holding your hands, he guided your arms around his shoulders before twining his own around your waist.
Even locked in the heated kiss, you couldn’t resist using the newfound freedom of your hands to reach out and stroke his ears again, ripping more muffled, erotic half-purrs from his throat. G’raha broke off, eyes half-lidded and swimming with desire and affection, and sighed. “And you doso sorely vex me with such little effort.”
Welp, Kinktober official starts tomorrow! That means I’ll be uploading the first of the prompt tomorrow morning. I’ve got 15/31 prompts complete at this time. The remaining 16 are still subject to change (whether character or prompt) as I go about writing them. Otherwise, I’ll share the list for now.
This is a custom list I’ve devised myself for this year. I will update this post with links as the month goes on, as well as my normal masterlist page and the entire series link.
All of the entries will of course be reader-inserts. They will mostly use gender neutral pronouns (I will try to note in cases they aren’t) and are from an afab perspective.
Granger-Malfoy Family breaking tradicional paradigmas of switch culture. I LOVE IT!
If you want to recommend fanfiction where Hermione has a Family alongside Draco, os stories in which Hermione is like a monther to Scorpius, feel free.
Meanwhile, I recommend Measure of a man by inadaze22, it’s a Dramione fanfiction I’ve been following for some time, and it’s undoubtedly one of my favorite stories in this catogory (Hermione play a maternal role um Scor’s life).
Shout out to all those Derry Girls fanfic writers. I would never have the courage to attempt the Derry/Irish slang. Finding a character’s voice that feel authentic to the canon can be quite difficult as it is but the Derry voice is too beyond my abilities. I would embarrass myself.
Even though I have so many Erin/James fics floating in my imagination, I’ve come to the conclusion, that’s where they’ll have to stay.
And besides Lisa’s genius doesn’t need anything I could add to (ruin).
my dad–also a writer–came to visit, and i mentioned that the best thing to come out of the layoff is that i’m writing again. he asked what i was writing about, and i said what i always do: “oh, just fanfic,” which is code for “let’s not look at this too deeply because i’m basically just making action figures kiss in text form” and “this awkward follow-up question is exactly why i don’t call myself a writer in public.”
he said, “you have to stop doing that.”
“i know, i know,” because it’s even more embarrassing to be embarrassed about writing fanfic, considering how many posts i’ve reblogged in its defense.
but i misunderstood his original question: “fanfic is just the genre. i asked what you’re writing about.”
i did the conversational equivalent of a spinning wheel cursor for at least a minute. i started peeling back the setting and the characters, the fic challenge and the specific episode the story jumps off from, and it was one of those slow-dawning light bulb moments. “i’m writing about loneliness, and who we are in the absence of purpose.”
as, i imagine, are a lot of people right now, who probably also don’t realize they’re writing an existential diary in the guise of getting television characters to fuck.
“that’s what you’re writing. the rest is just how you get there, and how you get it out into the world. was richard iii really about richard the third? would shakespeare have gotten as many people to see it if it wasn’t a story they knew?”
