How does each boyo react to pleasuring their partner, using their mouth/hands?
Noct- Of course he enjoys when his s/o feels good. Genuinely, he does! He’ll ease you out of whatever underwear you have on (after a passionate make out session). But before he strips you down, he’ll hold you , almost palming your sex using his thumb to apply pressure over your clit. He enjoys feeling your warmth through your underwear.
Moving your underwear down your legs and dipping a finger inside you, Noct goes almost entirely by feel. One at a time at first, then two at a time. Who cares what everything looks like- it’s the feeling that matters. Seems to make sense just fine to him, and work out excellently for you. He doesn’t need to see what he’s doing to know it feels good. Call it a prince’s intuition.
Supporting himself on one arm, and using the other to pulse his fingers inside you, he begins to pick up a treacherously slow and steady rhythm - simply to watch you writhe underneath him.
The thing about Noct is, as giving as he truly believes he is, the selfless act is never 100%…well, selfless.
Knowing he’s the reason for a kind of bliss so closely a relative of agony, and that you’re quite literally at the mercy of his hands lights a dangerous fire in him, causing him to pump faster with his fingers. If the mood is right, you swear he sometimes goes into a kind of trance. Not a strong one, but a trance nonetheless. Like he’s feeding off your energy, or you his. Or even a sharing of both- you’ve never been exactly sure.
“You’re close,” he’ll say. As more of a statement than a question. He’s right. You are.
He can feel your walls tightening around his fingers with every stroke.
Your chest is heaving, and for some reason his is too. His face is just inches from yours now. You can’t help but tilt your head back and moan. His fingers pumping quicker as If he was chasing his own release, and not yours.
As his breathing grows louder in your ear you feel heat welling up within you, moments away from coming undone.
He lifts his chest up so that you’re in full view, revealing his simmering hot fuchsia eyes. “Come – now” he says. And as if he spoke it into existence, you come undone around his palm as he massages your clit through your orgasm, and you both cry out. His simmering eyes flicker out as he drops his head to your shoulders, the both of you tightly holding the other as the steadiness of your breath returns.
Gladio is definitely a surveyor, which makes you feel embarrassed at times. Especially with the essence of how much you want him dripping from your core onto the mattress. Most guys don’t care to look, but Gladio- he wants to know every part of his girl.
He further parts your thighs and you brace yourself for him to enter you. When he doesn’t, you lift your head to see what he’s doing.
You catch him kneeling at your entrance lazily stroking himself, fixating on your dripping heat. “Babe-”
“You’re beautiful” he cuts you off. “You know that? Anybody ever tell you that?” He says, continuing to stroke himself, and run himself along your folds, probing your entrance, and just barely dipping himself in the pearlescent liquid beginning to pool towards the bottom of your sex.
You’re embarrassed now, and attempt to close your legs. Gladio leans over you, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb, “No,” he says, shaking his head a small frown appearing across his lips, “apparently not. Let me look at my baby girl” he pleads with you, his amber eyes looking more earnest than they ever have, his cock still throbbing.
This is the most erotic thing you think you’ve ever experienced. He stretches your folds to further expose your sensitive budding pearl, and you feel…oddly sexual being on display for him like this. What he’s doing..it feels good. He holds you there, unable to resist bringing his mouth down to your sex, rolling the tip of his tongue over your clit in slow steady circles. And so would the night continue until he mercifully brings you to climax.
Prompto loves your scent. There’s no other way to put it than the fact that he loves your smell. His tactic is to get you dripping wet. Then and only then, once your underwear is soaked through, will he grant you the relief of taking it off. But not before he burries his face between your thighs and runs his nose up and down your heat, taking in two or three large breaths through his nose.
The Prompto that emerges is not the one who submerged his face between your thighs. He’s resurfaced incomprehensibly drunk on your scent. His blue eyes have become searing and half lidded, lips parted, his mouth hanging slightly open. Your stomach churns in anticipation. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde- this Prompto is unpredictable.
Hungry, carnivorous even, he looks at you practically radiating heat. “Hey, flip on all fours,” he says. It’s almost shocking when the voice that comes out of him is still his. Cheery and sweet as ever, yet quivering. But not with uncertainty. Quivering with what you could only describe as…restraint.
You oblige, and turn on all fours facing the headboard, unsure exactly where this was going, half expecting him to nail you from behind. Instead, he slides his body underneath you, his face stopping at your heat, and pulls your hips down so that your folds and his mouth are a perfect match.
This new angle is making a hell of a difference. He cups your ass, urging you to buck your hips as he sucks on your clit, and rocks you in tandem with his rhythm.
Devouring you from underneath, his moans ring out in pleasure as he continues. It’s not long before your arms give out as you climax and he slides up from under you just in time to catch you with open arms as you fall onto his chest.
A semblance of the Prom you know returns to his features in satisfaction, as he holds you while you both drift to sleep.
WHEW *fans self* OK IGGY after the break! Christttt
Can I just say how much… I really, really love writing Rhys and Mor? And maybe just take two seconds to chat about how underrated their relationship is? The more I write Rhys, the more I keep finding myself in these scenes with him coming to her, leaning on her, using her for help and advice whether he knows it or not. I think Rhys loves her so, so much. And I honestly believe that out of everyone in the IC, if Mor were to die it would hit him harder than anyone else (save Feyre, of course). They’ve grown up together, and he’s fought his entire life to give her independence and freedom, and I think Mor returns the favor when he lands on her balcony after the Mountain, and he sort of just… lets her keep being this shepherd in his life, helping him keep from fully unraveling. I think Cassian and Azriel aren’t the only ones who feel her endless warmth and spirit. Say what you will about the Cazigan dynamic in the books and who has to “shield” whom from Mor’s infectious spirit, but if you think about it, Rhys is exempt from that protection. He just gets to enjoy Mor for all she is, how selfless and supportive and encouraging, and she too gets to be there for her cousin who has empowered her and given her status and strength over her family, these things that make her into a queen. They’re friends. Really, really good friends and I think there is so much love between them that we don’t get to see a lot of in ACOMAF, but if SJM were to ever write the book as Rhys or elaborate on it, I think we’d be surprised just how much goes on between the two of them and how much he confides in her. And I think given how much they’ve gone through together… that’s just, I don’t know, really really special and I love it so much. It’s nice to see that even when the entire world and family around them falls apart, there is still this lovely little kernal of them left to lean on and it never goes away.
It’s not like Spock has never experienced rain, but it is still a wonder to him at times. Vulcan was always exceptionally hot and dry, and there wasn’t any weather on the Enterprise.
Leonard turns toward him, and flashes the smile that is so rare, and yet it makes Spock understand the human expression of “heart warming.” Spock closes the distance between them, stepping out into the precipitated water. He reaches out and cups Leonard’s wet cheek, smoothing his thumb over wet skin. He feels the warmth of their bond seeping into him and finds himself smiling in return.
You were meant to be here. The universe worked for billions of years to create you. Whole stars lived and died for you to exist. They sacrificed themselves so that you could rise from their ashes. Their dust is in your bones, their light in your thoughts. You see beauty where they could only shine. You feel warmth where they could only burn. What a miracle you are, you living, breathing thing. You have a place in this universe. You were meant to see, to feel, to know, to love. You were meant to be here.
I know you feel damaged and broken…
And I know just how tempting it is to withdraw from the world and surround yourself in a cocoon of darkness. It seems to make perfect sense… to hate everyone who’s ever hurt you and never love anyone again… But darling, love is like sunlight – without it you cannot grow.
Sure, you can survive on hate alone but that’s all it is… surviving. It’s not really living… because hate doesn’t nourish you, and though that fire in your chest feels like a warmth that will keep burning forever – it won’t. Eventually it will die out, and when it does you’ll be alone in the cold and the dark… and you deserve so much better than that.
I know you’ve been hurt… and I know just how terrifying it is to risk being hurt again… but please, let the sun shine through. Learn to love again and rejoin the world…
It can’t afford to lose someone as beautiful as you.
Bitty likes the weight of Jack against him, the width of Jack between his legs. Tucked together like they are in Jack’s tub, surrounded by hot water and bubbles in abundance, Bitty can reach any part of Jack he wants. It’s a luxury he loves to have.
Jack sighs against him, head lolling back on Bitty’s shoulder, and Bitty grins, presses his face to the damp curls of Jack’s hair. Presses a kiss to Jack’s ear. Water laps at Jack’s chest, and Bitty watches it play against flushed skin. Chin hooked over Jack’s shoulder, Bitty traces nonsense over submerged abs, moves upward to scratch lightly at Jack’s pecs, chest hair damp beneath his fingers. He detours to a nipple and laughs against Jack’s skin when Jack twitches.
Down the length of the tub, the bubbles rise and fall with the jerky movement of the water. Jack’s knee appears, and Bitty feels the warmth that always seems be in him when he’s with Jack expand at the sight.
Turns out he can’t reach any part of Jack that he wants, but he’ll press a kiss to the inside of that knee–and the other–when they’re done.
Jack hums against him, quiet and deep. Shifts and mumbles as Bitty’s fingers find his hair.
“What was that, sweetheart?” He noses at Jack’s ear, tucks a kiss just behind.
“Love you,” Jack says, and Bitty’s fingers may be pruning but his heart is full and Jack is a welcome steady weight against him.
Chirrut’s never been on an ocean planet before Scarif, never been off-world before Eadu, but he liked the salt smell and the feel of actual warmth from the sun, underneath the blood and metal, despite some of that heat surely being fire.
So after the battle is won, and their Rogue team is a thorn in the Rebellion’s side as opposed to the proud lapel bloom they had once been, they request some- shore leave, as it were.
They ask for somewhere tropical, to rewrite their sensory memories.
Cassian sleeps, at long last he sleeps, in the shade of K2’s new body, ignoring the complaints about sand and rust.
Jyn and Bodhi play a raucous game of volleyball: Jyn is far too competitive and Bodhi runs away from the ball every time she smashes it with fearsome glee.
Baze floats in the gentle shallows, because feeling weightless is something he hasn’t allowed himself for decades.
And Chirrut- well, Chirrut can’t swim (where on Jedha would he have learnt? the kyber salt pools were waist high at best) but he wades in after Baze anyway, bare chested with the skirts of his new robes hiked to upper thigh, because he’ll be damned if he misses an opportunity to conquer something new. Plus Baze is enjoying himself, and Chirrut likes to enjoy Baze enjoying himself.
Swimming is a lot harder than he’s been led to believe. He swallows a lot of seawater, but by the time Baze drags him back to the beach, Jyn has shyly produced… a buoyancy aid.
“What does it look like?” he asks, croaky and delighted.
“A Corlassian seadragon,” says Baze, voice wavering from panic turned to mirth. “A pink one.”
They float together, hands clasped so that Chirrut doesn’t drift away.
“Oh,” he sighs, “it’s like being swept up in the Force. Surrounding us, warm in its current. Why didn’t you ever take me swimming somewhere?”
Baze snorts, fond. “Like you would have left your beloved sand. Besides, you say that of everything. Dust storms are like the Force. Fresh soup is like the Force. Sex is like-”
what makes a place feel like home? is it warmth and familiarity? some … idealized make believe version of the american dream. is it love and acceptance? or is it simple safety? or it’s none of those things and it’s a place where the captain of the football team is murdered. or maybe it’s just a forgotten closest or a well-trod staircase. where it’s just you. and the mice. and the spiders. like an extra in a wes craven movie.