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──⋅✮ sweet blooming flower
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. tattoo artist!simon riley x reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about. fate is a strange force—pushing a shy, insecure flower into the den of the big, bad ghost. but with enough dedication and time, that delicate flower can finally bloom perfectly. (wc: 20.300)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings. angst. smut. body shaming. eating disorders. ex toxic relationship. anxiety. violence. mention of blood. age gap (reader in mid 20s, simon in late 30s). daddy kink. chubby and insecure reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ masterlist.
Reblogged romanceyourdemons
Her name is 陈静伊 (Chén Jìngyī) and according to her 小红书 profile she's a single mom of 4. She also has an instagram:
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a beginner's guide to nesting | MASTERLIST
John Price x Reader
Lately, you’ve been thinking about having a baby.
Or: the fertility clinic au
tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB reader - Freeform, Fertility Clinics, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Forced Cohabitation, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Very Mildly Dubious Consent
Extras
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— Wild mustang — part 2
summary : Legolas could eat you whole and never be satiated. Except you are juste friends and it’s never whole that he eats you, he always leaves your heart to the side.
pairing legolas x fem!reader (no use of y/n)
content warning : suggestive MDNI, mentions of smut, kind of detailed kissing and touching ig, miscommunication, jealous!legolas, dealing with grief, angst, friends with benefits, mentions of dead parents
wc : ≈5,8k
taglist : @flooofity @goldenatreides @entishramblings @xxliaaaa @lilylovesflowers @angiekayyy @hell-o-kittys @natasharaskolnikova (also mentioned everyone who asked for part 2 lol, let me know if i missed anyone!!)
author’s note : didn’t feel like adding real smut in this since there’s already plenty in the first part, had so much fun writing something kind of angsty for once! this might be a bit ooc but i feel pre-hobbit legolas would be kind of a cold guy
part 1 ; part 2
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Anonymous asked:
please talk more about graves' kinks 🎤
personally I think he'd totally have a breeding kink of some sort, and a possession kink too
Oh, Phillip absolutely has a possession kink.
Painfully so.
Not in a goofy caveman way, and not in a way where he wants you helpless. Phillip Graves is a man built around command, control, protection, and ownership, so when he wants someone, all of that focus narrows down to one person.
You.
It starts before he ever says anything filthy.
It is his hand at the small of your back in a crowded room. His thumb pressing once, firm and quiet, guiding you closer without making a scene. It is the way his body shifts behind yours when another man gets too friendly, not enough to embarrass you, just enough for you to feel him there.
Warm. Solid. Watching.
He smiles like a gentleman, all Southern charm and pretty manners, but his hand does not leave your waist.
Possession, for Phillip, is not just, “You’re mine.”
It is, “I know you.” It is, “I’ve got you.” It is, “Nobody gets to handle you careless.”
And God, the control kink is obvious. Look at him.
But I think the part that really gets to him is not just being in charge. It is you trusting him enough to let him be.
Phillip likes the pause after he tells you to do something. That tiny little breath where you decide whether you are going to obey him or test him.
You are standing in front of him with that stubborn look on your face, trying so hard to act unaffected. He is sitting back in his chair, calm as anything, legs spread just enough, one hand resting on the armrest like he has all the time in the world.
“Come here.”
You do not move.
His eyes drag over you slowly. Not angry. Interested.
“Now, Sweetheart.”
And there it is. That little shift. Your attitude catching on the edge of his voice. Your body listening before your pride gets the chance to argue.
That is what does it for him.
Not fear.
Trust.
He likes knowing you could push back. He likes when you do push back. But he loves the moment you finally give in, when you cross the room and stand between his knees, pretending your pulse is not in your throat.
He would look up at you like he already won.
Because he did.
I also think praise is big for him, but specifically as the giver.
Phillip notices what praise does to you before you even realize you have given yourself away. Maybe he says it once by accident. Low and easy, like it slipped out before he thought better of it.
“Good girl.”
And you go quiet.
Just for a second.
But he catches it.
Of course he catches it.
After that? It is over for you.
He starts using praise deliberately. Sparingly. Like he knows too much of it would make you suspicious, but just enough will make you melt.
“That’s it.”
“There you go.”
“Knew that pretty little head could listen.”
His voice would be close when he says it. Warm against your ear. One hand at your jaw, tipping your face back just enough to make you look at him. And the worst part is that he would be so pleased with himself when it works.
Because for Phillip, praise is still control.
It is still him saying, I see you. I know you. I know exactly what makes you soften.
And breeding kink? Absolutely.
Unfortunately. Devastatingly. Yes.
But with Phillip, I do not think it is simple baby fever. It is permanence. Legacy. Proof.
He is a man who comes and goes. A man who lives around risk. A man who knows too well what it means to leave and not be completely sure when he is coming home.
So the idea of making something with you that cannot be undone?
Yeah.
That would ruin him.
It would not always be loud. Sometimes it would be quiet enough to ache. His forehead pressed to yours when he's close. His breath slowing for half a second like the thought hit somewhere deeper than he meant it to. His mind moving a hundred miles per hour when he's deciding not to pull out this time. His hand splayed over your stomach when he's on top knowing he could put something right in there if you'd let him.
A home. A family. His ring. His name. The thought of you carrying something that belongs to both of you, something soft and real and permanent, would hit every traditional, possessive, Southern part of his brain at once.
It is not just wanting you.
It is wanting evidence of you and him.
Something lasting.
Something no one else gets to touch.
And I do think he has a thing for controlled risk.
Not reckless. Phillip is too disciplined for that. He is not actually trying to expose you in a way that would make you feel unsafe. But a locked office door? Voices down the hall? His hand pressed over your mouth while he murmurs against your ear. He’s got you face down on the cool wood of his desk, skirt pushed up over your hips, your heart pounding as you hear someone knock at the door.
“Easy, Baby,” He’d whisper, fighting a laugh while he feels you throb around him.
Yeah. That would do it for him.
Because Phillip likes control under pressure. He likes knowing there is a line, and he is the only thing keeping both of you from crossing it.
He is not interested in another man touching what is his. He is not interested in losing control of the room. But someone knowing? Someone seeing just enough to understand that you are his and still not being allowed anywhere near you?
That, I can see.
It is less sharing and more possessive display.
Look all you want. She’s still mine.
Maybe after your railing meeting in his office, you step out a little hot and disheveled, smoothing your clothes, trying very hard to look normal. One of the Shadows glances up, then immediately finds the floor very interesting.
Phillip follows a moment later, calm, tie loose and shirt still undone at the top, smug in that quiet way of his.
He does not touch you.
He does not say a word.
He does not have to.
And once in a while, he gives you Commander Graves because you ask for it.
Not every night. Not casually. His work is his work, and I think he keeps firm lines around that. But if it is your birthday, or you admit a little too shyly that you want the gear, the gloves, the voice?
He is not saying no.
He would stand there for a second, just looking at you.
Then that slow smile when you sheepishly say that you think it's sexy when you see him switch from your husband to Commander. Tactical vest on, boots laced, eyes hard. The thought makes you shiver.
And then he would make you deal with exactly what you asked for.
Because that is Phillip’s thing, really.
Possession. Breeding. Authority. Obedience. Praise. Controlled risk. Being watched, but never shared.
Every kink comes back to the same core truth.
He wants to be the man in charge.
But more than that, he wants to be the man you choose to surrender to.
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cw: cheating + minor angst
For a man cheating on his wife, Nanami is real gentlemanly when he fucks you.
He always has been — ever since that first time he left his sleeping wife in bed to drive to your apartment and fuck you stupid on your couch, he did so with a certain respect to your body that not many men think twice about nowadays. Made you come twice before filling you up.
Maybe you expected him to be rough. That he'd let his guilt out on you with sharp thrusts and spanks and hateful sex against whatever surface is the coldest and most unforgiving. And sure, he has his heated moments after a long day or a marital spat at home, but for the most part, he's kind.
You'd call him a good man, if not for the obvious.
And you're no better, of course. You saw the ring, caught glimpses of his lock screen when he'd check his phone around you. A lovely photo from his wedding day, looking adoringly at a woman in white who was most definitely not you.
You wonder, if their honeymoon was anything like this, what possibly could have killed the spark.
You grasp at the petal-covered bedcover as Kento rolls his hips into yours, filling you with his weighty cock and accenting it with a kiss to your neck. He groans as you tighten around him, wetting his cock even more. You've long since stopped using condoms together — it feels better, and the risk makes you giddy.
"Can't believe you booked us a honeymoon suite," you gasp, scratching your nails against his scalp as he thrusts into you. He had told his wife that a sudden business trip would steal him away for a few nights in the city; it'd only be smart to book a hotel room and save on travel. "It's a little on the nose, don't you think?"
Another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your neck tells you more than words could; he just doesn't care. It took him months to get over the nauseating guilt he felt when he'd come and find his pleasure between your legs rather than his wife's, but he has since learnt to let desire take the wheel. And you have since learnt to leave your shame at the door.
That doesn't mean your mind doesn't wander. The stroking drag of Nanami's cock inside of you is narcotic, but a thought pesters you with each graze of his tip along your g-spot.
"Tell me you love me," you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath in embarrassment when his thrusts slow.
His voice is silken. Amused. "What was that?"
Reblogged matchagirl
Lara McGrath | © Nick Knight
Reblogged romanceyourdemons
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Notes: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, I’ve just been very stressed with some family stuff. My foster mom is in the hospital, and I just have to prepare for school starting again, so that’s the reason for the delay. I also don’t know how to tag this so I was just guess so sorry if I missed anything.
MDNI! Smut (not graphic), toxic relationship, cheating, groping, inappropriate relationship with boss and arguing.
Laying in bed, his scent is still all around you, cologne sticking to the sheets, saying longer than he ever has. You're the other woman. You knew you were going to be. He told he had a wife, and he was only looking for a quick fuck, but he was just so perfect. It was hard not to fall in love. So many things were wrong, and you felt awful. You peel yourself out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to get ready for work. Your white button up that is a little too tight, and your long black pencil skirt. You were tired of this, if him, of being treated like you were nothing. After getting ready you grab your bag and head to work, to face him.
The heavy glass door creaks as you walk inside the office and head to your desk, connected to Nanami’s office. As you set your stuff down you hear a familiar voice.
“Hello darling,” he says as he leans against the doorway of your room. “How are you this morning?”
“Good” you mumbled, keeping it straight forward and simple.
“That good sweetheart. You look good today, in that skirt.” He says as his hands roll down your shoulder, and to your lower back. And as much as you hated him, hated this weird relationship you had with him, you couldn't lie. It felt good. So damn good.You had to lean into him. Nanami was there for you at your hardest. He let you keep your job when you fell into a deep depression and didn’t leave your house for months. He brought you food, cleaned your house, and kept you clean. All while he had a wife at home. Cooking him dinner and keeping his bed warm. After the first time you had sex, you all you thought about was why you? What was it about you that made him forget about his wife at home? You knew it wasn’t your beauty because you’ve seen pictures of his wife. She could be a model. You suspected that it was because you were easy. The smallest hint of affection and you’d fall, hard. So when he took care of you for those long months, you became attached, so attached, he knew he had you wrapped around his finger.
“Did you wear this just for me?” He whispers as his hands make his way to your breast, squeezing the soft chubby flesh. A soft gasp escapes you, as pleasure consumes you. Your thighs start to press together as his hands wander more, finding soft tender spots on your body. “My wife I’d going away on a girls trip with her friends so I’m coming over tonight. I want you to wear that matching bra and pantie set. The black one, with the pink lace.” His rough hands slip under your shirt, pointer finger sliding along the lip of your bra cup. “Maybe even make me something good to eat if you're feeling fancy. Like some steak, or maybe even salmon.” Nanami is cut off when his office phone starts to ring, with a sigh he removes his hands from your shirt and walks back into his office talking to whoever.
And you just sit there, on the verge of tears with an aching pain in your chest and an aching pleasure between your legs. This is killing you, he is killing you.
You wish you didn’t listen, you wish you didn’t respond to his text, but now he’s here, at your kitchen table like always, eating the food you made for him. You just watched. You were sick.
“Doll? What is it?” Nanami asks as he takes a sip of his wine. And it broke you.
“I can’t do this anymore.” You whisper, your hands shaking as you look up at him. And he looked at you puzzled, like he was so confused. Confused at why you were saying this.
“What can’t you do anymore sweetheart?”
“This!” You yell, “This! All of this, I just can’t take it! You treating me like, like…”
“Like what?” Nanami asks bored, “like your special? Like your my girlfriend or wife? Like I like you? What? Because no matter what I say I know you will come back.” He says as he puts down his glass and pushes his chair away from the table and he stands up. “You will come crawling.” His hands find your chin and he tilts your head up to look at him. Tears roll down your face as beg looks at you. “Don’t cry sweetie, I’m just being honest.” He whispers as his thumb whips your fallen tears.
You wish he was wrong, you wish you could stay away, but you couldn’t, he was addicting. You needed him. Your clothes on the floor of your kitchen, making their way back to your bedroom, back to where you started. Naked in bed, watching him get dressed. No thank you, or you did good. Just back to putting on his clothes. His pants are first, the flies zip fills the quiet room as you lay there, disgusted, with your thoughts. “Do you love your wife?” You mutter, almost so quietly that he couldn’t hear.
He was putting on his belt when he replied, “Of course I do, she's the love of my life.”
“They why do you fuck me? Why am I here?”
“Because I was bored.” He says as he puts on his shirt. He turns to face you. You're still hiding under the blanket, too embarrassed to look at him. “I expect to see you at work tomorrow, and for this little tantrum of yours to be resolved by the next time I see you.” He walks to the door of your room and stops before turning back to look at you. “Bring me a lunch tomorrow since my wife is out of town ok?” He looks back at you waiting for an answer, but walks off with a huff when he gets nothing. And the moment you hear the front door slam shut, you know you need to get out of here. Out of this push and pull relationship you have with your boss.
A Siberian Shaman. Date: Original drawing from around 1776; published as a colored engraving in 1803. The source is cited as “The Costume of the Russian Empire, London: William Miller, 1803,” but I couldn’t find the colored version of this engraving in that specific work- it might be from a different edition.