Dqrkhold

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 : Gay Shakespeare • He/Him • Gay • Pieces • Blk • 20 •

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐠 — I do short and long male reader fics. I will try to post whenever I can, either that being a long or short fic. I do write smut but I do love writing fluff more.

Thank y’all for the continuous support, and I hope you’ll follow me through out 2026

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His happy trail needs to be studied (by me specifically)

Aww thank you, happy pride everyone

⌂ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ★ 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝓐𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝓐𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Serving Prince Aerion was never a choice. As one of the Red Keep’s sworn guards, you’ve spent years obeying the whims of the royal family without question—The dragon prince summons you to his chambers night after night, using your loyalty however he pleases. | drabble + porn with plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Aerion, Fluff, Sub!M!Reader, Moaning, Praising, throat fucking, blowjob, M!Reader (giving), BDSM, Swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

The heavy door to Aerion's chambers groaned shut behind you, the sound echoing through the room. You had been summoned—as you always were when the Prince required something—and you had come without question. “Close the door properly,” came Aerion's voice from deeper within the chamber, with that impatient tone you’d learned to recognize in your years of service. You had learned that lesson on your first day when a fellow guard had hesitated to fetch a goblet of wine, citing his duties at the door. That man no longer served in the Red Keep—or anywhere else.

Your hand rested on the pommel of your sword, still expecting a proper order. Instead, you found him. Prince Aerion lounged back in his great armchair, legs spread wide, breeches unlaced and pooled around his thighs. His hand moved in a slow over his cock—thick and flushed, the head glistening in the firelight.

“Close the door properly,” he said, his voice low and honeyed, “unless you want the whole keep to hear what happens next.” You pushed it shut, the latch clicking into place. The air grew thick.

“Come here.” He didn't stop stroking himself, his thumb swiping over the head and spreading the slick bead of precum down his cock. “On your knees. Now.” You obeyed. There was no other option. The block waited for those who defied the blood of the dragon. Your knees hit the cold stone floor, and you crawled forward until you were between his spread thighs, close enough to smell the salt and musk of him.

“Look at me,” Aerion commanded, his other hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back. “You know why you're here, don't you? My royal cock needs attention, and you're the only servant I trust not to bite.”

He laughed at his own joke, a sharp, cruel sound. Then his grip tightened, forcing your face toward his lap.

“Open your mouth. And don't you dare let me see your teeth.” You parted your lips, and he guided the head of his cock past them. The taste hit you—salty, warm, thick with his arousal. He groaned, a low sound from deep in his chest, and thrust forward, burying half his length down your throat before you could adjust.

“That's it,” he breathed, his hips beginning a steady, lazy rhythm. “Take it. Take all of it.”  You gagged, but he didn't relent. His hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place as he fucked your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin with each deep thrust.

“You're good for something after all, aren't you? Better than those whores in Flea Bottom. At least you don't complain.”

Precum and saliva slicked your lips, dripped down your chin, pooled on the stone floor.

“Yes... yes...” Aerion's breathing grew ragged. He held you down, his cock pressed so deep you could feel it twitch against the back of your throat, your lungs burning for air. A full minute passed—an eternity—before he pulled back, letting you gasp and cough.

“You're going to fuck me,” he said, his voice steady, commanding. “And you will do exactly as I say. Understood?”

You rose on unsteady legs, your hands trembling as you fumbled with the laces of your trousers. "Yes, my prince."

“Good,” he purred, stroking your cheek with mock tenderness. “But I'm not done with you yet. Stand up. Strip.”

You rose on unsteady legs, unbuckling your leather jerkin, your tunic, your breeches. The cold air hit your skin, and your own cock stood hard, neglected, aching. Aerion's eyes roamed over you with cool appraisal. Prince Aerion stood his cock jutting out proudly, slick with your spit. He turned and bent over the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets with both hands, presenting himself to you.

“Good. There's oil on the table. Use it.“

You found the small crystal vial, poured a generous amount into your palm, and slicked your aching cock. The oil warmed quickly, and you spread the excess across your fingers before reaching out to touch him. He shuddered as your slick fingers found his entrance, circling, pressing, until one finger slid inside.

“Don't tease,” he snapped. “I didn't ask for a courtly dance. Fuck me.” You withdrew your finger and positioned yourself at his entrance, the head of your cock pressing against his tight hole. You looked to him for confirmation, and he nodded once, sharply.

You pushed inside.

The heat of him was overwhelming, his body clamping down around you as you sank in inch by inch. Aerion let out a long, shuddering breath, his knuckles white where he gripped the sheets. “Yes,” he hissed. “Don't stop. Fill me.”

You bottomed out, your hips pressed flush against his ass, your balls resting against him. You stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, feeling the pulse of his body around you. Then you began to move—slow, deep thrusts that drew soft grunts from the Prince's lips.

“Faster,” he demanded, and you obeyed, your pace increasing until the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your breath mingling with his moans. He pushed back against you, matching your rhythm, his ass clenching around your cock with each stroke.

“I'm going to—“ you gasped, the pressure building in your balls, the edge of release approaching too quickly.

“You will not,” Aerion cut in, his voice sharp. “You do not cum until I allow it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my prince,” you gritted out, forcing yourself to slow, to pull back from the brink. The denial was exquisite agony, your cock aching inside him, desperate for release.

“Good,” he purred, and the praise sent a shiver through you. “Now fuck me harder. Use me.”

You did. You took him with brutal, driving thrusts, your hands gripping his hips, your breath ragged. He moaned openly now, his own hand moving between his legs, stroking himself in time with your pounding.

“I'm close,” he gasped. “Pull out.”

You obeyed instantly, withdrawing from his heat with a wet sound that made you both groan. You stood behind him, your cock slick and throbbing, as he turned to face you. Aerion’s hand wrapping around his own cock.

“On your knees,” he commanded, and you dropped down to face him. He leaned forward, his fist pumping his cock faster and faster, his eyes locked on yours. “Open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he aimed his cock at your face, stroking himself with frantic urgency. His breathing hitched, his body tensed, and with a guttural cry, he came—hot ropes of cum spraying across your cheeks, your lips, your chin, dripping down your face in thick, white streaks.

He continued to pump, milking himself until the last drops landed on your tongue, bitter and warm. You swallowed without being told, and he smiled, a satisfied, predatory grin.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to smear the cum across your cheek. “You've served me well tonight.”

You remained on your knees, covered in his release, waiting for his next command. He stood, looking down at you with the distant, disinterested expression of a man who had gotten what he wanted.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, turning toward his washbasin. “And get out. I'm tired of your face.” You rose on shaky legs, your cock still hard and aching. But you did not protest. You could not. You put on your trousers, fastened them with numb fingers, and walked toward the door.

Aerion called just as you reached for the handle. You turned. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, not even looking at you. “You'll be summoned again tomorrow. Same time. Be ready.”

“Yes, my prince.”

You unlocked the door and stepped out into the cold corridor, the taste of him still on your lips, his seed drying on your skin. And even as the door clicked shut behind you, you knew—you would be ready. You had no choice.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88 @ilocuras24

𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐲𝐫! 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Forcing yourself into marriage with Titus Danforth. You enter the wedding night expecting fear, resentment, and survival—not intimacy. Inside of the Danforth estate, Titus reveals a softer but no less obsessive side, treating you with unsettling tenderness while reminding you that you now belong to him completely. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Titus, Fluff, Sub!Male!Reader, Moaning, Praising, biting, Blowjob, M!Reader (reviving), Swearing, Hematolagnia, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

The door clicks shut behind you, the sound of the lock sliding into place like a final trap springing shut.

Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the moonlight, candles flickering low around the massive bedroom. Everything smelled like old cedar wood and smoke. The scent clung to the walls of the Danforth estate like perfume.

And Titus stood in the center of it like the devil they all whispered he was.

Tall. Broad. Still dressed in most of his wedding clothes, though his jacket had already been discarded somewhere downstairs. The sleeves of his black button-up were rolled to his forearms, exposing pale skin veined faintly blue beneath candlelight. His hair was messy from your constant fighting all evening, and there was a small scratch along his jaw where you’d clawed at him earlier.

He looked proud of it.

“You nearly stabbed my sister with a serving fork,” Titus murmured, amused.

Your back hit the bedroom door when he stepped closer. “She deserved it.”

You glared at him, but Titus only laughed softly under his breath.

Then his hands came up.

Massive palms cradled your face before you could recoil. The sudden gentleness caught you off guard more than the threats had all night.

His crimson eyes searched your face carefully.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs again, his voice a low rasp that vibrates through your skull. His thumb rolls over your lips, parting them slightly. “I can’t wait to turn you.”

You try to pull back, but his grip is iron-steady—vampire strength, you remind yourself. You agreed to this. The wedding band on your finger feels heavier than gold.

“You agreed to this,” he says, leaning in until his breath ghosts across your mouth—cold, with a faint copper scent. “And besides, it’s our wedding night.” His gaze drags down your body, then back up, slow and possessive. “You’re mine now.”

He kisses you. You stiffen for a heartbeat, then let yourself melt. What choice is there? He’s already branded you a Danforth, a devil worshiper, a husband. Might as well get something out of it.

Titus kisses like he hunts: relentless, consuming. His tongue pushes past your lips, tasting you, and you taste him back. He pushes open the door behind you with one hand, guiding you backward through the dimly lit room until your knees hit the edge of the four-poster bed.

Clothes shed fast. Your vest, Your pants. Soon you’re down to your briefs, he in nothing but dark pants that ride low on his hips. The candlelight flickers over his pale skin, tracing the hard lines of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. He climbs over you, hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in.

You look down at his body—smooth, marble-cold, carved like a statue. Your hands run down his chest, feeling the unnatural stillness beneath your palms. No heartbeat. Just the cool, solid flesh of something undead.

Titus kisses you again, then trails his lips down your cheek, your jaw, your neck. He nips at the skin there, just enough to make you gasp, his fangs grazing the pulse point. He pulls back, looking down at you, eyes dark with want.

“You ready?” His voice is soft, almost gentle, but his pupils are blown wide.

You hesitate, then slowly nod, your hand coming up to hold the side of his neck. His skin is like silk over steel.

He smiles, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “No, you’re not.”

Before you can respond, he’s back at your throat, mouth open, tongue laving over the spot where your jugular throbs. Your hand tangles in his dark hair, holding him there, urging him on. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you.

He pushes your legs apart, settling between them, and his hand slides down your body, over your stomach, to palm your cock through the damp cotton of your briefs. You arch into his touch, a broken moan escaping your lips.

“That’s it,” he breathes, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them down your thighs. You lift your hips, letting him strip you bare. He looks at you—a long, hungry stare—then leans down and takes you into his mouth.

You cry out, your back bowing off the mattress. His mouth is cool, but his tongue is clever, swirling around the head before taking you deeper. He bobs his head, one hand gripping your hip, the other fondling your balls. You’re barely holding on, your hips thrusting up into the wet heat of his throat.

Titus pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to your glistening cock. “I want to feel you come apart on my cock,” he says, shucking his pants. His cock springs free—pale, thick, the head flushed a deep rose. He strokes himself once, then positions the tip at your entrance.

You tense, but he holds your gaze, waiting. “You want this, don’t you?” he asks, though it’s not really a question. “You want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you whisper, because it’s true. You want to survive. You want him.

He pushes in.

The stretch is sharp, burning—you gasp, clawing at his shoulders. He stills, letting you adjust, his brow pressed to yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs.

When you relax, he begins to move. Slow at first, shallow thrusts that drag against your prostate, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. His hand wraps around your cock, stroking in rhythm with his hips.

“Fuck… Titus…” You’re lost, a mess of sensation.

“That’s it, say my name.” He picks up the pace, driving deeper, harder. The bed creaks beneath you. His skin slaps against yours, wet and rhythmic.

He leans forward, mouth latching onto your throat, and you feel the sharp prick of fangs. A sting, then a rush of pleasure as he drinks, his hips never stopping. His tongue laps at the wound, mixing blood and saliva, and the wound closes—but not before you feel a dizzying weakness, a heady submission.

He pulls back, lips stained crimson. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, and kisses you. You taste your own blood, coppery and warm, mixing with his cold tongue. He thrusts harder, faster, and you’re trembling on the edge.

“Turn around,” he commands, pulling out. Before you can protest, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up. He’s inside you again in one brutal push, your face pressed into the pillows.

“Yes—fuck—YES!” You’re screaming now, not caring who hears.

He grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, his mouth at your ear. “You’re my husband. My property.” He fucks you with punishing strokes, each one hitting that perfect spot inside. His other hand wraps around your throat, not choking, just holding, claiming.

You come untouched, spilling across the sheets, your body convulsing around him. He follows, groaning your name, spilling hot and thick inside you. He collapses onto your back, still sheathed, pressing kissed against your spine.

“I’m going to turn you,” he whispers against your mouth. “And we’ll have forever, you and I.”

You nod, too tired to speak, but the fear is gone. In its place is a dark, thrilling knowing: you are his, and he is yours, bound in blood and bone and a wedding vow sealed in blood.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88 @ilocuras24

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Rafe wakes to you grinding against his thigh in your sleep, needy and warm and seeking him out without even thinking about it. Instead of stopping you, he melts into it — hands in your hair, guiding your hips while you leave wet kisses and bruising marks across his chest. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Rafe, Fluff, Sub!Reader, Moaning, Praising, dry humping, Somnophilia, M!Reader (giving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You’re both still half-asleep, the warmth of his body a heavy, familiar comfort against yours. You shift, not quite awake, but your body knows what it wants.  Rafe was on his back, one arm slung loose behind his head, breath slow and even. You were pressed against his side, leg hooked over his thigh. Your hips press forward, grinding lazily against his thigh through the thin cotton of his boxers and your own.

A soft, sleepy groan catches in your throat as you feel the heat of him, the firm muscle beneath the fabric. You do it again, a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, the friction sending a dull, pleasant thrum through your half-hard cock. Rafe stirs beneath you. His other arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Mm… what’re you doin’?” he mumbles, his voice rough and thick with sleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, but a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t answer, just buried your face in his chest, mouth open, hot breath ghosting over his collarbone. Your hips kept moving—slow, deliberate, a steady grind that had his cock swelling against yours through the dampening fabric. 

“Nothin’,” you whisper back, your lips already pressing against his collarbone. You kiss along the hard line of it, down to the swell of his chest. Your hips keep moving, a steady, gentle rock against his thigh, your boxers damp with pre-cum as you grind into him.

He lets out a low, breathy laugh. “Liar.” His hand slides from your shoulders into your hair, fingers curling and tugging just a little. “Feels good, though. Don’t stop.” Rafe’s breathing hitched, and his hand slid lower, gripping your ass, guiding your rhythm. “Fuck… you’re not even awake, are you?” he murmured, a smirk in his voice.

You hummed against his skin, dragging your lips down his chest, leaving a trail of wet, sleepy kisses. Your tongue traced the hard line of his pectoral, tasting him. Your mouth finds the spot just above his left nipple, and you latch on, sucking softly at first. Rafe’s breath hitches, his hips twitching up to meet your slow rhythm.

“Fuck…” he breathes, his voice dropping lower. “Right there, baby.” You obey, working that spot of skin with your lips and tongue, sucking harder until you feel the blood rush to the surface. His skin turns pink beneath your mouth, then a deeper, angry red. You pull back just enough to look at the mark you’re leaving, already blossoming into a dark bruise. It satisfies something primal in you. You dive back in, sucking deep, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss.

“Yeah,” Rafe groans, his head pressing back into the pillow. His chest rises and falls faster beneath you. “Fuckin’ mark me up. Want everyone to see it.” You release the skin with a wet pop, licking over the tender spot. His nipple is hard against your tongue, and you flick it before moving to the other side of his chest, finding a fresh patch of skin to destroy. Your hips never stop their lazy grind, the friction building a tight heat low in your belly.

Rafe’s arm moves, and you hear the soft tap of his phone being picked up off the nightstand. You don’t stop sucking, your mouth occupied. You heard the click of his phone screen, and then he shifted, angling the camera down. The flash went off once, twice, catching the hickey in harsh white light.

His free hand grips your hair, holding you in place.

“Look up,” he says, his voice a low command. “Wanna see your mouth on me.”

The camera shutter sound cuts through the quiet room, once, twice, three times.

He pulls the phone back, scrolling through the images with a satisfied grunt. “Fuck, that’s hot.” He turns the screen toward you. It’s a close-up of your mouth on his chest, the hickey dark and wet, your lips red and swollen. Drool glistens on his skin.

“Look at that. You really went to town.”

You nuzzled into his neck, still rocking against him, the slow grind never stopping. “Gonna show your friends?”

He snorted, locking the phone and tossing it aside. “Nah. This one’s for me.” His hand moved to your ass, gripping it. “Now keep fuckin’ my thigh, baby. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You kept that slow, lazy grind, the sheets rustling, breath mingling, the room filling with the soft sound of skin on skin and the wet whisper of saliva as you sucked another mark just below the first. Rafe’s eyes fluttered closed, a low, continuous groan vibrating in his chest.

You groan at the increased pressure, your cock aching as you rut against him like an animal in heat.

“Keep goin” he mutters, his eyes half-lidded and dark. “Don’t care if we don’t even fuck, just wanna feel you like this.”

Your forehead drops to his chest, your breathing ragged. The cot of his boxers is damp with your leaking pre-cum, the friction slicker now, the glide maddening. You can feel his own cock through the fabric, hard and thick against your hip, the heat radiating off him.

“Rafe,” you whimper, the name broken by a shuddering exhale. “I’m close.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, the condescension laced with genuine affection. “Come on my thigh. Make a mess for me.”

That’s all it takes. Your hips stutter, a choked moan muffled against his skin as you spill into your boxers, the hot pulse of your orgasm flooding the fabric. The friction against your oversensitive cock makes you gasp, but you keep grinding through it, milking every last drop.

Rafe watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his hand still tangled in your hair, stroking soothingly as you come down. “There you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good boy.”

You collapse against him, your body boneless and slick with sweat. His chest is damp under your cheek, the fresh mark you left standing out dark and beautiful against his tanned skin. You trace the edge of it with your finger, and he chuckles.

“Gonna wake up tomorrow and see that,” he says. “And I’m gonna get hard all over again.”

You smile against his skin. “Good.”

He reaches down, patting your sticky thigh. 

“Good morning,” he whispered.

You smiled against his skin, already drifting back toward sleep.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88 @ilocuras24

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Frank has spent so much of his life being hard edges and held breath that being wanted like this almost undoes him before anything even begins. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Male!Reader, Fluff, Sub!Frank, Moaning, Praising, Orgasm control, Blowjob, M!Reader (Giving), Swearing, , Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You’ve got him on his back, his hairy chest rising and falling under your palms, hair mussed against the pillow. He looks up at you with those piercing, hungry eyes, still half-disbelieving that someone wants him like this, wants to take him apart piece by piece.

You start at his mouth, a slow, claiming kiss that steals his breath, then you trail lower. Your lips drag over his jaw, down the thick column of his throat where his pulse hammers against your tongue. He groans, fingers threading into your hair as you move lower, over his collarbone, across the firm plane of his chest. His hips twitch, a helpless little roll, and you smile against his skin.

“Easy,” you murmur, your breath hot on his sternum.

“I’m trying,” he rasps, voice wrecked already. “Fuck, I’m trying.”

You continue your journey south, mouth open, tasting the salt-slick heat of his skin. The happy trail starts just below his navel, a dark line of hair that arrows down into the V of his hips. You follow it with the tip of your tongue, slow and deliberate, tracing each stray hair as if mapping a territory you intend to conquer. Frank shudders, his abs clenching under your touch. His hands grip the sheets beside him, knuckles white.

“That’s… god, that’s—” He can’t finish the sentence. His cock is already hard, flushed and leaking, the pre-cum smearing a glossy streak across his belly. You don’t touch it yet. You want him to wait.

You kiss along the jut of his hipbone, then the other side, your lips soft and teasing. Frank whimpers—a sound you’re quickly learning he makes when he’s desperate. You take your time, lapping at the sensitive crease where his thigh meets his groin, feeling him tremble beneath you. When you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock, he lets out a guttural moan that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips bucking shallowly.

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting the weight of him slide over your tongue. He’s thick, and the taste of him is clean and salty and overwhelmingly male. You work him with steady, wet suction, one hand cupping his balls while the other presses flat against his lower belly to keep him still. But he can’t stay still. He rocks into your mouth, his breathing ragged, his thighs shaking.

You pull off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cockhead. He looks down at you, eyes glazed, mouth open.

“Not yet,” you say, your voice low and firm. “You’re not coming from my mouth.”

He swallows, nods, his chest heaving. “Okay. Fuck. Okay.”

You crawl up his body, straddle his hips. Your own cock is hard, brushing against his, slick with pre-cum. You position yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Frank’s hands find your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, and you let him guide you as you sink down.

The stretch is perfect—a slow, burning fullness that makes you both gasp. Frank’s eyes roll back as your heat envelops him, his mouth falling open on a silent cry. You pause once he’s fully seated, feeling him pulse inside you, that thick length buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he grits out, his jaw tight.

You begin to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has him groaning beneath you. Your hands find his chest, palms flat against his pectorals as you roll your hips, rising and falling in a steady cadence. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes sparks dance behind your eyes.

“Don't you cum yet,” you say, your voice a low command. You reach forward, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. The power shift is palpable, the way he looks up at you, his expression a mixture of desperation and submission.

“I won't,” he promises, his voice breaking. “I won't cum.”

You watch his face as you speed up, your hips grinding down harder, faster. His features twist in a battle between bliss and restraint. His brow furrows, his lips part, and a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. His hands grip your hips, not to guide you, but to anchor himself, his knuckles white.

“Tell me,” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath hot against his lips. “Tell me how bad you want to.”

“So bad,” he chokes out. “You're killing me. The way you move, the way you're looking at me...”

You smile, slow and wicked, as you clench around him, milking a desperate groan from his throat. His eyes roll back for a second before he forces them open again, locked onto yours.

“Look at me, Frank. Don't look away.”

His gaze is intense, almost pleading. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled like springs, every fiber of his being focused on holding back. The bed creaks beneath you, the rhythm building, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

”I'm close,” he admits, his voice raw. ”Fuck, I'm so close.”

”Not yet,” you repeat, slowing your movements, drawing them out until you're barely rocking against him. The change in pace makes him whimper, a sound so raw and honest it sends a thrill through you. You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the carnal act beneath. ”You're doing so well, Frank. Just a little longer.”

He nods, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving yours. You start moving again, building back up, watching the war play out on his face. The need, the struggle, the surrender. 

Frank’s face is a ruin of pleasure—mouth hanging open, eyes half-lidded, tears of effort at the corners. He’s beautiful like this, stripped of all pretense, just a man on the edge.

“Look at me,” you command one last time, and he does, his gaze finally clear, focused only on you. “Now you can come.”

The permission breaks him. He cries out, a hoarse, desperate sound as he drives up into you, his hips bucking uncontrollably. You feel the hot flood of his cum filling you, pulse after pulse, as he groans your name over and over like a litany. His body goes rigid, then slack, and he pulls you down into a crushing embrace, burying his face in your neck.

You stay like that for a long moment, both of you trembling, slick with sweat. His softening cock still inside you, his hands stroking your back.

”Fuck,” he says, the word a heavy sigh. ”That was... I don't even have words.”

You smile against his skin, your hand tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “Good.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88 @ilocuras24

𝓑𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐓𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : After a long stretch of tension and teasing between you and Dex, the two of you finally cross a line that’s been simmering for a while. What starts as a nervous but deliberate moment of intimacy quickly becomes something far deeper—an exchange of trust, control, and vulnerability. | drabble + porn without plot

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Reader, Fluff, Sub!Dex, Moaning, Praising, Bondage, Blindfold, Strap on, bottom!Dex, Reader (giving), Amaurophilia, Swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

The first thing you notice is the way Dex’s eyes go half-lidded when you buckle the harness around your hips. He’s sprawled on the bed, naked, one arm bent behind his head, watching you. The dildo stands upright, dark silicone, not too long but girthy—one he picked out himself. You stroke it once, a little self-conscious, but his gaze reassured you. He's all hard muscle and sharp angles, his body taking up half the damn mattress as he laid back on the sheets.  The slick sound of lube fills the small, dim bedroom as you work some around the  silicone cock standing stiff and ready between your legs.

"Come here," you say, your voice low and steady even though your heart's hammering. He crawls toward you, his big hands leaving divots in the mattress. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he doesn't stop. He keeps going, planting his feet on the floor and standing over you. Even on his knees, he towers. His shadow falls across you, warm and heavy, and he cups your jaw with one scarred hand.

“You sure about this?” you asked, your voice low, teasing.

Dex’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” You nod, and he leans down to kiss you. It's slow at first—his lips soft, his tongue just barely teasing—but then it deepens. He bites your bottom lip, tugs, releases. His hand slides down your chest, over your stomach, until he's gripping the base of the dildo, testing its weight. Your went for the handcuffs you’d laid out on the nightstand. The metal clinked as you brought them up.

“Give me your hands.”

Dex obeyed without hesitation, lifting up his hand to you. You clicked the cuffs around his wrists, checking the tightness—comfortable but secure. Then you reached for the black silk blindfold. “Hold still,” you murmured, tying it over his eyes. And suddenly he was just a big, powerful man reduced to nothing but touch and sound and sensation.

“Good,” you said, placing a hand on his lower back and guiding him toward the bed. “Now get on your knees.”

He moved carefully, his balance slightly off without sight, But he managed to position himself on the the mattress, propping himself up. The scar on his back gleams. You climb up behind him, the mattress creaking under both your weights. He looks over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You squeeze more lube into your palm, slicking up the silicone cock until it's dripping. You press the tip between his cheeks, dragging it through the crack of his ass, letting him feel the pressure first. He pushes back against you, a low grunt escaping his throat. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Right there.”

You push in slowly. His body resists for a second, then gives, the tight heat swallowing the head. He lets out a shuddering breath, his big hands fisting the sheets. You sink deeper, inch by inch, until your hips press flush against his ass.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Give me a second.” You stay still, your hands on his hips, feeling the tension roll through his back muscles. You lean down and press a kiss to it. “Don't stop,” He shivers, his voice rough. So you start to move. Slow, shallow thrusts at first, working him open, feeling him clench around the silicone. He matches your rhythm, rocking back against you, his breath coming in short huffs.

“Faster,” he demands.

You give him faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, wet and rhythmic. His hand snakes between his own legs, and you hear the wet sound of him jerking himself off in time with your thrusts. You pound into him, your hips slamming against his ass, the harness digging into your skin. He's moaning now, his face buried in the pillow, his whole body trembling.

“Fuck, I'm close,” he gasps. “Not yet,” you say, pulling out.

You laid back guiding Dex on your lap. Then, with a slow, steady push, he sank down onto it. The heat of him enveloped the silicone, his ass clenching around the shape, and he let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Oh God… yes.”

He began to ride you. His movements were deliberate, controlled—he rose and fell with a rhythm that was all his own, his bound hands gripping the sheets for balance. His thighs flexed, his back arched. He was gorgeous like this: stripped of his typical violence, reduced to pure pleasure.

“Look at you,” you breathed, your hands resting on his hips, not thrusting—just letting him take what he needed. “Taking it so well.” He turned his head, blindfolded, searching for your voice.  You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.  “Fuck,” he grunted, picking up speed. The bed creaked underneath him. “I could—fuck—I could cum just like this.”

But you had other plans.

You reached and wrapped your hand around his cock, his cock leaking against your palm. “Not yet. I want to fuck you. On your back.” He whines—a raw, needy sound—but complied, slowing and then lifting off your cock with a wet sound. He turned carefully, lowering himself onto his back, his bound arms trapped. You saw his face flushed, the blindfold dark against his skin, his lips parted. his chest heaving.

His cock is slick and red, flushed and leaking onto his stomach. You grab the dildo, guiding it back to his hole, his legs spread wide.

“Get back in,” he says. “Finish what you started.”

You position yourself between his thighs and push back in. This angle is different—deeper, the curve of the dildo pressing against something that makes his eyes roll back. He wraps his legs around your waist, pulling you as deep as you can go.

“You're fucking beautiful,” you say, staring down at him.

“Look who's talking.“ He laughs breathlessly.

“You’re so big, Dex,” you whispered, your pace quickening.

You speed up, driving into him with a rhythm that’s all urgency now. His moans turn into gasps, then broken curses. Dex clenches around the toy, you feel his whole body tense.

“Like—hnn—like being fucked,” he gets out.

“Right there,” he gasps. “Don't stop, don't—“

With a choked cry, Dex spills onto the sheets beneath him. His ass tightens around the dildo, milking it as he rides out his orgasm. You slowed but didn’t stop, riding out his pleasure until his trembling eased. You pull out gently, watching the toy slide free. You collapsed beside him, your hand reaching up to untie the blindfold.

His eyes blinked, dazed and soft.

“Good boy,” he murmured, his voice rough. He leaned over and kissed you, slow and languid. You gave him a tired smile, reaching for the key to the handcuffs. But he caught your wrist.

“Leave them on for a while,” he said, a flicker of hunger still in his eyes. “I’m not done with you yet.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88 @ilocuras24

Before Darkhold Week begins, I wanted to give you all a quick update on what to expect afterward.

First, all posts during Darkhold Week will be scheduled, and I likely won’t be online for most of the week.

Second, once Darkhold Week ends, I’ll be taking a short break throughout June to enjoy my summer and recharge creatively. I’ll be returning in July with something new that I think you all will really enjoy.

Thank you all for the recent support — it truly means a lot.

See you all in July.

Hope you get some bb