MAEVE NONBINARY 18+
ze/zir/zir/zirs/zirself
zhe/zher/zher/zhers/zherself
CEST WRITER FREE2INTERACT (free to interact with)
----- exploring my interest in queerness within fiction, or largely posting character studies of characters that I find interesting. every work I post is highly self-indulgent unless stated otherwise (or, if I'm trying my hand at exploring topics I don't typically write about).
----- introspection / chara. studies are my bread and butter.
----- i'm european and english isn't my first language, there are times where I will have trouble understanding what you meant - and will ask you for context or explanations, this isn't because you're doing something bad, I just don't understand American / British culture that well within writing. i also do recommend using tone-tags if possible, primarily to avoid language barriers.
----- i run purely on motivation and inspiration, and It's very, very possible I'll find myself completely burned out from nothing. that being said, please do not spam or message me constantly about updates: if its out, it's out.
----- this blog is for SAS:RH (sas: rogue heroes), MOTA (masters of the air), The Terror, (and many more!!) , posting, everything I post on here will relate to the franchises.
----- I always accept requests, my only ask is that you just have to know what you want, by this i mean having a general idea of what character(s) you'd like me to write about, and what prompt / idea you have / would like to see be done. i truly don't mind if you have specifics or greater details in mind, it generally helps me all the more to hear them. if my ask me is too overwhelming or awkward, or whatever you find uncomfortable, absolutely feel free to just drop in my dms and talk to me directly. (i won't tag you in the fic / work unless you ask for it, if you do go via the dm route. ill just send you the fic via link.)
----- i am currently working on remaking this blog
----- i adore when people comment or talk to me in general, it's the easiest way for us to become moots if i feel you are interested in simply just talking with me even briefly. and likewise, its easier for me to find more people to look at the works of !!
----- PAIRINGS LIST ︰ bxb, bxnb, bxg, gxg, gxnb, nbxnb, t4t ﹚ poly pairs + mono pairs ﹚ cc / cc, cc / oc ﹚ trades (you write a ship for me, and i write a ship for you), crackships, rarepairs, ships, canon-pairs.
----- RECOMMENDATIONS ︰ TBA.
----- CREDITS ︰ mike sadler layout, gifs sourced by @//poetmayne.
AO3(tba) MASTERLIST(wip) DISCORD
PRIDE 2026 TAGLIST(tba)
Anyway I think more video game quests should make you uncomfortable and guilty and mislead you and corner you between a rock and a hard place and offer hollow victories. There's nothing more annoying than quest writing that scrambles to assure you that you're niceys and good and nothing you put your hand on can ever have negative consequences. "You cannot save everyone" and I cheer and whoop etc.
🆂🆄🅼🅼🅰🆁🆈: A morning spent in each other arms. Leaving the bed is not even a thought on your mind.
🆃🆆: mlm, gay sex, porn without plot, p in a, handjob, cockwarming, slow and passionate, soft!oliver, bottom!reader, kissing, passionate, established relationship, morning fun, sensual
🅿🅰🅸🆁🅸🅽🅶: Oliver Mellors x Male Reader
🆆🅲: 2.5k+
18 + 🅲🅾🅽🆃🅴🅽🆃 🅼🅸🅽🅾🆁🆂 🅳🅽🅸!!!!
Hot breath hits the back of your neck as Oliver sleeps soundly behind you. Chest pressed against your back. Strong arms wrapped around you, hugging you close.
You lay in front, holding one of his arms to your chest, head resting on his other bicep, arm extended under your head like a pillow. Body curving snuggly, fitting perfectly against his shape. You're content to simply float, completely happy being the little spoon.
There are no obligations to get up once the day breaks. Sun peeking over the tree line, lighting up Oliver’s hut. Buried under a few blankets, refusing to move away from the warmth of a man whose love was too pure.
You spent last night in each other's arms. A night filled with lust. Sensual. Slow. Falling asleep within his embrace.
Taking deep shallow breaths, you were the first one to wake up. Eyes opening, not yet fully awake. Shifting lightly, adjusting your hips, you gasp quietly. Having forgotten that Oliver was still buried with his soft cock warming your insides. You adjust your hips with a content hum, squeezing his arm a little tighter.
The hairs tickle from his gentle breathing. Soft exhales ghosting over the nape. Laying there in blissful silence listening to the ins and outs of his breath.
He was everything.
So, there was a delighted feeling just lying there. Feeling the soft press of warm skin against your spine each time his chest expanded. Absent mindedly you let your thumb pet the back of his rough hand as you cuddled it.
Finally, the breathing behind you changed. A calm purr rumbled in his chest as he awoke. Arms shifted, the one under your head slides, wrapping, pulling you into a tighter hold. Afraid you had the faintest idea of getting up this morning.
A light smile crosses your face when you feel lips press to the back of your neck. Tender kisses, beard prickling the skin.
The man was deeply in love, and he never hesitated to show it. Whether through beautifully spoken words or actions—just like now—it proved without a shadow of a doubt.
Lips smack lightly to the skin.
You hum, which encourages him to plant more loving kisses.
Shifting both of you gasp with sensitivity.
Oliver buries his face into the crook of your shoulder, his lips pressing and sucking lightly, leaving a slight mark against your skin.
“A fine morning to you too,” you purr tilting your head to the side and pressing your face comfortably into the pillow.
“Mhm… mornin’,” Oliver grumbles gruffly, immediately taking advantage of the newly exposed stretch of neck. “Don’t talk. Just feel.” His soft lips press affectionately against your skin to seal the command.
You lean back into him with a breathy hum.
Oliver takes his time. No rushing. Showing the same love, he showed the night before. Lips trail higher to your jaw, then he kissed your cheek. Body moving, leaning in to capture your lips.
A delighted sound was caught in his mouth as lips sealed over yours.
Half-turning your upper body, making it easier, Oliver shifts his hips at the same time, earning him a muffled moan. One that he swallows, tongue slipping past your lips into your wet mouth.
There’s a slow stretch, as his cock grows hard. Your tongue eagerly twists around his. You free your hand from under his to pet his face.
Oliver slowly starts to roll his hips. Chest pressed against your back, pressing his body entirely to yours. Warm hand still holding yours keeping it snuggly around you. His lips press firmly and a pleased noise rumbles from his throat.
You twist more of your upper body, turning to face him better, hand rubbing his cheek petting the rough hairs of his beard.
In an eager purr he rolls his hips, thrusting them forward pushing his cock deeper. He catches another muffled moan with his mouth, tongue tangling with yours.
Your insides are slowly stretched as his shaft thickens. A groan spills into your mouth when your walls clench around the girth.
Lips smack, saliva mixing, as he tastes the inside of your mouth.
Your hand lightly pats his face.
Oliver rolls his hips. Slow measured thrusts. Cock gently pushing in and pulling out. The length drags along the inner walls in a constant rhythm. His lips eat at yours as he keeps up an easygoing pace. Keeping things slow as he savors the tight heat gripping him.
His hand leaves yours, gliding down your side past your hip, fingers splaying over your thigh. A subtle press of his palm and he gently guides your body to meet his thrusts.
The room is filled with the quiet wet sounds of kissing and the faint slap of skin when his hips meet your ass.
He breaks the kiss to catch his breath. Lips only pulling a breath apart.
“Do you know how much I love you?” Without giving you a chance to answer, he dives back in to claim your mouth again. His hips drive deep, his tongue sweeping past your parted lips as a helpless moan escapes you.
Oliver’s tongue slides back in.
Soft blue eyes remain open, watching your face. He studies the way your features crease and twitch. Keeping up the slow pace, the hand on your thigh glides, lifting your leg over his hip. The movement opens you fully, allowing him to sink impossibly deeper.
When his cock bottoms out, burying into what feels like your stomach, a string of breathless, needy moans escapes you.
Your palm presses against his face, fingers slightly digging into his cheek. The slow grinding thrusts have more moans come out of you. Needy as Oliver makes love to you. Shakily your lips chase his as he watches you gradually fall apart. Gasping in between pecks to his lips.
The hand on your thigh grips tighter, holding you open while his hips rock.
Forward.
Back.
A continuous repeating motion. His cock drags every inch of your walls.
“You feel so good,” you whisper against his lips.
At the words, a gentle, satisfied smile spreads across Oliver’s face, clearly pleased to hear just how much he’s undoing you. Fingertips lightly brush the skin.
You gasp.
He fucks you at a slow rhythm. It’s what the two of you need. Strengthening the relationship. He savors how tight your ass is. His cock dives deep then shallow. There’s a deep affection in his gaze as he refuses to take his eyes off you.
“I need you,” you tell him with a content groan. Voice dripping with love and want.
“You already have me,” Oliver purrs directly into your ear. His hips roll, picking up just a fraction of speed—just enough to make your eyes squeeze shut and your face to scrunch with intense pleasure.
A heavy, thick heat pools deep in your belly, making your eyelids flutter.
Oliver’s thrust grows harder. Rolling faster.
You clutch his hand like a lifeline. Like it's the only thing keeping you from drifting away. Your other hand scratches at his beard, fingers running along the rough edges.
He rocks faster, clearly pleased with how easily your body is taking every solid inch this morning. His hand hasn’t stopped rubbing your thigh—goosebumps formed—with a light touch. That broad palm graces your inner thigh, rubbing near your hardening cock without touching it. Oliver rubs in the crevice of your pelvis, brushing the thick hair.
Your cock twitches to the attention, feeling his hand just shy of where you ache.
The touch pulls a louder moan from you. The pillow meets your head when it tilts back. Cock dragging and stretching your walls with ease.
“You fit me so well,” he mumbles low and seductively, his lips brushing your jaw.
Finally, his fingers wrap around your aching cock, and he begins to stroke you. The hand strokes are just as slow and torturous as his steady thrusts. Oliver’s mouth finds your neck again, sucking hard, bruising the tender skin to leave a dark, blooming mark you’ll carry later.
A loud, needy cry rips out of you.
Oliver groans in response, driving deeper. The head of his cock hammers directly against your prostate, his hips shifting to ensure you feel every glorious inch of his thickness.
“Ye-yes…. Just like that. Please,” you moan, your walls instinctively clamping tight, vice-gripping his cock as he keeps up his relentless pace.
With every deep drive of his hips, the hand stroking you keeps perfect time.
His mouth returns to your neck, sealing over your pulsing vein. He kisses and sucks hungrily, leaving a trail of dark marks for you to proudly wear. Fresh moans drag from your throat as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging on the medium strands as quiet pants escape your parted lips. Magnetically, your hips begin to meet his, rocking back to chase the building, unbearable heat.
Oliver’s fist pumps you in long, drawn-out strokes, his warm calloused palm dragging over your full cock. When his fingers reach the slick rounded head, he twists his hand lightly.
Whining loudly, leaking steadily into his palm. We slick coats his hand making a slight squish sound.
Oliver always knew how to work his hands. Just like in his daily labor, he knows exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly how to touch to make your entire body vibrate at the slightest motion. He’s too damn good at it. His fingers slide, interlocking with yours gripping onto your hand tight.
You groan as inner walls spasm, squeezing his shaft hard.
Oliver lets out a forceful moan right by your ear. “Can feel you getting tighter, lad.” Lips peck the earlobe, his hips still rolling steadily. Thrusting in and out.
Your mouth opens to answer, but the only sound that comes out is a desperate needy moan.
Teeth graze your earlobe, voice low and gruff. “I want you to come when I do.” He tells you softly, kissing the tender skin of your jaw.
Cock slick with pre-cum, his palm never stops moving. Stroking from base to head, while his cock pumps into the tight hole. Only speeding up a few times to make your body quiver. Slowly prolonging the experience.
Fingers grip his hair tighter holding on. You never want to let go. You never want this morning to end, never want him to pull out, never want to lose this heavy, stretching fullness.
Oliver’s sweet, seductive voice flows directly into your ear again. “Gonna make this feel so good for the both of us.”
His hot breath ghosts over your skin. His thumb begins to swirl in small, agonizing circles over your leaking slit. The rough pad—of working hands—has the tip spurting shimmering pre-cum. Sticky and shining on his fingers. He uses it to cool the heated head of your throbbing cock. The shaft pulses wildly in his fist.
A broken whine rips from your throat. Hips jerked hard, crashing back into his with a loud wet smack.
Kissing his way along your jaw and neck, Oliver works you with expert precision. Deliberate strokes, up and down every inch of your wet cock. The squelching sounds of his hand echoes as he pumps you. The pre-cum wetting his palm as it slides. He picks up his pace, cock driving hard.
The bed creaks softly beneath you.
Face floods with warmth, red creeps up your neck to your cheeks. Skin flushed and damp with sweat. Your mouth hangs open in little pants, eyelids fluttering.
Oliver captures your mouth in a messy kiss. Tongue taking advantage, sliding in, swallowing the moan.
Your whole body trembled, another desperate moan tears from your throat. Captured with a firmer press of his lips. You lean into it, eyes closing, body jerking. The delicious heat in your gut burns. The coils of a climax winding tight.
Between breathless kisses, Oliver reaches down to pull your hip firmly back against him. “So close now,” he rumbles. He can feel it in his own body, his own climax bubbling just beneath the surface, and he knows you are right there with him.
You gasp, eyes rolling back. “Oliver… fu-fuck… me.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Oliver chuckles warmly against your lips.
His hand pumps faster, making your hips squirm. Oliver’s hips snap forward, cock slamming hard and deep. The head punching your prostate purposefully.
Nails dig into his scalp, gripping his hair so tightly. You need the anchor, holding on for dear life as the sweet wave of your orgasm finally hits. With a groan cum shoots from your tip. Painting Oliver’s fingers in a white sticky mess.
He moans against your cheek, hips thrusting, burying his cock to the hilt. Within seconds hot cum floods your ass in thick ropes.
Your inner walls clench down, squeezing, milking his cock. Both of you shake through your orgasms. Muscles locked, bodies connected, panting in the aftershocks.
With eyes closed, taking in shallow breaths his hand is still wrapped around your softening cock. The warmth of his palm makes it twitch in his hand. Slowly a thumb circles the tip.
You choke on a weak moan, the over sensitive head spitting out the last spurts of cum. The sticky substance trickles from the slit, oozing in a strand down the shaft.
You can’t help the pitiful jerk of your hips at the light touch; your overstimulated nerves are burning, completely robbing you of any control.
Oliver’s cock gradually softens inside you, buried so deep that his balls press tight against your ass. You can feel the distinct pulse of the veins along the shaft. Walls flutter, gripping him as the muscles constrict in rhythmic clenches.
Anything Oliver had left was milked dry.
Leaning over he lays a soft kiss on your lips. A low satisfied hum vibrates in his chest. Then he kisses your flushed cheek, then jaw. He makes sure his lips linger against your damp skin.
Through hooded eyes you gaze at him lovingly. The grip on his hair loosens. You pet his face with a tender smile, and he kisses your palm before taking your hand, sliding his fingers with yours, intertwining the digits. He wraps his arm around you and with the other he holds you close.
The warm embrace completes the cycle of love and care he always gives you. Chest flush with your back, face pressed to the hollow of your shoulder. Soft exhales breathe hot air onto your sweaty skin.
Your grip is tight on his hands not wanting to let go. You’re sure he feels the same with how he holds you. Sweat shines on both of your bodies, flushed and radiating residual heat. As before, his cock hasn’t left you, soft and resting in the wet heat of your insides.
Your hold still clenches around it in small tight squeezes as if reminding him of how well he did.
The two of you lay there in quiet intimacy. Chest rises and falls in unison.
You lay there enjoying that full feeling, heavy and warm. Cum slowly leaks past your joined hips, and Oliver’s hand is still slick with your release. You smile with his lips pressed gently to your neck as he whispers sweet loving things to you.
The morning couldn’t have been more perfect. The world, the work, the chores—-it could all wait. For now, this was the only thing that mattered.
concept for a mcspirk fanfic where kirk n bones overwhelm the fuck out of spock by getting handsy with him.
(below cut: flowery rambling about spock getting manhandled and accidentally having his pon farr hormones triggered! whoops! dubcon cw if you squint but they're all very into it; spock's just repressed. mature [but not explicit] erotica. enjoy.)
it starts innocently with passing touches on spock's back, or his waist while they're scooting past him on the ship (as men do). to lingering touches on his shoulders, pinkies inching out to graze his neck. then lingering clasps, palms over his wrists, snaking out to touch bare skin. cupping his knuckles while his hand rests somewhere idly, at attention or in command. grazing them in the lightest possible circle, peeking out from the corners of eyes, assessing. then just flat-out taking his hand, inspecting it for callouses or some imagined injury, pressing into the base of his hand, squeezing the more padded skin there, looking up at him with roguish eyes. pretending to not know the significance but knowing full well what it means. to be this touchy, to pry apart his fingers like this.
spock is confused and scandalized and aroused by all the attention and he can't even get out why he's reacting in such a way, knowing with complete certainty that vulcan intimacy is not foreign to them, at least from an anthropological perspective. at least for his sake, their second-in-command. surely they know. but if they did know, wouldn't they... not? wouldn't they keep their distance and only deign him with the touches humans deem necessary and friendly? not... not this, this petting, this brazen treatment only reserved for suitors?
was he a suitor?
surely he was not. it made no logical sense. they knew the biological restrictions that made vulcan courtship a nightmare. they knew how his internal clock functioned. would that not repulse them? why would their thumbs and indexes and middle fingers touch so tentatively on his flesh, overheating as it was, and hold themselves there? see him flinch and smile in turn, cocky and sincere and completely inane in spite of his surprise?
spock would not admit to anyone, including himself, that he liked it.
it felt perverted. lurid. his body an object for their desires to use and toy with. neatly-filed cartilage skimming his nape, the hairs there alight with sensation. rubbing and coaxing a knot in his shoulders, then lower, lower, where he was so sensitive, both the tension and the location, chenesi aflame with instincts that were several years too early, compromising his judgement, his common sense. foolish and unwise and inappropriate. endlessly tempting.
making a sound much unlike himself as he stands in his rightful spot next to the command chair, incapable of ignoring the prodding of fingers that seem to know exactly where to go.
later, much later, doctor mccoy would confess to giving this information to the captain. purportedly, after a long tactile demonstration on how to find them. spock would not be surprised.
until then, however... it was merely torture. spock fled the bridge in a fit he would never admit to being exasperation, or, in less concealing terms, an overpowering physical need. one that had him gnashing his teeth as he descended down the elevator shaft, white-knuckling the metal lever.
those in the bridge were privy to a brief call to the chief medical officer, a chuckled "i won," followed by the severing of the transmission.
not that the captain was ever particularly subtle with his hands all over his co-captain. the doctor had an ounce more of tact. or he was simply doing it most in private.
and it would certainly not be surprising if such advances triggered a heatwave within spock's body, his chemistry thrown off course, frenzied in his veins. anger and irritability that leaves him snapping at ensigns and lieutenants alike, secluding himself to his quarters, refusing any and all calls. he does not blame the men who have hounded him. he blames himself for his weakness. but less is that sentiment than the knowledge that he wanted this to happen, but is frustrated that it was never going to be a choice.
to fulfill these desires. to play, but not as their toy.
it would not kill him to wait out this wildfire. but it would be uncomfortable and excruciating.
until... until he listens to the siren's call, peering into his quarters. he follows the guide of a hand. he shambles down the hall. he turns far sooner than he expected. he ends up in a room, intimately familiar, met now with faces of the same kind. his captain, guiding him. his doctor, easing him. a fever that only burns brighter as he is pulled apart, skin bared to the ventilated breeze, blood scorching-hot below the surface. palms flitting across his arms and pressing down, fingers interlocking after the tease. a verbal shudder from his mouth, an embarassment, as his brain tunes out the medical jargon that the doctor is feeding the captain, foreplay or procedure. examining him like a specimen on a glass slide, exposing him more, melting him under their shared gaze. spock could not stop the noises that came out of him then. he wouldn't dare to describe them in post, vulnerable in every regard.
culturally, he knew the imitation of something so ceremonial was beyond him, beyond them, barely a cause for concern or amusement. but it excited him. and it excited his body too: writhing, roused, needing and wanting and chasing that fill. that thrill. loose in their touch, tight and coiled inside.
supressing a growl that begins to form in his throat as the ritual continues, delays itself, stalling and enjoying the journey. he is not himself, he thinks, moments before he is grappling his captain, who seems too thrilled to end up underneath him again. taunting a caged beast was unwise, yet he... knew the result, spock thinks, hazy, mouth watering.
as did the doctor, leaning close, fingers still coasting down his spine.
one verse breaks through the fog. said through a smirk, low and cajoling.
"you seem to be holding onto a lot of tension, mr. spock. need our help getting it out?"
mr. spock did not feel relief. he felt vindicated. but then he felt nothing but asphyxiating lust as he thrust his hands onto his captain and began to fill his strangled lungs.
it was disappointing how little human endurance lasted in comparison to his. not that there was a set deadline.
I’m tormented on the rack — but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar — I exist! I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there. - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
ridiculous things happening in my dms while I write
the concept of steven being tumblr oomf who wipes their account after vague posting about him i;m DEADDD just starts posting on a private story about like how some people are just so rude and judgmental and bitchy
hey guys never forget that black queer people exist and they deserve the sunshine just as much as white queers do EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR BLACK QUEER PEOPLE WOOOOOOOOO🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
