#but ideas have stalled to a trickle

[ladydragonkiller]

anyone have ideas for gay bodice-ripper novel titles? I need them for reasons and my brain isn't cooperating currently

#the duchess's maid #winds of the desert #so far I've got and #but ideas have stalled to a trickle

[theostrophywife]

shut up kiss me.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

song inspiration: shut up kiss me by angel olsen.

author's note: everyone say thank you to my love @writingsbychlo for fueling my delusions. constantly spamming her with my ideas because i have no self control when it comes to this man. there’s just something about theo fighting that makes me absolutely feral but i’ll hush now before i spoil it 🤭

Theodore. Fucking. Nott. 

Those three words fueled your rampage as you marched across the quidditch pitch. The audacity of that cocky, arrogant, silver tongued Slytherin knew no bounds. For years, you tolerated the pompous prick and the rivalry between you, but today he had finally gone too far. 

You cleared the field in less than a minute, passing by confused players as you angrily seethed. You spotted a shock of familiar platinum blonde hair and walked right up to Draco Malfoy. 

“Where the hell is he?”

He chuckled, perfectly aware of your longstanding enmity with his closest friend. “What’s he done this time?”

“Where. Is. He?” you repeated through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me ask again, Malfoy.” 

The blonde paled several shades when he saw the fire burning in your gaze. “Locker rooms. I wouldn’t go in there, Y/N. They’re still shower—“ Draco sighed as you brushed past him. “Whatever, it’s your funeral.”

The locker rooms were steamy, the heat and humidity clinging to your school uniform as you stalked through the aisles. The Slytherin players startled when they spotted you amongst their midst. 

“Well, well, well,” Mattheo drawled as he leaned against the wall. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips and he smirked when your eyes flickered over his body. “What do we have here? A sweet little Hufflepuff marching straight into the viper’s den.”

“Where the fuck is he, Riddle?”

Mattheo grinned lazily. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Your arrogant prick of a friend who sent my fucking date to the hospital wing!” 

Before you went to sleep last night, you had done so with a grin on your face after a wonderful date with Alec Stone at the Three Broomsticks, but then you arrived at breakfast this morning with no Alec in sight and the rumor mill rampant with talks of Theo pummeling some poor Ravenclaw in the courtyard. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Sorry, love. Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

You frowned, purposely bumping against Mattheo as you walked further down the dimly lit aisle. In your trail for vengeance, you ran into a very flustered looking Enzo who yelped as he sought to cover his very naked torso. 

“Y/N,” Enzo said, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. “What are you doing in the locker rooms?”

Behind him, the sound of the shower running echoed against the marble tiles. “Is he in there?”

Berkshire’s face fell. “You heard about the fight?” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” you said angrily. “He pummeled Alec so badly that he’s currently in the hospital wing with a concussion and several broken bones.”

“Just hear him out, okay?” 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “Hear him out? Your precious Theodore beat the absolute shit out of my date and you want me to hear him out? For what? What reason could Theo possibly have for doing what he did to Alec? He couldn’t stand to see me have fun for two fucking seconds? This is low even for him and you know it, Enzo.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Y/N.” 

“Well then please point me in the right direction so I can hear from the arsehole himself.” 

“He’s in there,” Enzo said, pointing to the shower stalls. “But I’m warning you, Y/N. He’s in a proper foul mood.” 

You huffed. “That makes two of us.” 

The steam from the showers rose up like a malevolent fog, curling around your feet as you stormed through the stalls. You found him in the farthest corner, water trickling down his back as he faced the tiled wall. His body language was tense, like a serpent preparing to strike. A crimson trail swirled against the marble as blood dripped from Theo’s bruised knuckles. The sight of it incensed you. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Theo whipped his head towards your direction, his dark curls plastered against his cheek. Those watercolor eyes were stormy, the blues and greens flickering with anger as he met your gaze. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said dismissively. 

“Bullshit!” You countered, stepping further into the stall. The steam barely covered Theo’s naked form, but you weren’t about to let that deter you from demanding answers. “You owe me a fucking explanation.”

“For what?” 

“For what?” you repeated incredulously. “You beat Alec within an inch of his life and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Honestly Theodore, have you gone absolutely mental?” 

“He deserved it.” 

“Why? Because he took me out on a date? Because you couldn’t stand to let me have this one thing? You absolutely loathe the idea of me being even remotely happy, don’t you?” 

Theo clenched his fists as his jaw twitched in anger. “No. I loathe the idea of that miserable excuse of a human being breathing the same air as you.” 

“So you beat him to a bloody pulp?” 

His voice was cold and icy, cutting through you like glass. “He’s lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“What do you have against Alec?” You moved closer to Theo, closing the gap as you poked his chest. The shower streamed over the both of you, blurring your vision. The water was hot against your skin, but it paled against the heat of your own anger. “What did he ever do to you, Theo?” 

Theo gripped your wrist. You were vaguely aware of his nakedness, but he made no move to hide it and you were too furious to even care. “Don’t say his name. I can’t bear to hear you say it after what he said about you this morning.” 

You stepped backward, flinching. “What—what are you talking about?” 

When you met his gaze, you startled. You’d never seen Theo this angry before. His eyes, which were usually dead and expressionless, burned with a cold sort of fury. 

“I heard him in the courtyard, bragging to his stupid friends. I thought he was just chatting shit, so I kept back. I only came down for a smoke, but then he said your name.” 

The pit in your stomach grew. “What did he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not if he was this angry over it.

“The stupid fucking prick was talking about your date. The dress you wore. The smiles you gave him. The hand holding through Hogsmeade. Then one of his gormless mates asked if he got lucky.” 

You froze at his words as a horrible feeling washed over you. Theo loosened his grip on your wrist, but didn’t let go. 

“Do you know what that sodding idiot said? I will, soon enough. I can tell she’s raring to go.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You felt like you were going to be violently sick. 

“And his friends—those miserable fucking wankers started betting on how long it would take. Two dates. Three. A month.” Theo’s hands were shaking, violence spilling over into his veins. “That smug tosser smirked and said he could’ve had you out in the hallway. That’s how eager you were.”

“I barely even touched him!” you said angrily. “I kissed his cheek good night and that was it.” 

“I know,” Theo said, his voice low and rough. “I know you. I knew he was lying, so I fucking lost it. I walked over there and just punched and punched until my knuckles were bloody and bruised and all I could see was red. I wanted to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off his mouth.” 

You could picture Theo putting out his cigarette ever so calmly before walking over to throw the first punch. You’d seen him fight before. He was relentless. Where Mattheo was pure fire and rage, Theo was as cold as ice. There was nothing but lethal calm in those dead eyes as he delivered blow after blow in absolute silence. 

“Eventually, Blaise and Enzo pulled me off of that prick.” He averted his gaze as if remembering the moment. “When his idiot friends finally peeled him off the floor, I spit on the fucker. I told him to consider it a warning. That I’d do a lot worse if I ever heard your name come out of his mouth again. I promised him that a concussion would be the least of his worries if he didn’t stay the fuck away from you.”

The tears fell down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them in. The anger all but faded from Theo’s eyes as soon as he realized that you were crying. You were so, so stupid. For thinking Alec was a nice guy. For being so giddy after your date only for him to turn around and spit vile lies about you. 

For crying in front of your worst enemy.

The color drained from Theo’s face as you cried into your hands. You felt him shift beside you, debating whether or not to come closer. 

“Don’t,” you said through a broken sob. “Don’t come near me.” 

Theo flinched at your words, looking visibly pained. His voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again. “Tell me how to fix it. Do you want to yell at me? Punch me? Go ahead, love. I can take it.” He sounded desperate. “Just please, please don’t cry.” 

You hugged your arms around your waist and glared at him. “Why do you even care?” 

He paused, fingers flexing at his side as he fought the urge to reach out and comfort you. 

“Because I care about you!” The exasperation in his voice made your chest tighten. “I care that you let that stupid idiot take you on a date to the Three Broomsticks. I care that you fucking smiled at him when he gave you roses even though I know you prefer sunflowers. I care that you kissed him on the cheek when he dropped you off at your dorm.”

You sniffled, utterly perplexed at his words. “I don’t understand. We hate each other!” 

Theo visibly softened, the tension leaving his body. “I could never hate you, Y/N.” He reached for your hand. Your first instinct was to pull away, but you let him trace soothing circles on your skin. “I may tease you. Prank you. Annoy you. But I’ve never hated you.” 

Theo wiped the dried up tears from your cheeks. No fresh tears, which he took as a good sign. “I don’t even think you remember this, but I tried asking you to the Yule Ball in fourth year.” 

The memory surfaced. You were reading by the Black Lake and Theo had asked if you had a date. You said no, to which he promptly asked if he could take you. You left in a huff, thinking that it was just another way to rile you up. 

“I thought you were just trying to get a rise out of me. If I would’ve known…” 

Theo paused. “How could you not know? How could you not see?” 

The rage crashed against you like an errant wave. You didn’t know if you were angry at Theo or yourself, but you exploded either way, unable to keep your emotions under control. 

“Because you never told me, you idiot!”

“I never told you, but I showed you.” He smiled crookedly. “I'm not good with words, obviously. Every time I open my mouth it’s like I say the perfect combination of words to piss you off. So I learned to tell you how I felt through my actions.” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your favorite study spot in the library is always free? That’s because I threatened anyone who came near it. Or how you never seem to run out of quills despite the fact that you manage to break one every day from how hard you write? I always replaced them when you weren’t looking.” Your heart clenched at his words. “I even bribed first years to bring you hot chocolate when I knew you were pulling all nighters.” 

You stood there, staring at him. This wasn’t the cocky, arrogant Theo that you knew. He was looking at you so earnestly that it physically hurt how endearing it all was. 

“Why would you let me think that you were an inconsiderate jerk this whole time?” 

Those hypnotizing eyes pierced right through you, filled with a sadness so heavy that you felt it weighing on your chest. 

“Because at least you were thinking of me.”

You swayed gently. The water had long seeped into your bones, making you shiver as all of your clothes stuck to your skin like paper. You were convinced that your body had gone into shock. The range of emotions you were currently experiencing was turbulent to say the least. You stood in stunned silence, just taking it all in. Then the impact of his words hit you all at once. 

Theo watched as your bottom lip trembled. Panic seized him as you began crying again, this time not bothering to hide it from him. “Fuck I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t cry.” 

He didn’t know what to do. Should he comfort you? Should he keep his distance? Theo felt like he was doing a rather exceptional job of mucking things up. 

“Why are you saying sorry?” You said between hiccups. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Theo caressed your cheek. So gently. Like he half-expected you to recoil. That only set a fresh wave of tears to spill onto your cheeks. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.” 

“Of course I do!” you nearly wailed. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve thought the worst of you, but all this time you were doing all these sweet, considerate things and I never even noticed. You should’ve told me, Theo.” 

“I—I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way,” Theo said softly. “It was better to have you hate me and still be part of my life than risking not having you in it at all.” 

Because at least you were thinking of me. 

It was the saddest thing that you’ve ever heard. For years, Theo settled for being your enemy because he’d rather have your hatred and loathing than indifference. He sustained himself on the bare minimum because he thought that was all he deserved. 

“I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so so fucking sorry.” 

Theo was absolutely distressed. “Fuck, look Y/N. Let me just finish up here and get my towel and when I’m dry and slightly less naked then we can talk, okay?” 

You sniffled, wiping your tears away. There was no way you could wait. Not after everything Theo had just told you. Not after everything that he’s been telling you all these years. Theo had literally and figuratively laid himself bare before you. The least you could do was to even the playing field. 

So you unlaced the gold and black tie around your neck. Unbuttoned your blouse and threw it somewhere behind you. Stepped out of your skirt and stared at Theo head on. 

“Oh—Merlin’s beard, what in the hell are you doing, Y/N? Are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?” 

You shook your head, smiling slightly. Theo was determined to look everywhere but at your very exposed body. You were still in your bra and panties, but the black lace really didn’t leave much to the imagination. Especially when the water clung to every inch of your skin. 

“You were vulnerable with me,” you said simply. “So I’m returning the favor.” 

Theo felt like he was definitely headed for an early grave. He tried to think of something—anything—other than the girl he’s been head over heels for since third year standing naked in front of him.

“Theo,” you said softly. His name had never sounded half as good coming out of anyone else’s mouth. He wanted to bottle the sound. “Can I—can I hug you?” 

He could’ve sworn that his heart had stopped beating. The air had all but left his lungs, deflating his entire body as though he’d fallen off his broom and plummeted through the sky at breakneck speed. 

Theo didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “Of course you can, Y/N.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you dashed into his arms, nearly toppling him over from the force of it. You were a tiny little thing, but you were stronger than you looked. He smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you hugged him. For a minute you and Theo just stood there under the trickling water, holding each other as though you were the only two people alive. 

If this was all the affection you were willing to give him, Theo would’ve been content to hold onto you until you grew tired of him. His slender fingers traced down your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You felt safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen as long as you were with him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this. There was just this spark between you. Perhaps that was part of the reason why you had been so angry this morning. 

It hadn’t just been because Theo sent Alec to the hospital wing, which you were now thankful for after hearing all the disgusting things he said about you. It was also because you thought that he had ruined your chance of feeling that rush with someone else. The same rush you got when the two of you were arguing. The same rush that was noticeably missing when you kissed Alec last night. 

Things with Theo had always been electric. You attributed it to mutual loathing, but that wasn’t the full story. Sure he made your blood boil sometimes, but he also made you feel alive. You were terrified to admit it to yourself, which is probably why you said yes to Alec in the first place. 

You sighed as Theo’s fingers tangled through your hair. He gently pulled your head back and looked at you in the most heartbreaking way. 

“Y/N,” he said hoarsely. Theo’s gaze dipped to your mouth as his arm snaked around your waist. “I think I might die if I go one more second without kissing you. Will you please put me out of my misery, love?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “Gladly.”

Theo held his breath as you pulled him down to you, lips brushing shyly at first. Then you leaned in and kissed him. And he truly and honestly thought that he had died. 

Your lips were soft against his, tasting of strawberries and mint toothpaste. He cupped the back of your head and tilted your chin to deepen the kiss. Before, Theo thought he could’ve sustained himself from a simple hug, but right now, he couldn’t even control himself as he gorged himself on your taste. 

He chuckled when you tried and failed to get on your tiptoes to offset the height difference between you. Theo caressed your cheek and smiled against your mouth. 

“Need some help, love?” 

You nodded before pulling him back down again. This time, the tender kisses turned more heated as he locked your legs around his waist and pressed your back against the wall. You gasped as the cold tile made contact with your bare skin and Theo took the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. 

Merlin’s beard. Theo kissed with his entire body. There wasn’t an inch of you that wasn’t touching him and the skin to skin contact set your body on fire. You’d kissed other boys before, but they paled in comparison. You couldn’t get enough of Theo. You ran your fingers through his hair. Wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist. Trailed kisses along his jaw and neck and throat. 

Then he fucking moaned. 

It was a low, rumbling sound that sent tremors over your body and shook every fiber of your being like a devastating earthquake. You wanted to hear him make that sound over and over again. 

“Y/N,” Theo said, his forehead dropping to yours. “Before I lose all sense of self, I want to—no—I need to tell you—”

“What is it, Theo?”

“If we do this, then you have to understand what it means to me,” Theo whispered. “I may be terrible with words, but it’s important for me that you hear me when I say this. I want you. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word. I wanted you in third year when you first told me off for being a dick to the first years and I want you now even though you came in here to defend a prick that definitely doesn’t deserve it.” 

“What are you saying, Theo?” 

“I want you to be mine, Y/N.” 

You beamed. “Like, your girlfriend?”

“I don’t think girlfriend is a strong enough word to express how I feel for you, but it’s a start.” He moved the hair out of your face and cradled your cheek. “So yes, I suppose I do want you to be my girlfriend. I want to hold hands with you in the hallways. I want to look up at the stands during my games and see you cheering me on. I want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower and kiss you under the stars.” 

“And you say you’re bad with words,” you teased. “I want to do all those things and more with you, Theodore Nott. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“Good, cause you’re mine.” Theo said matter-of-factly, those adorable dimples making an appearance on each cheek. “You were mine even before you knew it.” 

He kissed you again, but this time it was soft and sweet and it filled your stomach with butterflies. Theo no longer felt the need to hoard as much of your affection as he could because you had just given him the ultimate reassurance that he would have plenty of you in the future. 

You sighed contently against him, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. He shifted, pressing kisses against your neck. Your fingers froze when you felt him stir underneath you. 

“Theo,” you said slowly, biting back a smirk. “Is that what I think it is pressing against my leg?” 

He groaned. “We’re half naked, in the shower, heavily making out, and you just agreed to be my girlfriend. Of course I’m hard.” 

You stifled a laugh. “Theodore Nott, is emotional intimacy turning you on?” 

“Everything about you turns me on.” 

“That’s helpful to know,” you said with a little smirk. “Especially when we're dueling and I’m losing.” 

“Merlin’s beard. My girlfriend’s downright evil.” 

You grinned so hard that your cheeks ached. Theo peppered kisses all over your face before setting you down. 

“I suppose we should head to dinner soon. My teammates watched you march in here in a fit of rage. They might think you’ve murdered me.” 

“There’s only one problem,” you said as you finally turned off the shower. “I’m soaking wet.” 

“I bet you are, darling.” 

You rolled your eyes. “From the shower, you wanker.” 

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’ve got some extra clothes in my locker.”

Ten minutes later, the two of you walked out in the quidditch pitch hand in hand. Theo’s sweater completely enveloped you and he smiled a little at the sight. You received a few interesting stares as you made your way through the castle halls, but one look from Theo and they all quickly found something else to gawk at. Having a scary boyfriend was already paying off. 

On the way to dinner, you ran into Enzo. The git had the biggest smile on his face when he saw that you and Theo were holding hands. “So you heard him out after all, huh?” 

“Yeah, we sorted out our differences,” you said with a smile. “Coincidentally, I gained a boyfriend out of the whole ordeal. Happy now, Berkshire?” 

“Absolutely chuffed,” Enzo said with a grin. “See you lovebirds at dinner.” 

Theo rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared into the Great Hall. He turned, squeezing your fingers. “I should warn you. My friends can be a bit…much.” 

“Don’t worry, I think we all got fairly acquainted in the locker rooms. If they tease us, well I’ve got a perfectly scary boyfriend to fend them off.” 

He chuckled. “A scary boyfriend with an even more terrifying girlfriend.” 

You winked, kissing his bruised knuckles. “This school won’t know what hit them.” 

“Neither did Alec,” he said with a satisfied smirk. You gave him a reprimanding glare, but it was half-hearted. You didn’t actually feel sorry for the prick. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“You know you can’t punch everyone that says anything bad about me, right?”

“Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of kicking them too.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Shut up and kiss me, Theo.” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

#double feature cause i have no self control baby #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott smut #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theo nott fluff #theo nott fic #theodore nott fic #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🔪・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘁. 𝟭₊˚🔪・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 obsessed at the first glance 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 masturbation (toji time) 𖥔 "she's mine even if she doesn't know it yet" 𖥔 age gap 𖥔 he's downright depraved for you

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy new year, mamas! and happy belated birthday to my baby daddy. y'all have no idea how fun it is to write toji fics. i've got a hundred already lined up. i'm going to make this a full series but for now here is part one of what's about to come (haha get it? oh god. i need help)

The first time Toji laid his eyes on you was the morning after he’d finished yet another one of his assassination cases.

There you were, seated on a picnic mat, a serene oasis in the bustling sea of activity. The wind danced through your hair, and you were engrossed in a book, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you. The music in your headphones created a private sanctuary, shielding you from the cacophony of playful children, picnicking families, and the vibrant hum of the city's summer.

Toji found himself rooted to the spot.

Oblivious to the annoyed cyclists and the world rushing past him, he stood there, captivated. It was as though he had stumbled upon a deity crafted solely for him.

You briefly raised your gaze, taking a momentary break from the confines of the small text.

Toji couldn't believe his luck as he found himself mesmerized by the tantalizing sight before him. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a telltale bulge in his sweatpants betrayed the mark you had on him. There you were, blissfully unaware, sipping from a water bottle that seemed almost rehearsed.

His fixation deepened as he observed every nuance of your movements—the curve of your mouth, the delicate way your throat accommodated the liquid, and the small hands that gripped the oversized bottle. He imagined his cock instead and flinched from the way his dick twitched. The simple act of you licking your lower lip and unbuttoning the top buttons of your dress shirt to fan yourself from the heat sent shivers down his spine.

You just had to start tying your hair up. 

Taking a deep breath, Toji briskly walked towards a nearby public restroom and locked himself in one of the vacant stalls.

His back pressed against the wall as he lowered his sweatpants and pulled his thick, trembling cock out, pre-cum trickling from the tip. He lowered his eyes and visualized you on your knees, grabbing his cock and circling your small, pink tongue around his tip. His head cruised back as you swallowed his length to the back of your warm throat, gagging, gasping, choking, bobbing your head back and forth. His fingers tightly held onto your tender scalp, fucking himself into your pretty, little mouth until your nose was crushed against his pelvis. He heard you begging, pleading, scratching at his hips to give you a breather, but Toji relentlessly fed you his cock, over and over and over—

Spurts of release erupted and splattered onto the stall's wall, with droplets dripping onto the floor. Toji opened his eyes only to find the space where your apparition was supposed to linger now empty. His hand was sticky and hot, smudged in the mess he’d made envisioning you. You. It was you who had provoked this intense response, causing him to reach a climax faster than ever before.

As Toji cleaned himself up, he couldn't ignore the unabashed stares from the onlookers, men who had clearly overheard him masturbating. Ignoring the judgmental gazes, he focused on formulating a plan to claim you, even if you fought or opposed it; he was convinced that, in time, you would surrender.

In his mind, you were already his.

Toji lingered for the next few hours on that park bench, focused on you. His eyes traced every move you made, absorbed in that stupid book of yours, oblivious to the frisbees and kites dancing above you. His gaze burned into the teenage boys engaged in soccer behind you, fuming as they carelessly neared you with the ball. Especially the one you beamed at after he half-heartedly apologized to you.

Fuck, that smile of yours was irreplaceable.

As you packed your mat into the duffle bag and rose, turning to dust your ass off from any debris sticking to it, Toji's thoughts took a blunt turn. Sleep was an impossibility now.

Following discreetly as you strolled down the path, immersed in the rhythm of your ear-throbbing music, Toji couldn't help but dissect every inch of you. Your clothes, undoubtedly high-end and branded, spoke volumes. The price tag on your headphones alone easily flirted with seven hundred dollars, if not more. It was clear—you came from a life of comfort, perhaps a spoiled heir or held a proud position in some grand corporation. You were proving to be a challenging prize, a fish that refused to be easily caught.

You decided to take a pit stop at a vegan café where they charged an arm and a leg for a tiny cup of espresso.

Patiently, Toji lingered outside, cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember casting shadows on his sharp features. Peering through the glass, he caught glimpses of your animated conversation with a male barista. Though, the bastard's eyes were shamelessly speaking to your cleavage.

Toji hadn’t killed anyone for fun in a while; maybe the lanky fucker was going to start a new streak. 

As you emerged, holding your iced coffee and muffin like some divine offering, he noticed the scribbles on the napkin. Ah, the barista's number, huh? The son-of-a-bitch just signed his own death warrant.

With a flick of your wrist, you crumpled the napkin and tossed it into the trash, conveniently placed right next to him.

Your eyes locked.

The cigarette in Toji's mouth hung suspended in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. Your gaze shot up as you took in the powerful physique of the man, the scar tracing its path on his left lip, and the black, sleek strands of hair framing those perilous, obsidian-green eyes. He was more than just attractive; he was a magnetic force, and you could feel the tingling of anxiety dancing on your skin. Too bad your family had always drummed into you the importance of polished over rugged.

Despite the internal turmoil, you turned on your heel and continued walking, nonchalantly sipping on your cold coffee to ease the tension building within you. There was an undeniable urge to steal one last glance at him, an itch in your brain pushing you to do so. With feigned composure, you added an extra sway to your hips, aware that his eyes were still on you.

Toji’s eyes were glued to your ass. Was he breathing? Nope. He was sure he’d busted his cover just then. You had checked him out for thirty whole seconds, the opportunity to speak suspended in the air, only to be pulled apart and crumble at his feet. 

But he didn’t care. 

He shadowed your every move, navigating through busy intersections, seamlessly blending into the teeming masses, keeping up with only the sway of your swinging ponytail and your ass. Fuck, he loved your ass. He wanted to spank it red, bruise the flesh for teasing you. 

Finally, you stepped into the most luxurious hotel in the city.

Toji wondered if you were a local or a visitor from abroad. If he had to purchase a plane ticket to tail you back to your residence, he'd gladly do it. It was insane how unknowingly you had him trapped, wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger.

The lobby was nothing short of fucking fancy.

The place was decked out with marble floors that shone so much he could almost see his reflection. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling with a zillion crystals.

The furniture was all plush and comfortable, like sinking into a cloud. Big, ornate couches and chairs scattered around, all in rich, deep colors.

In the middle was a fancy concierge desk with people in sharp suits and friendly smiles ready to help out. He caught a whiff of some subtle, expensive scent in the air—not too overpowering, just enough to make him feel like he was out of place.

There was a low hum of activity—people chatting, the clinking of glasses from the bar nearby, maybe some soft piano music in the background. He couldn't help but feel a bit important just standing there like he'd stepped into a world where everything was a little more polished and refined.

He was in hell.

"Dad!" you exclaimed, striding towards your father amidst a crowd of his guards and members of the family hotel enterprise board.

"Darling!" Your father embraced you briefly, then caught a whiff of something unusual around you. "Were you smoking?"

Shit. 

That attractive stranger from before had been smoking and the scent must’ve stuck to your clothes. 

"I bumped into a friend who was," you lied, acknowledging your father's associates with a nod. Your current appearance didn't exactly match the polished image your mother presented to the press, but it was a facet appreciated by some online fans. As the heiress to the family hotel, however, you understood the importance of maintaining grace.

Even on your days-off. 

"How was your meeting?" you asked.

"Same old, same old. Nothing for you to worry about," he replied dismissively.

"I mean, shouldn't I be involved? I'm almost twenty-one. It might be time for me to learn the ropes of managing—"

"I'm still around, aren't I?" Your father pushed your arm, causing you to stagger slightly. "Why don't you go freshen up now? We have a family dinner tonight." Family dinners, in this case, were elaborate affairs with your father and mother's vast social circles, almost a societal event. Unfortunately, everything was hosted at the hotel, making you feel like you were in a gilded cage.

"Sure, Dad."

He planted a quick kiss on your cheek and walked past you.

You stared at his retreating figure and the group of men you would eventually be working with, all of them vanishing through the hotel's automatic doors until the lights surrounding you became a blur. Your fingers touched your wet eyes, the back of your shaky hand wiping at your cheeks.

Despite the hurt, your training to act classy in public kicked in. You rolled back your shoulders, attempted a smile, and walked toward the elevators leading to your personal suite.

Observing the unfolding scenario from a discreet vantage point nearby, Toji, with arms and ankles casually crossed, wore a devilish smirk at how effortlessly the situation had played into his hands.

His room was on the twelfth floor. 

It served as a temporary base for the two nights he had planned to stay. Plenty of time, in his calculation, to claim you as his own. He walked the fine line between confidence and cockiness, especially when dealing with a woman of your caliber. If he were to leave empty-handed, Toji carried a darkness within that would annihilate those you loved, a merciless flood of destruction until you had no choice but to turn to him. His sights were set on you, beginning with your pretentious father.

Yes, Toji had researched each and every single human associated with you. 

Your father was a titan in the hospitality game and built an empire that stretched across the map. His hotels sprouted like mushrooms, and his wealth skyrocketed faster than you could say "check-in." He portrayed himself as the picture-perfect family man, but lurking in the shadows were dealings that'd make you think twice about tagging him with the 'daddy dear' label. During one of his many interviews, he let slip a desire for a son. When the inevitable talk of you inheriting the hotels surfaced, he'd chuckle, saying, "We'll see about that."

Toji absentmindedly toyed with his pocket knife, thinking of ways he’d cut your father’s tongue and shove it down his throat. 

Then there's your mom, the classic trophy wife. No accomplishments to her name, just born into a world of idle gossip and social climbing. Since you were in diapers, she's been molding you into the picture-perfect daughter for the public eye. Nannies raised you, and she only paid attention when it came to playing matchmaker, setting you up with aristocratic jerks.

Toji might spare your mother only because she was an airhead being puppeteered by your father’s gimmicks. 

You, on the contrary, were as perfect as one could get. Top of your class all through elementary to high school, currently enrolled in a business Ivy program at a prestigious university, president of the student union, and an active team player in clubs as absurd as juggling.

Your carefully crafted social media presence had Toji rolling his eyes. An avid reader who probably devoured Shakespeare in between saving the world and a lover of sunsets because nothing said depth like a passion for the fading light. Your commitment to wildlife, starting a charity for animals in captivity that was funded strictly by your family's friends. He bet the lions and tigers sent you thank-you cards.

Toji forcefully closed his laptop, took a deep breath, and sank into his mattress, gripping the roots of his hair.

He knew he wanted you. He wanted to touch you, to be inside of you, to break you and put you together again. The image of you being pushed by your father played in his mind, making his heart threaten to burst from his chest.

Despite the depraved thoughts, Toji was genuinely curious about you. The real you. The person seeking love in the same way you offered it to others. He wanted to fuck you but also take great care of you. He wanted to make you cry, but only when you were underneath him, begging for more. He’d kill himself if he hurt you otherwise. He questioned if a dormant monster within you waiting to be awakened by his own.

There had to be. 

And he would be the one to root it out.

Toji pulled himself together, took a quick shower, and threw on the best outfit he had found in his cramped closet within his even more cramped apartment while packing. Living in close quarters didn't bother him; after all, his income came from a rather unconventional source—he was a professional assassin, taking out targets for clients that ranged from politicians to drug dealers. Penthouses and sports cars weren't his style, even if he could afford them; he preferred the simple life, spending most of his earnings on one thing he enjoyed the most: gambling on horse racing.

Knowing that you'd be at the bar, Toji decided to do a bit of reconnaissance. He hacked into the private security servers of the hotel, observing your movements from the corridor to the public areas. He saw you leaving your room in a stunning maroon gown, hair elegantly pinned up, and lips painted a vibrant red. His dick jerked in his trousers.

He spotted you alone at the bar, enjoying a cyan-colored drink. The smooth expanse of your back in that revealing dress nearly made him come in his pants right there and then.

Cracking his neck muscles, Toji walked up to the bartender, positioning himself about two meters away from where you sat. He pulled out a cigarette and flicked the silver lighter, flaming the end of the dart. Drawing in the first drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke. “I’ll take a whiskey.” 

Giving you a casual once-over, Toji noticed you tracing circles on the table, lips in a pout, and eyes blinking languidly.

“Rough day?” he asked, settling into the seat beside you.

“You have no idea—” You looked sideways and met the dark green eyes of the attractive stranger. Your nails were now idle on the table, and you sat up straight. A breath caught in your chest, and you greeted him with a simple "Hi."

“Hi.” He pulled out the cigarette to take a sip, lips pulling in to savor the sharp taste of his whiskey. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.” 

Your chest skipped a beat at the unexpected nickname. "I-I— Are you stalking me or something?"

“Stalking is a strong word, doll. I prefer 'casual observation.'”

“So you’re stalking me?” 

The stranger chuckled, and your knees quivered from the husky, rough sound. “You're a vision, sure,” he said, his voice a slight victim to the smoking, “but I’m too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.” 

You observed his clothes closely. He was dressed in a sleek black formal ensemble with impeccably shiny Oxfords. However, his hair was neatly combed down instead of styled up, and you caught the silver hoop adorning his left ear. The idea of him being sent by your mother or being the son of one of your father's friends quickly crossed your mind, but you ruled out the possibility. Maybe him being outside that café and being here was a complete coincidence.

“The name’s Toji.” He extended his hand for a shake. You glanced at the faded scars on the back of his hands. And when you hesitantly slipped your hand through his, the roughness of his palm rubbed against your softer one. “Ever washed a dish in your life, sweetheart?” 

A shake of your head was all the admission he needed.

"Yeah, figured as much." Toji turned your hand, his thumb tracing a journey along its unblemished terrain.

You quickly took back your hand and placed it on your lap. “I’m sure you know my name.” 

Toji tilted his head. “Am I supposed to?” 

You blinked. In a world where your family name echoed through the corridors of the hotel, his genuine ignorance was a rarity. "I'm Y/N.”

"Y/N," he echoed, your name a lazy caress on your skin. Above the rim of his nearly empty glass, he regarded you with a watchful gaze. “The fuck is that, anyway? Windex?” 

You raised your drink. “It’s a mocktail. I have a family dinner in an hour so I can’t drink. My father says it’ll impede my ability to talk. I can’t mess anything up.” 

He half-rolled his eyes. “You like Coke?” 

“Like, the soda?” 

"What else, sweetheart?" He swiped a finger under his nose, throwing in a wink. "Unless that's your thing."

“No.” Your cheeks heated. “I like diet Coke, I suppose.” 

Toji locked eyes with you and signaled the bartender. "Vodka diet coke for the lady."

"What?" You started to object, but Toji's hand clasped around your forearm, freezing you. “Remove your hand right now.” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. If he weren't so irritatingly charming, you might have considered introducing your mocktail to his face with a quick call to security as a chaser. “Just don’t want you to die knowing you never tried vodka.” His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, exhaling wisps of smoke that danced in captivating swirls. “Ever smoked?” 

You shook your head, a coy resistance to his vices obvious on your face. "It's detrimental to your health, you know. Consistent smoking can fast-track your journey to an early death. If you're aiming for more than thirty candles on your birthday cake, I'd advise a little moderation."

A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Well, fuck.” He inspected the dart in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Guess I missed the invitation for my funeral five years ago.”

He’s old. 

“Too old for you, sweetheart?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, locking eyes with you. "Hope you're not collecting a set of daddy issues like souvenirs."

You shot him sidelong glances, a subtle shake of your head. "I happen to like my dad, thank you very much."

“You’re welcome.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a small puff of a laugh at his response. 

He shot you a grin, his scar stealing a moment of your attention before the vodka diet Coke presented itself. “You still in school?” 

You nodded. “University.” 

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Keeps me distracted.” 

“From?” 

Your hand swept through the ambience of the hotel's bar, and Toji followed your motion, absorbing the surroundings. “I don’t know if my name rang a bell at all, but I’m to inherit this place.” 

“Didn’t.” Toji raised his glass, gesturing his chin at the vodka diet coke in front of you. “Let’s drink to it.” 

“I told you I can’t. I’m also lightweight. Besides, I don’t want it on my tab. My father keeps a check—”

“My father this, my father that.” Toji sighed, taking your drink and snagging a straw from a nearby container. He placed it near your lips. “Your father might have set the stage, but he can't dictate the play. Take a sip. If you hate it, fuck it. That work for you, sweetheart?"

You frowned at the subtle pressure venting from him. A fleeting swipe of your tongue traced your lower lip, drawing Toji's gaze to the subtle curve. His intense scrutiny left you feeling strangely singled out, a rare occurrence in a world where every tidbit of your life laid at the fingertips of anyone with an internet connection. Your secrets were a vault locked tight, shared with no one but yourself. Indulging in personal interests took a back seat to your responsibilities, and you strictly stuck to a scripted persona to protect your family's reputation. Even something as mundane as sipping on a vodka diet Coke. 

Toji set the drink on the table, slipping a generous tip to the bartender. His financial status seemed modest, likely someone comfortably positioned enough to book a room in your hotel. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t often give out advice ‘cuz frankly, I'm not exactly an expert on your generation.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, extinguished it under his foot, and nonchalantly dropped the remains into your drink. “But, you might want to dust off that brilliant little brain of yours sooner rather than later. Mind passing me a pen, buddy?” 

The tender handed him a sharpie instead, and Toji scribbled out something on a napkin.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, feeling somewhat disappointed in yourself. You wanted him to ask you more questions. You wanted to know more about him. 

“Afraid so, doll.” He folded the napkin, both of you surreptitiously scanning the surroundings before he handed it over. A smirk played on his lips, causing you to rethink the urgency with which you accepted it. “Your old man taught you lots of lessons, but seems like 'Stranger Danger' wasn't part of his curriculum, huh?” 

“He doesn’t completely control me.” 

Toji smirked, tapping the folded napkin. “Well, we're about to test that theory."

He left you perched on the barstool, and the moment he vanished, you unfolded the napkin, heart pounding.

ROOM 1231. 

Sooner or later.

#kinda ate???? #also i meant to post this last year (aka December 31st 2023) but got lazy lol #jjk x y/n #toji smut #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro x reader smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk toji x reader #jjk toji smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw smut #tw sex mention #fem reader #jjk fluff #toji fluff #jujutsu toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro x y/n #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen #my writing

[privitivium]

mean ( bratty?? ) buff bro-dude sub x dom m reader

thisbguy,, hes a lil gross,,

from the very beginning when you met through friends, he would constantly make fun of you for simple things. like, normal things. for example..;; "you cut ur sandwiches into triangles? what're you, a.. a kid?" notably stalling as he tries to insult you which you surprisingly don't comment on,, instead, you keep quiet after giving him a dirty look which he quickly returns! him being cruel to you in general is a distinct mechanism that he puts up when interacting with you specifically ㅡ maybe he's just intimidated or something along those lines? who else can make him moan like a girl while edging his fat length along ur shirt he stole and squirm as he begs into his pillow to be allowed to cum besides you afterall??

or, it's something completely different?? a boy who's a little uncertain on how to handle his feelings on you being told 'don't be a pussy', he was already having a hard time dealing with bullying from his within group of friends dubbed "the boys" as were any other group, so he moves onto unusual methods.. being a little mean.. seeing as it originally didn't get any reaction at first, he tries to go further, stealing and dirtying your things with his cum or spit or merely his scent just to have it in ur room because hes honestly a fucking weirdo

and when you confront him about such things,, all came out after he had insulted you about how the way you were merely watching TV, trying to ignore the problemㅡ "what is your problem with me?" you hissed spitefully, jumping up from your sitting position just to stand stiffly as if you were about to throw yourself at him like a rabid animal .. "all you ever do is make fun of me and be a fucking weirdo! i have no idea what i did to you - do you just not like me??" why would he leave cum-stained underwear ontop of ur freshly cleaned laundry if that were the case? :( how could you not get that he was so in love with you,,

"if that's the case, why are you constantly over hereㅡ?!" you continue your rant as you ever so slowly edge closer, your voice raising higher in pitch, before glancing down andㅡ"don't look-!"He had cried, and obviously you fucking looked. he had a tent pitched in his gym shorts - that he quickly covers with his handsㅡ

'y-you fucking.. ..' he swallowed his words, ( unable to bring himself to insult you / keep up the facade with you staring at him like that..) eyes glazed over as he stares into yours that were narrowed with a sort've gentleness to them despite your aggression the second before.. he ultimately cant hide behind his insults, the soft graze of your fingertips along his naked muscular thighs were too much,, ever so slowly raking your nails into his squishy skin,, god hes so happy. so so so happy - finally, he can be touched like this by you. god the fact nearly makes him cum on the spotㅡ already having ruined several of his socks as well as some of your articles of clothing that he's proudly stole..

so you take edging him and overstimulation as a whole;; a means to get back at him for all of his cruel and unnecessary "bullying" and leaving his disgusting mess in your room! forcing him to clean it up himself - while you watched, he begged you to,,

ㅡit was completely uncalled for afterall! which you were reprimanding him for as you twist your pumping fist along his bright red trickling tip, leaving him squirming and jerking his legs around as he grips thr bedsheets or whatever he's underㅡwhile he whines and squeals on how he'll be so much better even if you don't allow him to cum.. so sweet, so suddenly?? "a-a boyfriend th-haa-at will never ever be mean to you everr agaainn!!" as he put it..

you constantly call him a creep to get back at him now that you know how much of an actual freak he is... and he'd argue he's just a guy whos virtually very eager to impress you who came about it all wrong! which isn't far from the truth. he likes,, to impress you.. like bro, this random guy pissed you off ?? look at this picture of him beaten beyond help and recognition.,, "he won't bother you ever again, bro. No worries, no need to thank me..." while his face is smug and grinning widely - obviously hoping for some kind of reward for his "virtuous" deed,,

#ocs =͟͟͞͞★ #x male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #m oc x m reader #sub male character #bottom male character #oc x m reader #male reader

[incognit0slut]

Body on mine

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Y/n and Spencer finds a way to spend the night together on a team retreat. Based on;

warnings: 18+ includes overstimulation, chocking, unprotected sex, creampie, and soft!dom Spence with a mirror involved

words: 5.9k (hehe)

a/n: my goal is to make you hot and flustered by the end of this, also watch the edit I made based on this writing (using voice ai because I mastered eleven labs!). The more delusional we are, the better🥰

MASTERLIST

“…when you put your body on mine, and collide, collide…”

"SNEAK INTO MY ROOM TONIGHT."

Spencer’s gaping mouth was an indication of how baffling her suggestion was. He tried not to give away the disbelief in his eyes, especially when he was good at maintaining a poker face—given he was a master of the game—but it was hard to act as if her words weren’t affecting him. And they did. Badly.

In fairness, it wasn't simply her words that stirred him. It was everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she stood in front of him, a silhouette against the backdrop of crashing waves and gently swaying palm trees. The way the sun illuminated her features, highlighting the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

But it was her words that heightened his senses as his mind conjured vivid images of what would happen with her proposition. It also reminded him how her suggestive offer happened at an inappropriate time, a moment when he should have exercised restraint.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," her sultry voice, carried by the gentle wind, reached his ears like a melodic symphony. It was a sound that evoked a longing deep within him. "Come by around midnight."

He gulped as his eyes wandered to their teammates gathered by the shore, engaged in a spirited game of beach volleyball, their competitive spirits matched by bursts of laughter and playful banter. Everyone was there except for Rossi who sat under the shade of a massive umbrella, and of course, excluding the two of them, who were now huddled under a food stall nearby.

Spencer had the duty to bring in more snacks and drinks when Y/n offered her help. It turned out she had other intentions behind her assistance, which was anything but innocent with the way she was standing close to him, bringing up their ongoing rendezvous without their friends' knowledge. At the thought of this, he nodded their way. "They'll notice."

"Not when they're fast asleep they won't."

His eyes drew back to her. "Hotch is a late sleeper."

"You're right," she mused, then she gave him a coy smile. "Come by my room around 2 then."

His eyes darted around nervously, his mind locked in a relentless battle between reason and longing. His thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of forbidden fantasies, each one more tantalizing than the last. With a heavy sigh, he gathered the strength to resist the pull of his desires. "Do you think we should do this?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm offering you to sleep with me and you're opposed to the idea?"

"What? No!" He quickly shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way."

She fixed her eyes on him with an alluring gaze, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. He watched as she removed the plastic wrapper of her recently bought popsicle, pulling out the frozen treat, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness.

"Loosen up, Reid. It'll be fun. Besides," she continued as she drew the ice pop closer to her lips, feeling the coolness radiate from the icy surface. "I brought something along this trip that I really want to show you."

Then he watched her, his eyes drinking in the way she wrapped her lips around the cold treat, unraveling the boundaries of his imagination. She savored the tangy sweetness that burst in her mouth, her eyes never leaving his gaze. The bright red juice trickled down her chin, leaving a sticky trail in its wake and Spencer felt the weight of temptation pressing upon him, especially when her tongue slid along her mouth, capturing every last drop of the delicious treat.

Her movement exuded a potent magnetism, a subtle yet irresistible lure that drew him closer to the edge of indulgence. He would be a fool to decline a night of having her sweaty, naked body writhing under him.

"I'll be there."

And that was how he found himself walking stealthily through their rented villa hours later.

True to his words, Hotch was a late sleeper. But he wasn't the only one still awake in the dead of the night. Somehow he and Rossi were still in the kitchen, indulging themselves in the expensive liquor Rossi had brought along on this retreat. They had also invited him to join, but Spencer feigned fatigue and quickly excused himself, only to find Morgan and Garcia coming down the stairs as he climbed up to the second floor.

Now it was barely past midnight and half of the team was still wide awake—but he couldn't wait any longer. Not when the curiosity of what she wanted to show him fueled the fire within him, intensifying his longing with each passing second.

That was why he was making his way toward her room as stealthy as possible. He glanced down the dim-lit hallway before stopping right in front of her door. It was then he heard the faint shuffling noises coming from the room next door, certain it was Emily's lodging for the night. Then suddenly the door next to him rattled and Spencer's eyes widened as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heartbeat quickening its pace.

He reached out in a single fluid motion, his hand trembling ever so slightly, and grasped the cool metal handle in front of him. A rush of relief washed over him as he quickly slipped into the room before closing the door harshly amid his panic, a jarring thud echoing in the silence.

The sudden sound jolted Y/n as she twirled around in surprise.

"Reid," she hissed, her eyes darting toward the clock on the wall. "What are you doing? I told you to come by in another two hours!"

He looked over to her, and whatever thoughts he had at that fleeting moment completely dissolved into thin air. His eyes fell upon her and his words become entangled in a tangled web of astonishment. Spencer had seen her in clothes that weren't exactly modest, but he had never seen her adorned in a risqué outfit that accentuates every contour of her body.

The dress clung to her like a second skin, embracing her curves with a provocative grace, tracing the outline of her waist and hips with tantalizing precision. His eyes caressed the gentle slope of her shoulders, the smooth expanse of her collarbone, and the delicate neckline that plunged daringly. The delicate lace and sheer panels teased his senses, offering glimpses of beauty that lay beneath the surface—a beauty he could see a fragment of as his gaze lingered on her hard nipples pressed against the see-through fabric.

"Is that—" He cleared his throat, the hoarseness in his voice sounding foreign to him. "Is that what you wanted to show me?"

She looked into the full-body mirror she stood before by the bed, catching her reflection. "Technically. I brought a bunch of these and I was trying them on..." Her eyes drew back to him. "Until you came sooner than expected."

"Should I not be here now?"

"It kind of ruins the surprise."

His eyes slowly roamed across her body, stopping a little longer on the short hem of her fabric that stopped in the middle of her thigh. "I'd say you've accomplished whatever reaction you were aiming for."

She watched as he took a slow step forward, his eyes never wavered from her, locked onto her form with an intensity that had her feeling breathless. "I take it that you like this one?"

"I love it."

An amused smile formed on her lips. "But you haven't seen the other ones I brought."

"I'm certain I would also love them on you. But this—" His gaze revealed the depths of his desire, a hunger that burned bright within him. It was a flame that flickered in his eyes, igniting the anticipation that coursed through his veins. "Never knew I liked the color red."

As he took deliberate steps towards her, a surge of anticipation gripped her being. The intensity of his gaze, filled with longing and need, held her captive. With each stride, he closed the distance between them, his presence growing stronger, more intoxicating. She could feel his gaze caressing her, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation.

As he finally stood before her, the weight of his presence wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Visibly heaving and clenching her thighs, she peered at him with veiled anticipation, unbidden lust scorching at her core which lost all battle to and demanded to be consumed by the heat that radiated from his body. She could feel the intensity of his need, tangible and potent.

"You're beautiful," he said, reaching for her waist, both of his thumbs lightly rubbing along the material of the soft fabric. Then his hands slowly slid their way up her hips, gradually snaking their way up over her rib cage until both of his large palms paused at her breasts. "So fucking beautiful."

Then he squeezed her breasts roughly over the material and she gasped, thighs tightening together.

Y/n wasn't sure which reason she was surprised more, the way his touch was rougher than usual or the fact that he was cursing, because there were only two occasions for that to happen—either he was really, really mad, or he was far too aroused to properly filter his mouth.

It was definitely the latter considering she could distinctly see the bulge forming in his pants. And then his hands were quickly sliding down her body, gliding down over the curve of her ass. Feeling his fingers splay wide over each cheek beneath the fabric, he abruptly gave her a firm squeeze.

The way they stood in front of the mirror gave him a clear view of her backside as he marveled at the way her flesh molded in his grip. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, the fabric having ridden up while he roughly kneaded her ass. Spencer almost purred when both of his hands fully slipped under the material only to be greeted with bare skin.

"Are you not wearing anything under this?" he whispered into her ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling into her cheek.

"It's called a thong."

He took a step closer and she could feel his arousal pressing into her leg. His forehead dropped down to her shoulder, resting there as his nails lightly dug into the flesh beneath his hands. "You want to torture me, don't you?"

She couldn't stop the giggle falling from her mouth. "Maybe."

He lifted his head, gently nipping at her shoulder. A shudder ran down her spine when he lightly kissed the spot afterward. "Laugh all you want now," he softly murmured against her skin. "You won't be able to laugh by the end of tonight."

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to surrender completely to his caresses, to the raw intensity that pulsed in her veins. "Spence."

The way she pronounced his given name held a power that transcended the ordinary, leaving him spellbound. "I love it when you call my name."

She felt a surge of confidence in his words that she let out a moan a she threw her head back, giving him better access while he gently peppered her neck with kisses. "Spencer."

Then it happened in a flash. One moment he was holding her gently and the next thing she knew, rough fingers gripped around the base of her throat, forcing her to look into the depths of his eyes. She could sense the unyielding force of his longing and desire. It was a palpable energy, a hunger that radiated from him, enveloping her in its intensity. She squirmed in his grip, mouth open as she gasped for air.

"Now you're just playing with fire."

She sensed the dominance that simmered beneath his touch, an innate desire to take control, to possess her completely. His hands, firm yet gentle, left trails of sensation along her skin, marking her as his own. It was a force that she couldn't ignore, nor did she want to. Instead, she surrendered to the raw power of his need, allowing it to wash over her.

"I must warn you," he murmured, licking across his bottom lip. "I'm not feeling like my usual self tonight."

She felt a shiver of anticipation ripple through her body. His words, laced with a commanding tone, sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

"You trust me, don't you?" She found herself nodding in agreement. "And you'll tell me if I'm being too much on you?"

She nodded again.

A satisfied smile played on his lips. "Good."

Then his breath was on hers. Their lips finally met in a gentle, tentative union, the soft brush of skin against skin. It was a delicate dance, a mingling of breath and desire that sent ripples of sensation throughout their bodies. She gasped out a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her, rolling her lips into the frantic motions of his wandering tongue.

As their bodies pressed closer, their mouths molded together with a hunger that defied words. It was a sensory feast, an exploration of pleasure that left them craving for more.

He slowly pulled away and breathed against her lips, "Turn for me."

Her hazy mind was trying to comprehend his request. "W-What?"

"I want to see you. Turn around for me."

She obliged his command without further thought, mostly because she was already willingly surrendered to the force of his dominant nature.

He stood behind her, his gaze fixated on the reflection before him. The soft glow of the ambient light accentuated her curves, casting a mesmerizing aura around her. His fingertips grazed the smooth surface of her arm, a gentle caress that sent shivers of anticipation coursing through her body. "Look at how beautiful you are."

He watched himself in the mirror as his hands made their way from caressing the softness of her stomach to gripping onto points of her hips and then up over the swells of her breasts. He gave them both a firm squeeze, admiring how they looked in his hands, how her skin radiates beneath his own. Then his lips descended upon the nape of her neck, pressing gentle kisses that left a trail of fire.

She whimpered when he pinched gently at her nipples to see it harden instantly against his touch. "...Spence."

He hummed a satisfied sound as his hands found their way back to her hips again, directing her with a low, sultry groan, "Sit down between my legs." Her eyes snapped towards his through the reflection. He simply smiled. "Don't worry. Just let me admire you."

That was how she ended up sitting in front of him on the bed, her back resting against his chest. Spencer carefully nudged her legs apart with his hand, and she couldn't resist looking away when she saw herself in such an explicit and vulnerable position. His breath, warm against her skin, mingled with the scent of her arousal, creating a heady atmosphere of desire. "I thought you wanted me to admire you in this outfit?"

Her eyes were brought back to the mirror. "I do."

"Then watch me while I do exactly just that."

He didn't leave her time to react because his fingers were already trailing around to feel over her stomach, across the dip of her navel, up and down the thickness of her thighs until they stopped between her legs. She could see herself clearly. The slick fabric of her thong was already a second skin to her, sticking against her arousal which barely covered her sex. Then his fingers moved deliberately slow as he grabbed onto the flimsy material, gently knitting it together in his hand before pulling it up along her wet folds.

Oh my god.

The friction startled her as she felt an unfamiliar pain while he continued to tug on the fabric, but at the same time, she felt a surge of arousal as it nudged against her clit. She was lost in this feeling, of him grinding the material against her core, of the view of her legs spread wide open in the mirror, of his ragged voice breathing in her ear... it was all too much.

And when she thought she couldn't take more of the pleasure building up in her body, he proved her wrong by pushing her thong aside, finally exposing her flesh in the open. The second his fingers slipped into the pooling wetness of her folds, spreading them open for himself to see, she couldn't help but let out a moan louder than she intended to.

"Shh," he cooed, his breath hot against her skin. "We don't want the others to know what we're doing, do we?"

She shook her head helplessly, watching as his fingers continued their exploration. She could already feel him harden with each steady, rhythmic beat of his heart while his fingers explored her, collecting the slick of her arousal before spreading it along her folds. His voice was a bit louder this time, the filthy words echoing in her clouded mind, "You like this, don't you? Look how fucking wet you're getting."

There went another curse word and somehow it managed to peak her arousal. There really was something about being the reason for him to act this way, so primal and dominant, so crude and demanding. His voice, deep and resonant, carried an authority that sent shivers of anticipation cascading through her body. It was a voice that commanded attention, demanding her full submission to his desires.

"Do you wanna see how my fingers look inside you?" He was taunting her now, teasing his fingers around the entrance of her like a twisted, evil game.

One of her hands gripped his thigh, the need to be pleasured so strong in her core that she couldn't help but cry out desperately. "Spencer, please...please."

He gently laughed at her despair, the throaty sound made her shiver. She let out a soft whimper when he finally gave her desperate pleas by sliding his middle finger into her.

Her eyes rolled at the back of her head before she instinctively closed her eyes. "Fuck..."

It wasn't long before his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to open her eyes. "Keep your eyes open or I'll stop," he groaned into her ear. This alone almost sent her teetering right over the edge, just feeling his finger locked inside her. She settled to watch how his hand flexed as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of her before adding another to stretch her out.

The bedroom was quickly filled with the lewd sound of his fingers plunging into her, suddenly moving at a crazy, mind-numbing pace as he curled them the way he knew would make her weak.

Her throbbing heat swallowed his fingers greedily as she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, the only sounds echoing in their shared space were the hard breathings and low noises of her wetness and his fingers finding that sweet spot relentlessly. Spencer gently placed a kiss on her cheek and pressed his palm against her clit, feeling her body jolt in pleasure as he moved his hand.

She turned her head towards him, her lips capturing his in a needy kiss. He swallowed all her whimpers and bit her bottom lip before her tongue slid inside his mouth, sloppy and rough, and yet he wouldn't have it any other way. The closer she was reaching her high, the more intense the movements of his fingers became. She let out a gasp when the coil in her stomach tightened her core.

"Keep your voice down," he whispered, his fingers still driving in and out of her. "Don't worry, I got you. I got you."

She did her best to try to drag her focus back to their reflection through her fogged daze from her heavy, closing lids. The sight of him withdrawing his soaked fingers from her to circle changing patterns across her clit elicited a symphony of sighs and gasps, a testament to the depths of her pleasure. She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and tantalizing, as he placed gentle kisses along the nape of her neck.

"Spence...I'm so close," she sighed between heavy pants.

He nodded against her. "I can feel you. Let go for me. I want to see you."

She closed her eyes, ready to simply enjoy the thrilling and wonderful feelings of the pleasure he was bringing to her. When she was about to reach for her high, rolling her hips against his fingers as the tension in her body rose higher, he suddenly pulled them out and she whimpered at the loss. Her eyes settled on his gaze through the mirror.

"Sweetheart," he whispered gently, but then his fingers gripped around her throat again, forcing her attention back on her arousal glistening in the light. "I need you to keep your eyes on yourself."

She let out a strangled moan but managed to nod her head helplessly. Satisfied she was listening to him, he then started rubbing her clit roughly. She let out a muffled cry as she felt her orgasm rushing, his hold tightening around her throat as his fingers kept stimulating her clit in quick motions. She cried out his name over and over like a skipping, broken record.

"That's it. Say my name," He nipped at her skin, stinging that sensitive flesh between his teeth. "You're doing so good."

One look at the reflection before her was all she needed to fall apart. Seeing his arms holding her in place while his thighs were wide open behind her was more enticing than she had ever imagined. The way he touched her, so caring yet so dominant was the last drop for her to come hard, nails digging painfully into his forearm as her body went rigid.

The person staring back at her was one she almost didn't recognize. Her hair was frizzy and disheveled as it stick to her cheeks, her cheeks were flushed bright red and her face was coated in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes followed down her own body to see the mess coating his fingers, pooling between her thighs. She was still trying to reel back her senses when he suddenly let go of her.

"Lay on your back," he demanded, carefully pushing her onto the bed.

Then he proceeded to jump off the bed, his hands quickly removing his shirt before throwing it to the floor. Then she watched him as he started unbuckling his belt and—how did he manage to make it look so sensual? He dragged his tongue across his lips as he lingered at the sight of her sprawled wide open before him. The sound of his zipper being pulled down echoed throughout the room while he locked her gaze, finally slipping out of the last piece of clothing.

In one swift motion, he reached out and hooked his arms under her thighs and roughly yanked her further toward the edge of the bed. She squealed at the sudden movement in which he leveled her with a strong, disapproving gaze. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet?"

She nodded and watched as he slipped off her thong through her legs, slightly lifting her hips. Then he moved closer and positioned himself between her legs, taking his twitching cock in his hand as he stroked from base to tip, ready to bury himself inside her.

"So messy," He mumbled, dragging his cock along her folds as the head caught her entrance. "You're drenched."

She grumbled out a faint whimper.

"Make one noise and I'll stop," he sighed before slotting the head of his cock through her slit, catching the dewy arousal pooling there. Every fiber of his being trembled with the weight of desire, teetering on the edge of control.

"S-Spence," she mewled, her cheeks heated at the sensation of him pushing into her, the burning stretch of his tip reached places that felt nearly impossible to find.

"Shh," he whispered, desperately holding onto every self-control he had with the way she was already gripping him. "God, you're so tight."

"Baby," she mumbled, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at him with the utmost desperation. "Just fuck me already."

It was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of pent-up desire that had been building within him for far too long. The walls he had erected to hold back his cravings began to crumble, surrendering to the tempestuous storm that raged inside him.

With a breathless whisper, he reached out, his hands trembling in anticipation. "I'm afraid I don't have the restraint to be gentle," he exhaled, appetence thick in his throat. Searching fingers trailed over her stomach and eventually rested at her thighs and dug into the flesh until he couldn't hesitate anymore, and thrust to the hilt. "Forgive me."

At that moment, he finally let go, relinquishing control to the overwhelming force of his desire. He started out slow, enjoying the tightness wrapping around him as she gasped out his name. It was like he was reading her mind, moving at exactly the right pace to make her comfortable, but also building that delicious pressure. The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting.

She watched as he threw both of her ankles up onto his shoulders, his hands pinning them to his body. She felt his fingers firmly grip her legs tighter before he abruptly snapped his hips forward, his cock driving all the way into her instantly.

“Keep going," she breathed out, eyes snapping shut.

The grip on her face startled her as her eyelids fluttered open again. "Keep your eyes on me."

A low moan escaped her lips. He leaned over, hovering above her, his hands pushing her legs as they pressed against her body. The position allowed him to bury himself so deep inside of her, that the pleasant sting of him hitting her reverberated around her entire body. Her legs along his chest were already trembling against him as he continued to slam himself into her over and over.

"Don't make a fucking sound."

She hummed a reply before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, hungry kiss. He trailed his lips down her throat before slightly pulling away, watching the way she was staring up at him, gasping and withering at every hard thrust of his hips. Her eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his stare, her mouth going slack as she felt the slow withdrawal of his cock, but she wasn't prepared for the way he rammed himself swiftly forward into her seconds later.

"Fuck, baby," she whimpered, feeling him stretching her all over again.

His hand slid back down to her throat, wrapping his fingers around it. Squeezing with just the right pressure, he picked up his pace, his hips rocking more rapidly into her. The hand on her throat tightened and she relaxed into his touch, feeling her climax reaching up to her as her own hand latched onto his forearm.

She continued to meet his savage thrusts with her hips, though his pace was near impossible for her to keep up with. Every soft grunt of his was falling almost into her ear and she couldn't help the way it was sending goosebumps across her skin. "Spence."

He could feel her walls clenching around him. "Don't come before me."

The demand startled her, because in honesty, Spencer always prioritized her needs before him. "W-What?"

"Trust me," he grunted, his lips hovering inches above hers. "Hold on a little longer."

There was nothing else she could do but to obey. There was something addicting with the way she easily surrendered control to him with so much trust that made pride swell in his chest, something about the sight of her obediently agreeing to him. Each forward thrust of his hips had her jolting, her breasts bouncing inside her barely covered outfit as the tip of his cock hit deep inside her.

The sounds that filled the room were vile. She faintly looked down between them as the crude sound of her slick walls squelching around his cock rang in her ears, leaving creamy rings of her slick around the base of his cock. A motion almost knocked the wind out of her as she let out a silent moan, lips parted in pleasure as he began a frantic pace.

And then he came undone. The intensity of his orgasm was enough for him to have an out-of-body experience, his vision going white as he filled her, her name drunkenly dripping off his lips. It was also enough for her to feel his warmth spread in her core, enough for her to clench hard around his cock as her own orgasm tugged her without warning, her legs shaking and her vision blurred as she felt the sensation traveling through every nerve of her body.

Her pleasure didn't go unnoticed by him as he frowned, his chest heaving while he tried to calm himself. "I thought I told you to wait."

She looked up at him tiredly. "You made it hard for me to wait."

He gave her a manic smile that sent a shiver down her spine before prompting himself on his arms, his dark curls tickling her skin as he stared down at her. The moment she felt him moving his hips again, she looked up in a panic.

"What are you doing—shit." He thrust his hips into her violently, her body squirming at his movement. "T-Too much."

"You came without my permission, might as well give you another one."

She bucked wildly beneath him, trying desperately to escape the tormenting way he was thrusting into her. She bit her lip from making a sound as he leaned back, pushing her thighs wide to expose her to him. "I-I can't."

"You can," he muttered, eyes never leaving the way he filled her up, his own release coating the slickness of her arousal. It was such a crude, messy sight, yet he was so infatuated by it. His thumb then fell on her swollen clit, moving it frantically in a circular motion. "You've been doing so well."

"Fuck." She stuttered out incoherent words as he thrust in and out of her in quick progressions, impatient and rabid. Pleasure and pain intermingled with each other so much that her brain couldn't process which one was which as they blurred. "Spence."

Then she couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for her to bear as her body erupted in flames, every vein of her being scorched with the fierceness of pleasure running through it, every collision of his hips into her sending sparks down her thighs. The climax swept through her like molten lava, swallowing her whole and threatening to drown her in a sea of pleasure. 

"That's it, good girl," he grunted. There was something about how she was letting him witness such a sight, to let him bask in her lust-driven state. His fingers continued their torture on her clit. "So fucking pretty."

He didn't allow her even a moment to reprieve or a second to fully come down from her high, keeping up the same frantic pace until she was freefalling into another orgasm so strong that she briefly forgot how to breathe. It wracked through her like a creature possessed, pulling her muscles taut and rendering her completely speechless. She couldn't have screamed his name even if she tried. Every nerve seemed to vibrate with divine electricity that consumed her entirely. She trembled uncontrollably, her limbs quivering with the sheer magnitude of the sensations coursing through her body.

Her vision became a hazy blur as the world around faded into insignificance. The room, once familiar, now dissolved into a backdrop of abstract shapes and colors. Her eyes, filled with tears of ecstasy, mirrored the tumultuous storm within. They spilled over, tracing a path down her flushed cheeks. She gasped for breath, struggling to anchor herself in the midst of the whirlwind that enveloped her.

Somehow amidst her shaking form, Spencer managed to pull her into his embrace, settling them onto the mattress before pulling the covers over their body. He held her and peppered the side of her face with gentle kisses as his hands soothed down her trembling body. 

“Hey, I got you. I'm right here."

The intensity was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a fusion of pleasure and vulnerability that brought her to the edge of her limits. She clung to the precipice, teetering on the brink of overwhelming release, as her body continued to convulse. Her grip tightened on his arm as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Baby, breath with me," he muttered, gently cupping her face. "Breath in... breath out."

She followed him, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took as he helped her through it. And as the tremors subsided, she gradually returned to herself, her senses reawakening to the world around her. Her breathing steadied as she basked in the aftermath of the blissful storm that had swept her away.

"I'm sorry."

She shifted in his arms and glanced at him, noticing the way he was looking at her with worry. "Why?"

He gently swiped away the remnants of the tears still glistening in her eyes, evidence of the overwhelming intensity that had consumed her. "I pushed you too much."

"Spencer," she said, her voice dripping with astonishment. "That was the best sex of my life."

An amused chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "And it would hurt my ego if you don’t say the same thing."

His shoulder shook as he continued to laugh. "Y/n," he urged on, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth, smiling against her lips. "You're the best of everything that has ever happened to me."

As his words washed over her, a surge of warmth and tenderness enveloped her heart. She looked into his eyes, her gaze locked with his, and she could see the sincerity that radiated from his every word. His confession held a weight that transcended mere compliments or flattery and a soft smile played upon her lips as her eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and disbelief.

But their moment was interrupted by the sudden sound of the door rattling without their knowledge.

"Y/n," Garcia walked into the room, her eyes focusing on the tablet in her hand. "Can you—"

Then she looked up, her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she stood still. She blinked, hoping to dispel the illusion, but it remained, solidifying the reality of what she beheld. She finally let out a scream.

"What the hell?!" She groaned in disbelief, quickly turning around. "Seriously?"

Y/n winced and let out a sigh. "...surprise?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see that!" Garcia yelled, already out of the room as she shut the door behind her. Then her voice rang in the air, muffled by the walls. "I'm happy for the both of you but very, very traumatized."

Her footsteps disappeared down the hallway and Y/n let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. She quickly swat Spencer's arm and gave him a glare. "You didn't lock the door?!"

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Oops."

"Reid."

"You distracted me with your outfit!"

She groaned, burying her face against his neck. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone to find out about them, everyone would eventually know how infatuated they were with one another. But she never thought they would find out this way.

He slowly kissed her shoulder before mumbling against the skin, "So much for keeping quiet, huh?"

She burst into laughter, shoving an elbow into his side, not knowing whether to find this amusing or wanting to die out of embarrassment. "Shut the fuck up."

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencerreid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #Spotify

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Breakfast

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT

Locked in a bathroom stall with a hungry vampire was not how you planned to spent your time hiding from a herd. Inspired by a post by @norman-fucking-reedus

The herd came out of nowhere, giving you no other option but to be yanked into the tiny toilet stall of the abandoned restaurant.

Bless it for at least having a seat cover so you could sit down while you waited.

Daryl was breathing heavy below you, clearly at his limits after the morning's hunt failed too thanks to possibly the same walkers ruining your camping spot for the day.

You also thanked the overgrown greenery that covered most of the milky glass above you, keeping the sun away from you to a point where it would't hurt Daryl.

"Hey, you gotta eat." You patted his cheek and held out your wrist to his mouth. "It'll be fine, I can't go out and hunt for you now."

He went rigid and shoved you off him, against the stall door. It was as far as you could go seeing your situation. "No humans. Ya know wha' happened. Ya saw me."

You huffed and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "So you killed that guy, we all hated him anyways. He was harrasing you." Taking your hands out of your pockets again, you had materialized one of your tiny knives and flipped it open. "I'm not scared. And you love me too much to kill me." With a wide smile you sat back in his lap again. "Come on, you need the energy. I have my food in my bag, I'll be okay."

It was clear he didn't want to, but he knew it was his only choice if he wanted to make it out alive. Neither of you had any idea how long the herd was gonna stick around and while you could survive two days on your rations, Daryl would be unconcious by nightfall if he didn't feed.

"Yer insane, ya know tha, right?" He shook his head but still braced himself for what he was about to do.

You had straddled him in the most comfortable position you could get in and ran your fingers through his hair to calm him, ever so slowly pressing his face closer to your neck. You were pressed up against each other with no change to get away now, and with a last deep breath you felt Daryl's lips against your skin. He kissed a few times before the harsh sting of his fangs made you tense up. A soft gasp and a squeeze of the strands of hair you held onto went on deaf ears as he busied himself feeding off you.

And god, it felt.. good? It stung at first, but the gentle sucking now went straight down to your core.

But it was clear you weren't the only one enjoying it more than you though, feeling Daryl grow hard in his jeans underneath you.

While you kept one hand in his hair to yank if he got too far, you lowered the other one down to his pants and worked on getting him out of them. He must hurt so bad..

You rolled your hips in trial and earned a moan so deep you didn't think he had it in him. He was normally so quiet.

You pulled his head back but kept yourself attached, moving to shove off one sneaker. With your pants undone and off one leg you sat back down on his lap fully bare before going back to working on his pants, freeing him and continueing to rub against him. "Do I taste that good, baby?"

"Mhmmm.." A rut of his hips and a positive moan answered for you, wasting no more time and lining him up with your entrance and letting him push all the way in, a soft rut with each suck on your neck. You tried your best to keep your moans as quiet as possible but it was difficult with how good it all felt.

Once he was all the way inside he finally took his mouth off you with a deep intake of air. "Fuck, yer even crazier than I thought.." The punctures still bled, slowly trickling down the neckline of your shirt before they were being lapped up in rythm with Daryl's thrusts that kept picking up the pace.

You planned to ride him slowly while he fed but he was holding you still and fucking up into you like he was possessed.

With just one hand he kept your hips in place while the other had your body pressed against him, giving him the perfect angle to keep licking and sucking at your neck while he mumbled praises against your skin.

"D.. Daryl please, fuck, my legs.." You weren't made for bathroom stall sex and especially not while being drained by a very blood drunk vampire.

You held no power against him, every tug to move him was futile. You had to power through the feeling of your legs becoming like jello and his body rubbing against your clit with every thrust. His grunts were getting more frantic. Wet, openmouthed kisses trailed all the way around your neck before he sucked hard on the puncture wounds and you felt the blood flow out in a gush.

He didn't swallow, instead seal his lips and move his hand up to pull at the back of your head and shove his mouth against yours. As his tongue forced its way into your mouth a good amount of blood followed, running out the corners of your mouth and making a mess all over yourselves. His kisses were never very coordinated but this was messy, grunts and moans, open mouthed and all teeth and tongue as you both chased your highs. Your fingers tugging his hair and rubbing your clit between your bodies.

Clenching around him, so close to your climax you hastened your touches and gathered yourself to meet his thrusts halfway to intensify the feeling.

You finished with a harsh bite on Daryl's tongue to muffle your sounds and pulled him right over the edge with you.

He let go of your hip then and you slumped against him, groaning in protest as he licked at the bitemarks on your neck. "Daryl, no.. please.." You barely mamaged to raise your hand to push at him, but he ensured you it was needed. "Helps healin'. Jus' relax." You felt his smile against your skin and let yourself breathe.

"So.." You leaned back a bit to look him in the eyes. "Changed your mind about humans?" Your sneaky smile had him let out a breathy laugh.

"Ya know wha? I'll keep ya with me fer emergencies." He licked his lips, cleaning some blood off them as you weakly smacked his arm and giggled.

Damn. You really had to get cleaned up and eat something..

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #twd daryl x reader #twd x reader #twd smut #twd au #vampire #vampires

[delopsia]

stars on the barn floor | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 9,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, werewolf!Rhett, blowjobs, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, knotting, light bondage to keep Rhett from eating you alive, collars, heavy usage of "good boy," vague size kink, and a fluffy ending to top it all off. Rhett's just a big puppy in this one ❣ Brief Summary: This full moon, you're not letting Rhett spend his whole night chained up in the barn. No, tonight, you're gonna have some fun with him.  

The crunch of gravel beneath your feet might be the only sound on this ranch. Where the wind is usually eager to whip past you, it has now fallen quiet, too exhausted to continue its ambitious journey. You think there may be some crickets chirping contentedly next to the pasture gate, the one that still bears the scars of being rammed by a rich kid's Ford. It ought to be fixed by now; Cecelia says lightning doesn't strike twice, but Royal says that a new one will just get torn up, too.

The old man must have a crystal ball up in that hat of his. 

Fortunately, you don't need magic to know that you're about to walk your happy self into the equivalent of a lion's den, armed with nothing but a few flimsy pieces of leather and a strip of black fabric. A rifle would be a good start, but even that won't be enough to protect you if things get...hairy. 

These barn doors are so much bigger than they looked from the safety of the porch, towering over your head, the rusted handle ice cold in your shivering hand. You've got time to turn back. Even if he does know you're out here, you know he won't hold it against you for making the better, safer decision. 

But...

Chains clatter together, chased by a groan so low that you don't know if it's coming from the man inside or the settling of the barn.

"Rhett?" Your voice dies in your mouth as you push the door open, barely audible to your own ears. It's a wonder if your tone even carries a foot in front of you, never mind across the room.

Boots scuff against concrete, spurs jingling. He heard you. 

The prickle of your skin suggests that he can see you, but as you trudge into the darkness, it sets in that you cannot see him. Navigating blindly, hands held out at your sides, feeling along the rough texture of the old stalls, ancient and dusty from lack of use. They haven't seen a horse since last summer when Rhett and Perry put the finishing touches on the new barn. 

"Rhett?" Calling out again, as if doing so will make it easier to locate him. 

That low growl is closer than you anticipated it would be. 

Light trickles in through the warped window frames overhead. Thin slivers cascade downward, miniature spotlights revealing everything in its path. There's movement in the center of the room, chains clinking as a slim figure interrupts the delicate light show of the full moon, stumbling left, then right, bound to the center of the room. 

Opening your mouth once more, you call out his name. "Rhett?" 

His head jerks. Boots stomping the dusty floor. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. All it would take is for those steel chains to come off the overhead beam, and you'd be toast, sliced up like tomorrow's breakfast sausage. 

But he already sees you. 

The light catches in his golden eyes, reflecting off them like mirrors. Your blood runs so cold that it might freeze. A handful of times, you've caught sight of their unnatural glow, rising to the surface when he grows angry, but it's never been quite this bright. Blindingly so. And yet, they're not all that different from the ones you've come to know. 

Soft around the edges, encased by long eyelashes that flutter as you come near.

"Get out," curt. Grit through his teeth. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was in the middle of a roleplay. His ears have long since broken from their natural human form, pointed and wolfish, sitting atop his head like a pair of triangles. There's a tear out of the left one, right at the tip, from a scuffle with his brother a few years back. 

Perry still doesn't talk about where the bite scar on his shoulder came from.

"Get." Fangs flash with the opening and closing of his mouth. "Out." 

Perhaps you're simply entranced by the sight of him; it's been days since you last saw him, and even then, it was a short meeting in a feed store checkout line. Or maybe you've plum lost your mind, a dumb sheep walking into the mouth of a hungry wolf. 

The leather slips from your hands, falling to the floor with a clatter so loud you reckon it'll wake the neighbors. Rhett jolts. Stumbling backward with a heavy growl that vibrates all the way up into your bones. His lip curls with a warning. One little nip is all it would take to remove a finger. But it's as if you're caught in a trance. You can't seem to stop yourself from reaching up and curling your palms around his scruffy cheeks. 

He's stiff. Heated gaze boring into your skull. "I said—" Your thumb rises to stroke the thin skin directly beneath his eye. 

And he's quiet.

The muscle there softens. Squishing beneath your touch. Dare you consider it; you reckon his gaze has warmed by a degree or two. A little shinier than before, as if the light of the moon is reflecting off a serene lake. 

Hesitant, his head tilts, eyes falling shut as he pushes into your touch. 

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

"Yer gonna get hurt," he mutters, but he makes no effort to squirm away, "if I come loose..."

The vicious wolf he's always warned you about is nowhere to be found. No bloodthirsty snarls or vicious snapping of his teeth as you grow near. Hell, the moon is as high as she will go, but he hasn't even fully shifted.

Your thumb ventures down his face, swiping across his bottom lip, past needle-sharp teeth and all. "You seem pretty lucid to me."

"'cause it's still early," his head jerks, afraid of your touch, all of a sudden.

One would think that a werewolf, a cowboy no less, would be pretty decent at understanding how to tell the time based on the positioning of the moon. Alas, you won't be sharing the insight you gained from looking at the time on your cell. 

Talking isn't what you're here for, anyway. 

No. Instead, your hands on his cheeks are growing firmer, holding him still, and he must have already caught on to what you're doing because his boots slam against the floor. Agitated. Trying to step backward. But his arms are still bound behind his back, and he's still attached to that beam overhead, can only move so much before he hits a dead end. 

A snarl tears through the quiet air. He's trapped with nowhere to escape. Those razor-like canines are showing themselves again. A flashy warning that he makes no attempt to fulfill, not moving a muscle as you lean in and tilt his head down, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. 

The smile spreading across his face reveals the unnatural jaggedness of his molars. If it weren't attached to Rhett, you think you may have run out the door by now. "Did y' come all the way out here for a kiss?"

"You're guilty of it too, cowboy," you've lost count of all the times he's shown up at your door, looking for a little love. A kiss here, a snuggle on the couch there, once, he showed up just to see you smile and hear your voice. 

"I know it," the roll of his eyes is the last thing you see before you move in once more, lips finding the corner of his jaw. "I know it..." 

Your hands are sliding away from his face, smoothing past his chest, on a one-way track to find those damned buttons on his flannel. It must be your lucky day because it's one of his pearl snap shirts; each and every one of them pops open with the slightest tug. 

"'ts a bad time to be feelin' me up, darlin'," Rhett's muttering beneath his breath, but he's stepping forward. Pressing into the caress of your touch, fingers running over the divots of his ribs, up and down the smooth skin of his back. Anywhere and everywhere, all at the same time.

Your mouth pauses against his neck. "Is it?" 

For a moment, he's quiet. This close, you reckon you can hear the gears turning in his head, searching for the right words to say. He shifts, bumping himself into your mouth, but it doesn't reward him with another kiss. 

You wonder if he's realized that he stomps his foot when he's feeling impatient. 

"Not that 'm complainin'," his voice is quieter as if he's afraid to hear the sound of it.

Fortunately, you're in no mood to hold out any further, already beginning to lean in and ghost your lips over a vein, tongue darting out to trace across it. A portion of you is amazed that he's letting you do this, tilting his head to grant you access to his vulnerable throat, humming at your touch. So completely and utterly comfortable, despite the dizzying draw of the moon and the overwhelming helplessness he's placed himself into. Those chains behind his back are far too strong for him to break on his own; he can't defend himself, even if he wants to. 

But that's not on your mind at all. No, you're too focused on nipping at his sensitive collarbone, still bruised from your handiwork earlier in the week. Then, down across his chest, broad and thick enough for you to get a greedy handful of as you kiss your way below that cheap, faded tattoo he got when he turned eighteen. 

Your tongue darts out to lave across a soft nipple.

"Shit," he sucks in a breath, always so sensitive here, "that...you..."

It's such a simple thing. Swirling your pointed tongue around the bud, feeling the way it hardens within a matter of seconds. You shouldn't be getting anything out of it, and yet, your thighs are squeezing together without a second thought. All the while, your fingers are finding that neglected bud, pinching it between your thumb and index. 

Rhett jerks, stumbling backward. "Leave...leave those alone."

"I thought you liked having your nipples played with?" You know the answer to that.

He knows the answer to that. 

But that doesn't mean he's going to say it out loud. Not without a few beers buzzing through his veins, warping his filter just enough to let a million and one truths tumble off his pretty tongue. 

"Don't say it like—mmh,"  sucking in his bottom lip, barely stifling that little noise.

You'd linger a little longer if you weren't thinking about something else. Every kiss you press to his skin glistens in the light, shimmering little patches that trail down the soft muscle of his belly, across his belly button. Never ending until his belt rudely intercepts you, obnoxiously large buckle still fastened and shiny as ever. 

Without a second thought, you pinch it open, knees settling against the dusty floor. 

"Oh my god," Rhett's head lolls backward, neck on full display, "you ain't...you're..." As if your intentions couldn't get any clearer, you find the flip of his zipper, pulling it down. "Shit, y' are." 

The only thing between you and what you're after is this damned button. Popping it open takes two seconds and two centuries, all in the same moment. "What did you think I was doing?" 

His feet shift, spurs singing their shrill little tune whilst you reach through the gap in his boxers. "I can lose my mind 'n eat ya alive at any given moment," interrupted by a shaky breath as your soft hand wraps around his half-hard length, "'n all y' wanna do is suck my cock."

You've gotten a little too good at guiding him past his confines, out into the cool air of this dingy old barn. It's a shame that you can hardly see him; a portion of you was beginning to wonder if this whole full moon thing would change anything in this department. 

"Is that a problem?" Feeling around blindly, your hand slips back through the fabric. 

His hips jolt as your fingers brush against his balls, gently drawing them out. They're heavier than you last recall them being, but maybe that's your memory playing tricks upon you. All you know is that Rhett's opening his mouth again, and you've been presented with the perfect opportunity to shut him up.

"Naw, I ain't sayin' that," he whispers. So airy and light that he might be up on a cloud, "'m tryin' to tell—shit." 

Your devilish tongue glides up the underside of his balls. Not afraid to let him feel the scrape of your teeth, internally hoping it will translate as some kind of sick reminder of his place. "What was that...?"

"No, no, no," you can't see it, but you know he's shaking his head, "jus'...keep doin' that." 

Can't complain with that logic. 

A little too excited, your mouth returns to the underside of him, his heavy cock bumping against your temple. It shouldn't do all that much for him, but the feeling of you gently sucking on his balls is all it takes to get him groaning low in his throat. Behind him, the chains clink, biceps straining against them, desperate to paw at the back of your head. Always a little too keen to get you moving on to his cock.

But you're in control here, and right now, you're too focused on moving over to equal out the attention. Carefully sucking on him, tongue soothing the skin when you let him fall free of your mouth. His feet shift, boots impatiently clunking across the floor. Your hand rises, taking hold of his all-too-heavy cock, hard as a rock within a matter of moments. 

A drop of precum spills onto the floor, leaving a shiny spot that catches in the light. Almost looks like a tiny star has fallen out of the sky to join in on the fun. A second lands to join, mere inches away from the first. 

You're far too stingy to let a third go to waste. Licking up the underside of him, trailing up the thick vein that emerges from his base and not stopping until you reach his tip. Plush and silky soft against your lips, he hasn't gotten an ounce of attention here, and yet he's soaked. There's so much precum gathered here that it looks like you've already taken him into your mouth.

"What's got you so wet, cowboy?" A lopsided grin interrupts your teasing, sprawling across your face before you can realize it. 

The corner of his lip wavers up and down, "'y know exactly why." 

"No, I don't reckon I do," leaning back on your haunches just as his hips thrust forward, seeking a contact he's no longer receiving. 

Rhett's quiet. Always has been a little shy when it comes to telling you exactly what got him going. Those wolfish ears twitch, stubborn teeth sinking into his bottom lip as if his words are going to burst past at any moment. He just needs the slightest push...like leaning forward and opening your mouth, hot breath fanning out against his flushed tip.

Again, his foot stomps. "Fuckin' mean." But then he's lowering his head, long strands of hair cascading into his face. "I..." hesitating, if only for a second, "like when y' go 'n do whatever ya want with me."

You knew what he was fixing to say, but that doesn't mean you're any less excited to hear him voice it. "Yeah?"

Nodding. "Uhuh—oh." 

A giggle is all you can manage, mouth too full of his cock to do much else. Heavy and throbbing against your tongue, already so damn excited, and you're not even started. Only just beginning to start sucking on him, cheeks hollowing as you gradually take more of him in. His pretty moan is an encouragement all on its own. 

Sucking off a werewolf during a full moon isn't exactly something that has made it onto your bucket list, but oh, is it a dream. Listening to the way his arms strain against his iron restraints, desperate to cling to your head as it begins to bob, slow ups and downs, at your own comfortable pace. 

Experimental, you lean back until your tongue can swirl around his sensitive tip. 

His thighs squeeze so tight that his knees damn near knock together. "Fuckin—ah!"  Even from down here, you can see how his jaw has gone slack, completely and utterly lost in the feeling of your mouth. "Sen...sensitive." 

All you can do is hum, amused by the little shiver that ripples up his spine. 

It's been a few weeks since you've last felt him on your tongue, but your memory is gradually beginning to come back, hands scurrying off to work. One wraps around the base of his shaft, the past that you can never fit in your mouth, while the other reaches to find his soft balls, still wet from your earlier handiwork. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he's babbling, head rolling back and forth. Restless. "Keep doin' that." 

There's already an ache blooming in the corner of your jaw, but you can't help yourself. Not when Rhett's keening high in his throat, panting like a damn dog as you lower your head, engulfing him in the wet heat of your mouth. His blunt head bumps into the back of your throat. Damn near sends you lurching. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, burning like they're going to start streaming down your face at any moment, but you can't bring yourself to mind it. You're far too preoccupied with getting another one of those noises out of him, sucking hard on your next draw backward.

A crippling whimper breaks through the midnight air. His hips jolt forward by the tiniest fraction.

You might as well have cracked the code to a bank safe. 

He's a goner. He knows it. You know it. He knows you know it. Because you keep doing it. Long, slow bobs of your head, the ones that he desperately tries to chase the feeling of. Drool runs past your swollen lips and down your chin, leaving you just as wet and slick as he is, dripping off your skin and speckling across the barn floor. 

It's so distracting that you've nearly forgotten about the leather that rests by your right knee. It is not as if you can do anything to put your plan into motion; no, your hands are full. One gently stroking his shaft in synchrony with the rise and fall of your head, the other slowly beginning to roll his balls in your palm. Working him over like you're getting paid to do it. 

Rhett's strangled whine catches in his throat. "'m already close." 

You don't know if it's a warning or a plea, but the discomfort in your jaw is getting easier to ignore. Cheered on by the shiver that sets into his thighs and the airy noises tumbling out of him, starving for a breath that he can't keep ahold of. Broad chest heaving, still glistening with the trail that led you to your knees. 

His foot taps against the floor. 

"Baby, baby, baby," chanting like a melody, chased by the sweet cry of your name, "I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." 

Humming, you tilt your head to look up at him. Wide eyes meeting with his half-lidded golden ones—the tip of your tongue lifts, dancing across the sensitive underside of him. 

That's all it takes. 

You feel the twitch of his cock before his raspy wail greets your ears. A shudder wracking up his body. Spine trembling. Hips jerking forward as rope after rope of his cum spills from his overworked cock. Flooding your mouth. The base of his cock swells with every pulse. Too shallow to catch and form a knot, but he's almost there. If you push him a little further in a few minutes, you might get one out of him.

Devilish, you swallow around his softening length, amused by the sudden whimper and backward jerk of his hips. Pulling himself out of your mouth with a nice, wet pop.

Those sweet eyes of his are closed. Blissfully unaware, on his own plane of existence. So far gone that he doesn't seem to notice as you tuck him back into the safety of his jeans. Nor does he rouse at the sound of you grabbing the leather from the floor. Your knees ache as you rise to your feet, the wet spots on the floor looking something akin to a galaxy as you reach for the chains behind his back. The mechanism is simpler than it looks. Just one little pinch and—

"What—what are you doing?" Tripping over his own words. Arms suddenly falling to his sides. Free. "No, no, no, you can't—"

"Do you trust me?" Spoken far too gently for it to be such a sharp interruption. 

His lower jaw quivers, mouth parting the slightest bit. You can almost see the gears twisting and turning up in his scrambled head. 

Hesitant, he lowers his head with a shallow nod. "'course, but I can hurt..." Falling silent as you lift that thin rope of leather for him to see, held taut between two hands, the silver buckle gleaming in the moonlight. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

A boot thumps against the ground. Nudging himself closer to it. No glimpse of razor-sharp canines. Ears round and human as can be. Not even a sliver of gold in those wide eyes. Whatever control he's found, if you can even call it that, doesn't slip. Even as you loop the leather around his throat, feeding one end through the clasp, buckling it shut. 

The snap of the leash clasp on his collar damn near makes your heart stop.

But Rhett hasn't moved, still perfectly in control. If anything, he's more interested in the thin piece of black fabric you're lifting, torn from an old t-shirt he ruined while moving the cattle to the west pasture. 

"What're y' doin'?" He mutters as if he's afraid to open his mouth too far, and though you're beginning to cover his eyes, he doesn't make a move to stop you. Remaining still, even as you tie a sloppy bow behind his head.

Your hand finds his cheek, squishing it with your thumb. "Taking you home, sweet boy."

The corner of his lip rises. 

With a delicate pull of the leash, he stumbles forward, spurs singing their shrill tune as he clumsily drags his feet. Even with the help of you at his side, he's a mess. Knocking into the barn door. Very nearly trips over your kitchen rug when you get him home. So willing to trust where you take him but not quite equipped to make it graceful. 

"Why'd ya cover my eyes, anyhow?" He grumbles, big, sharp ears twisting and turning as he hauls himself through another step. 

"You mentioned nearly mauling a cow a couple moons ago," pausing just long enough for you to get him around the corner, into the bedroom, "and I doubt you know how to heel." 

"I can, too!" Those unnatural teeth glint in the light. You wonder if he would let you touch them. "'m a werewolf, not a damn stray." 

His bare foot knocks into yours as you lead him to the bed, a little more confident now. There's not much for him to run into here. The biggest obstacle is the bed that's hitting the backs of your knees, has you falling backward before you can realize it. 

On his own whim, Rhett's thumbing at his belt buckle. Opens it so damn easy that you almost question how it took you so many tries when you first got together. It's no easy task, getting his jeans down his legs, the material clinging to his thighs like a second layer of skin. 

Vaguely, you think you catch the silhouette of his cock bouncing, half hard and smacking against his hip. "You took your boxers off, too?" 

"Might as well," seeing him naked from the waist down is a bit of a sight, but it's one that doesn't last for long. His flannel hits the floor even quicker than his jeans did. "Ain't gonna need 'em here in a minute."

Coy, you tilt your head. "What makes you think I'm in the mood?" It's only after that you realize he can't see what you just did. 

But Rhett's entirely oblivious of your mistake, lips rising with an obnoxious grin, sharp teeth poking through, "can smell it." 

Your face feels cold. Blood draining away as if someone has just pulled the plug, spilling out into everywhere but your head. "You can what?"

He's leaning closer. Nose nudging into the side of your cheek, warm breath fanning out and tickling your ear like a feather. "Yer scent gets a lil spice to it," he murmurs, so low that every word rumbles down your spine like thunder, "kinda sweet, too." 

His unshaven jaw bumps into yours, long enough to have lost that sandpaper-like texture, nothing but a smooth glide as he blindly guides himself to your ear. He'd nibble at the shell of it, if he weren't worried about accidentally eating you. "Makes me fuckin' dizzy jus' smellin' it," whispering, so damn close that you feel his lips brush against your skin.

Maybe that's the reason why your inhale shakes the way that it does. "So you knew what I was up to when I walked into the barn?"

"Mhm," his humming damn near makes you shiver, "jus' didn't know what kinda fun you were hankerin' for." 

Your hand darts behind his head, tugging on the knot of his blindfold until it unravels, falling from his face and landing onto the sheets. 

Golden eyes stare back at you, vivid as ever. Except they're soft around the edges. The werewolf might have awoken for the night, but Rhett Abbott never went to sleep. He's still here, with you, crawling into bed the same way he always does. His cheeks fit into your palms the same, squishing beneath your touch as you draw him in.

He kisses the same, too. Humming into it, purring like a pleased little kitten, shifting to brace his weight on one arm, free hand skirting up the side of your shoulder. Fangs graze your bottom lip, a delicate reminder of the power they hold and what they could do if the reigns of control were to slip from his grasp.

But Rhett's never been anything other than gentle. The sharp impression of his teeth is merely there for show, as harmless as the muscles that bulge in his arms, present to protect and never to harm. Because his open arm drifts around your waist as he pushes you backward, cushioning an already soft fall. 

Your hands are on the move, one grabbing hold of his meaty bicep, the other drifting across his shoulder, blissfully abandoning the task at hand. His rough mouth parts your lips, a growl sitting so low in his throat that you almost mistake it for distant thunder, rattling the house and you with it. Rhett's warm belly may be pressed against yours, pinning you to the mattress, but it isn't enough to keep you from wondering if you've floated off the bed and begun spinning around the room.

"My shirt," you gasp, breathless, "get it..."

There's no point in finishing your sentence because Rhett's already tugging at the end of it, only breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head. The bedroom air hadn't felt cold until now. A sharp contrast compared to Rhett and his warm lips that melt with yours fits so perfectly, like your own perfect puzzle piece. 

His hips roll forward, rutting into your core, merely held back by the soft fabric of your pants, so thin that he could rip through them if he wanted. But he doesn't seem interested in doing such a thing, simply content to drag his leaking cock against the inside of your thigh, wetting the fabric there. 

"C'n I take these off?" He's speaking against your lips, too lazy to pull away any further than he already has. 

You're already nodding. "Please."

Now, he's got to draw himself away from you. Leaning back onto his haunches, the muscle of his chest catching in the moonlight that peaks through the window, calloused hands smoothing down the sides of your waist. Your hips lift from the bed just as his fingers curl into your waistband. 

That leather leash knocks into your leg as he draws your pants and underwear down all in one go, handle tapping at your knee as if to get your attention. One of your hands are reaching for it before you've even realized it, fingers slipping through the loop. It's just long enough to give him the space to pull your pants past your heels, only pulls tight when he leans back a smidgen further. 

"Forgot ya got me collared," Rhett's chuckling, already yielding to the tug of the leash. His lips graze up the side of your ankle, ambling along in no real rush as he makes his way back up your legs. Kissing at the juncture of your knee and up into the inside of your thigh, tongue darting out to sloppily wet the skin there. 

Golden eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. 

Idle, your unoccupied fingers find their way into his hair, curling and twisting in the messy curls that rest at the back of his neck. The leash pulls, too eager to guide him higher. Wasn't exactly a part of your plan for tonight, but you cannot even begin to deny yourself this simple pleasure. 

"Good boy," it's hushed, and it's barely there, but the words tumble off your tongue like any other. 

Rhett hears them. You know he has because those dumb, wolfish ears emerge from the darkness. Twisting and turning. Drinking up the tiny noise that chokes out of your throat when he sucks on a patch of skin on your inner thigh, working it over until you're certain that he's left a mark there. Repeats it again a little further up, drifts over to your other thigh, the tip of his nose bumping into you as he guides himself up, up, up.

His breath fans out against your cunt. So hot that it nearly burns. 

Your tug on the leash is all the encouragement he needs. Tongue poking past his lips and drawing through your folds, licking a slow, fat stripe up your cunt, groaning to himself like he's just won a grand prize. Even here, you can feel the smooth glide of his teeth, almost a perfect mirror of the silent threat you made to him in the barn. 

Big hands settle on either side of your hips, holding you still as he dips down to repeat it once more. "Taste so fuckin' good," grumbling into your pussy, the vibration of his voice dancing around your sensitive clit. 

He's already getting comfortable, settling flat on his belly, arms curling around your thighs, hanging onto you like you'll wander away if he doesn't. Leaves you no choice but to clutch the back of his head as his upper lip brushes where you crave him most. The very spot that he's so deliberately ignoring.

"Bastard," hissing. If he'd just go a little higher...

"What?" Artificial innocence drips from his tone, peeking up at you beneath long lashes. He's the very definition of a man who knows what he's doing, with that dumb, wolfish grin sprawling across his face. 

Fuck, you can't stand him sometimes.

The leash yanks. Jerking him upward, his mouth helplessly dragged up to the very place he's been avoiding. So caught off guard that he's hardly got time to react, before you're pushing his head back down.

Two can play at this game. 

"Impatient," he grunts, but he's not making any move to fight back. Contentedly swirling his tongue around your clit like you've been wanting, only pausing to wrap his thin lips around it. 

A spark of heat jumps up your spine, bursting in your head like a lone firework. Makes it so damn hard for you to get your thoughts in order. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full, cowboy." 

Even with his face buried between your legs, it's impossible to miss the way that his eyes roll. Nor can you fail to notice the roll of his hips, chasing the feel of your sheets against his neglected cock, still heavy and weeping. 

But you can't pay attention to it for long because a calloused fingertip nudges between your folds. Stroking at your delicate entrance, pressing to feel the way you open up for him. What he finds must have been what he was looking for because the outer corners of his eyes rise with a smile. Your light tug of the leash is enough to keep him moving, that thick finger slipping into you without a second thought. 

It's been so damn long that you've nearly forgotten how this feels. The faint burn of taking him dry. How he curls upward, rubbing his blunt fingertip up your walls, rising up, up, up. You know he'll find that sweet little spot, he always does, but that doesn't stop your nerves from winding tight, thighs tensing as he nudges closer and closer to it.

"Fuckin' tight," he muses, drawing right across the nerves of your g-spot for the first time in forever. 

Your body jerks, a gasp bursting past your lips. "And who's fault is that?"

"I know," sheepishly pausing to twirl his pointed tongue across your cunt, "'m sorry." Pity rewards you with a second finger, eagerly nudging in alongside the first, finally beginning to stretch you in earnest. Pumping in and out of you to the languid tune of his mouth, a lazy sort of thing that has your thighs clamping down around his head. 

"Rhett..." you don't know why you're muttering his name, but he's humming his response, and it's sending a bolt of lightning up your core.

A plume of heat swells between your legs. Familiar. The kind that has your lower belly alight with an excitement you haven't felt since the last time. Spurred on by the rough fingertips that incessantly rub into your walls and the burning tongue that draws sharp figure eights across your spasming clit. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit—

"Stop." Blurting. A little too loud. 

Rhett freezes so quickly that his tongue doesn't even dart back into his mouth. So shocked that his ears have returned to their usual human shape. His eyes are the only thing that moves, darting up to scan your face. Whatever expression he's looking for, he doesn't find it. 

"Close?" Lifting his head. Stiff.

Weakly, you nod, tugging on his leash with an uneasy hand, "Uhuh." 

Those shoulders drop with a heavy sigh, fanning out against your sensitive core as he begins to move. Hands settle on either side of you, bracing his weight as he crawls up your body, the muscle in his biceps flexing with the simple effort, veins rising from his forearms. A sight so mesmerizing that you nearly miss grabbing the lube off the spare pillow. 

His hand darts out, reaching to take it, but you're a little quicker, drawing it out of his reach. 

"Sit," a simple order, not an ounce of firmness behind it.

Rhett's head tilts to the side, pausing if only for a second, then falls back onto his haunches without a word. Sitting innocently between your legs, watching as you sit up and snap the cap open. The lube spills out a little too quickly, flooding your palm and dripping between the crevices of your fingers. 

"Shit," his eyelashes flutter as your hand wraps around his heavy cock, lazily spreading the sticky fluid across him. There's so much of it. Squelching with the motion of your strokes, the excess running down into the neatly groomed hair at his base and beyond. "Think ya got enough on me?" 

"Aren't you usually heckling me for using too little?" Fighting the urge to laugh, slick hand reaching between your own legs. The nudge of your own two fingers isn't what you're craving in the slightest; too small and thin as compared to Rhett's, but they work just fine when it comes to spreading some more of the lube.

"'cause I don't wanna hurt ya," the corner of his lip quirks up. Smug. One of the many downsides of dating a man who's hung like a damn horse and knows it. 

But there are a number of upsides that come with the territory, too. Wrapping his hand around himself makes him seem that much bigger. Thick in his hand, so heavy that it can't stand upright without some help. Falling onto your back does nothing to help it, and even as he shifts forward, blunt tip nudging at your inner thigh, you can't help but wonder how you take him every time.

Nor do you know how you plan to take the knot that subtly swells at his base, still inflamed from your handiwork in the barn. 

His cock head nudges against your folds, experimentally rutting between them. Has the air hitching in your throat and your hand unintentionally yanking on his leash. 

"Alright, alright," mumbling to himself through a laugh, "impatient."

A familiar pressure blooms before you realize what he's talking about. The careful nudge of his dick at your entrance, gradually stretching you around his mushroom tip. And maybe the full moon really does affect his size because you don't recall it ever aching quite like this. A subtle burn rising, even with the lube, has you holding your breath as he opens you wider and wider. 

"Relax, doll," he's coaxing, in that quiet voice of his hands rising to glide up your sides, "can feel y' clenchin' 'round me."

Easier said than done. But his touch is distracting enough to let a puff of air burst past your lips, lungs burning for a fresh intake of oxygen, chest rising and falling in perfect tune with Rhett's. With it goes the tension in your thighs, falling slack against the bed, drawn out even further as his tip drags against the sweet bundle of nerves inside of you. Little sparks bolt through your nerves, bursting up in your head and behind your eyelids. 

The leash tugs again, but this time, it isn't an impatient correction. No, you're trying to draw him closer, helplessly beckoning him to settle down onto his forearms. And he does just that. Warm body coming to rest against yours, so close that his jaw bumps into yours. 

"'s this where ya want me?" He whispers, rubbing your noses together just for the sake of doing it. Always has to be stealing some kind of affection, even when his cock is sinking into you, inch by devastating inch, stretching you so wide that your thighs tremble from it. 

You can't formulate a response; the words in your head have broken into fragments. Maybe you'd be able to gather them up if not for the delicious sensation of him bottoming out. Not another inch to take of him, his hips flush with your body. It's a damn surprise that you haven't cracked in half, so full that your lungs feel like they've shrunk by two sizes. 

"You can..." you're already too winded to get your words out, "you can move." 

Rhett doesn't budge. Eyes closed, seemingly off in his own little world, content with the sensation of your warm cunt, wrapped around him. But you didn't go through all this trouble just to skip out on all the fun now.

You give the leash an experimental tug. Jerking him by the slightest fraction.

A growl bursts from his throat. So loud that the room seems to shake with it. Gone as quickly as it arrived, replaced with an awkwardly quiet air, wide blue eyes blinking back at you. As if you were the one who made the noise and not him. 

"Move," repeating yourself, and if he notices the wobble in the firmness of your tone, he doesn't acknowledge it. 

Obedient, his hips draw backward, and you immediately know you're in trouble. Even for such a shallow movement, he's dragging deliciously against every little nerve within your walls, the soft swell of his base catching on your entrance as he eases back inside. It's the second thrust that knocks the air from your chest, puffing past your lips as he bottoms out, the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

"That," blurting, before he can even begin to lose his angle, "keep doing that." 

"'s that the spot?" Rhett grins, fangs and all. As if he can't feel the way you involuntarily flutter around him when he passes over it again.

Your lube-slick hand tangles into his hair. There's not a doubt in your mind that it's going to leave it matted and sticky once it dries, but that's alright. You're both gonna need a bath once this is all said and done. 

He's finding his pace, rising higher up onto his forearms, properly hovering above you. The kind of shift that has his balls smacking into your ass, the heaviness of his body rocking yours against the bed. Your mattress squeaks with every heavy movement, but it's barely audible over the wet squelch of his cock disappearing into you and the grunts that rumble out of him. 

He's feeling it as much as you are, eyes squeezing shut, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, canines threatening to puncture the thin skin there. Even as he draws back to settle on his haunches, you can hear him. Unusually noisy, those low noises bubbling into something louder, traveling on the coattails of his breath. 

Your thighs rise to squeeze around his waist, pulling him in a little harder now, "you're getting loud, cowboy." 

"Fuckin' sensitive," his hair bounces into his face, forces him to run one of those big hands through it, "still haven't—oh fuck." 

Your cunt is spasming around him. Clenching and unclenching as his plush tip kisses those sweet little nerves over and over and over. Your unoccupied hand can't stay still. Grasping at the edge of the pillow, squeezing a fistful of the sheets, flailing around at your side like a fish out of water. Anything to keep yourself grounded. 

"God," squeezing his eyes shut, hardly stifling a moan, "y' feel so fuckin' good." 

The sight above you is enough to make you dizzy. Rhett and his messy curls, sweat beading on his forehead, and the veins along his arms have long since begun to show themselves. Muscles flexing with every heavy thrust, his thick cock disappearing between your parted legs, stretching you obscenely wide. 

Fuck, you can't believe this cowboy is real.

He's reaching beneath one of your shivering knees, fingers sprawling around the underside of it and pushing it up toward your belly. "Ain't ever stayin' away for that long again." 

And you don't ever want him to, either. This bed and this house have been far too quiet without him; your toys haven't seen this much of you since before the two of you met. But he's here now, black collar looped around his flushed neck, leash bouncing with the movement of his body, and you don't have any intention of cutting him loose. 

"Yer thighs are shakin' so much," he says it like he's not trembling himself, weak hand struggling to keep hold of your leg, the two of you wavering like leaves in the autumn breeze. "'s it feel that good, sweetheart?"

If he keeps talking, you're going to combust. 

The leash nearly slips out of your sweaty hand when you tug on it. Couldn't have been much of a pull at all, but it works a growl out of Rhett's throat, golden eyes twinkling as he lets you reel him back in. A little too eager to get close to you again, chests pressing against each other, mouths meeting for a kiss, so sloppy that it hardly counts as one. Lips bumping together, unable to do anything but that. 

"Good boy," it slips off your tongue without thinking. 

The phrase has never really crossed your vocabulary until tonight, but something about the collar and the distracting massage of his cock has you throwing all rationality out the window. There's only one way to find out if he likes the phrase or not. MIght as well learn on the one night when he's fully capable of swallowing you whole.

"Again." 

You almost don't believe what you just heard. 

But Rhett's nuzzling his nose against your cheek, suddenly losing his rhythm. "Call me that again." 

Fire ignites in your core. Spreading until it feels as if your entire body has been plunged into a pot of boiling water. Fuck, if he keeps—if he just keeps doing that. "Good boy," repeating yourself, dissolving into a mewl.

His whole body jerks. Set off like a damn firecracker. Head dropping low, keening high in his throat, too weak to hold it back anymore. If he had a tail, you have no doubt that it would be wagging back and forth, a little too eager to hear your praise.

Impatient, your hand dips between your bodies, the pads of your fingers pressing against your clit. Sparks volt through your nerves. Has your heart lurching and hammering in your heaving chest. You're already close. 

"Want you to knot me," admitting your plan is easier than it should have been, falling off your drooling tongue without a shred of fear. "Can you do that?"

Now you've got his attention, snapping up to look at you. Mouth open. Eyes wide, clear for the briefest of moments. But then his cock head hits your g-spot head on, and it's got you clenching around him like a fucking vice. You're both gone. Fear of getting hurt be damned. Neither of you can think of anything except for this, this, this.

Then you hear it. The faintest "uhuh" you've ever heard. 

But it's there.

"Such a good boy for me," you might be babbling, but you don't care. Rhett's whimper is just as loud as yours, dancing together in the bedroom air, and that's all that matters. "so good, Rhett."

The base of his cock is swelling. Growing taut with a knot that catches on your rim, forcing those long strokes to devolve into short, fragile little motions. His voice is getting pitcher, whispering nonsense that sounds like your name, the curve of his nose pressing into the underside of your jaw. 

Until all of a sudden, his hips are slamming into yours, and he's cumming in you with a pitiful cry. Knot swelling into a bulb, locking your exhausted bodies together as his cum finally, finally spills into you, flooding your helpless pussy with rope after rope of white. And all he can do is collapse on top of you, his head buried into the gap of your neck.

You're so full of him. Nowhere for his cum to escape, even whilst his hips involuntarily twitch forward, jostling the mess he's made inside of you. And it's all just making your fingers work a little faster, rubbing over your clit over and over, spasming impossibly tight around his overworked cock. 

"Cum 'round me," Rhett's begging, his voice shaky can be. "Please."

And you do.

Back jerking up off the mattress, spots dancing across your vision, cumming around his cock without a shred of warning. Your pussy clamping down around his knot, fingers stalling over your clit. A strangled cry cuts through the air. You haven't the slightest clue if it's coming from you or Rhett, but you can't bring yourself to care. Too lost in the spinning of the room and the clouds fogging your mind to even try to comprehend what you're hearing.

For once, the room is quiet—nothing but two labored breaths, so heavy that the wind howling outside ought to be jealous. 

Rhett's eyelashes tickle your neck with every blink, the only sign you've got that he's still alive, "Think ya almost killed me."

"You're one to talk," you have to crane your neck to get a better look at him, contentedly snuggled against you, eyes blue as can be. Not a shred of werewolf left in him, too tuckered out to show its face any longer. 

"Careful," it's the start of the emptiest threat you've ever heard, "the moons still high."

The pillow has a higher chance of killing you than he does. 

"You haven't eaten me so far," teasing, letting your fingers dart down his naked spine. He shivers, jerking up onto his forearms all of a sudden.

His knot is already beginning to go down, makes it easy for him to draw his hips backward. Pressure builds for the briefest of moments, and with a soft 'pop,' he slips out of you entirely. Like a damn has burst, his cum begins to spill from your abused cunt, running down your skin and staining the comforter below. 

You really should get up and throw the sheets in the washer before anything can begin to dry, or worse, leave behind an impossible-to-remove stain. But you're too focused on Rhett, rolling over onto his back, sweaty chest heaving. The kind of thing that you cant resist from reaching out and touching, your palm sliding along his warm stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls in tune with his chest.

"Are you rubbin' my belly like 'm a dog?" He asks, through that lazy smile, all half-lidded eyes and sleepy muscle. Even now, you can't bring yourself to believe that there's a single vicious bone in his body, big and strong as it may be.

"Should I stop?" You suppose you already know the answer to your question; he'd be kicking up a bigger fuss if he didn't like it.

His head shakes, and even that looks like too tremendous of a task for him. "No, no, I ain't sayin' that." 

Instead, his hand rises to cover yours, following along as you rub up and down, gradually working your way higher and higher, from his belly button to that proud bull tattoo. A quiet growl rolls out of his chest when your thumb dares to swipe over one of his nipples, the closest thing he can get to purring. 

But you're not done roaming. Wandering even further up, across his sweaty neck and up to his scruffy cheek. It's been far too long since the last time you've gotten to do this. Feeling the soft drag of his stubble under your touch, the way that he dares to twist his head and nip at your palm when it ventures close to his mouth. Every gentle bite is soothed with a kiss, peppering across your wrist and fingers. 

"I suppose I should take that collar off of you," musing mostly to yourself. The leather still rests around his neck, no doubt sticking uncomfortably to his clammy skin, the leash still hanging from the loop. 

"Wanna keep it on," stubborn to the very end, his foot kicking out, as if that can possibly add fuel to his argument, "jus' a little longer." 

Your fingers drip down, tracing the redness that's long since appeared, his skin rubbed raw and no doubt sore from the collar. "It's chafing your neck." A part of you supposes its your fault, for not buying one meant to be worn on skin. 

"But I like it," that bottom lip pokes out the slightest bit, pouting in the only way he knows how, "feels nice."

"It's gonna have to come off eventually," at the very least, you can unclasp the leash, tossing it off the edge of the bed with a surprisingly loud clatter. "We're both gonna need a shower here soon."

His head tilts, brows raised. "Who says?"

"Me," fighting back a smile. Whether or not you're doing a good job at it is anyone's guess. 

"Nope." Rhett's defiantly shaking his head, as if that can possibly change the fact that the sheets and your inner thighs are stained with his cum, the kind of mess that absolutely requires a shower. "No, you don't." 

All of a sudden, he's moving, rolling back on top of you before you can even begin to comprehend what he's up to. You're pinned like a damn note under a tack; try as you might, you can't get all one-hundred-something pounds of him to even budge. Practically trapped here on the bed, forced to endure his giggles and the nuzzle of his cold nose, burying its way back into the crook of your neck.

"You're not gonna move, are you?" Why do you keep asking questions that you already know the answer to? 

"Nope," Rhett's pressing a kiss to a vein in your neck, like it will do anything to make this easier for you," the shower can wait a lil longer."

Admitting defeat has never been sweeter. You'd really love to climb into the shower and stand beneath the warm water with him, taking turns scrubbing each other down and rinsing the soap from his hair, but you don't mind this. Arms looping around his broad shoulders, hugging him close like some big, oversized teddy bear. 

In the back of your mind, a tiny light kicks on. "Will you agree to move if I promise to get you a softer collar?"

"They make those?" His voice is muffled by your neck, words tickling as they vibrate through you.

Humming, you tap your fingers against the solid bone of his shoulder. "You can even pick out the color." 

"Well, why didn't ya mention that before?"He's up on his haunches in the blink of an eye. Grinning from ear to ear, he reaches for your hands, giving them a tug, urging you to sit up. "C'mon!" 

The sheets. 

You need to get the sheets off the bed, but you've got no choice. Rhett's got a hold of you, and he's not letting go. Laughing, kicking up the biggest fuss he can possibly manage, eyes shimmering with pools of gold as he pulls you up onto your feet. Uncaring of the mess that is being left behind, too busy herding you in the direction of the bathroom. 

The water is already running when you realize you've forgotten to grab clothes, arriving in the form of an offhanded thought whilst you were watching Rhett test the temperature with his foot. But he's beating you to that, too, eagerly darting off into the hallway like an oversized puppy. Doesn't even bother to wipe the water off his foot, leaving behind a trail of water droplets that shimmer in the light.

They kind of look like the stars you left on the barn floor. Twinkling little galaxies, just waiting to be discovered.

"Watcha lookin' at?" Rhett's already rounded the corner again, tossing those offhandedly chosen clothes in the direction of the sink. Whether or not he remembered to grab underwear is anyone's guess. 

Your shoulders rise and fall with a shrug, "just a mess on the floor." 

He'll help you make a bigger one after you two step out of the shower. 

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #werewolf au #werewolf rhett abbott #oneshot

[stevesxyellowxsweater]

Satisfied

PAIRING: Prince!Steve Harrington x Reader WC: 3k CW: Minors do not interact!! No use of y/n, very few uses of feminine pronouns, I believe that it is fairly gender neutral. Reader wears makeup, and a pink puffy outfit also called maid of honour. (Please kindly correct me if I'm wrong.) Angst, heartbreak, mentions sadness, cheating if you squint. SUMMARY: It's time to celebrate your sister's wedding! What a wonderful celebration you'll have... if only you were the bride. Based on Hamilton's song Satisfied AUTHOR NOTES: Here is my first ever fic based off of a song, so please be gentle with me! This is a total labour of love and I hope you all enjoy it. @entermxnson I love you, thank you so much for the support and always reading my work it means a lot. @reidsbtch thank you for reading it for me and giving your opinion. Credit to @cafekitsune for the amazing dividers.

The door shook as you flung it open, rushing inside desperate for a moment of solace. The tears you'd been fighting since the beginning of the ceremony were already starting to slip from your eyes as you slammed the bathroom stall shut. Sitting on the toilet seat you watched the awful pink plume of a dress your sister chose rise for a moment. Anger and frustration caused you to fight it down to reach for the tissue as the tears truly began to fall. 

Nothing felt right, everything inside you just hurt. Having to watch the man you love marry another woman ripped your heart in two. Maybe you would have learnt to deal with it, but the person he married was your sister. Mascara tears flowed down your face, you were unable to stop them. He looked so handsome today, he looked so perfect. But he wasn't yours, he was hers. Prince Steve Harrington chose his bride and that was your younger sister.

The door to the bathroom opened, and heels clicked gently as someone entered the room. “It's almost time for your toast.” It was your youngest sister, did she know you were crying? Did she know you loved your sister's husband? “Dad is about to start.” You wiped your eyes and steadied yourself, hoping that she'd not hear the sadness in your voice as you spoke. “I'll be right out, this damn dress is a pain to go to the bathroom in.” 

She laughed, she didn't know. “I'll tell Dad to start, maybe Dustin can give his speech before you.” You smiled, thankful at the idea. “I'll be right there.” You said once more. There was a pause and your heart thumped hard as you thought she was going to say more. “Okay.” She finally said before her heels clicked away and the door swished open and shut. You sat there in science for a moment, the tears still wanting to trickle down your face. But you knew you needed to lock them away.

Standing up, you stepped out of the stall to see the damage your tears had done to your war paint. Fixing it the best you could, you then took several deep breaths and left the bathroom to face your doom. You hated public speaking, but you had to do this, you had to because she'd begged you to stand here and raise a glass in front of the royals, in front of his friends and your friends. In front of Billy Hargrove, you should've agreed to date all those years back instead of telling him he disgusted you.

Stepping into the room, you could feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as you approached Dustin Henderson and the microphone. “Alright, alright. Here's the moment we've all been waiting for, give it up for the maid of honour!” You smiled gently and took the microphone as everyone around you clapped. Taking a deep breath, you stared at the floor trying to focus. You needed to speak, you needed to say something but your heart was aching, your stomach swirling, and you just wanted to run away. “I’m not much for public speaking, so I’m going to keep this short and sweet.” You said with a gentle and almost awkward laugh.

You stared at the floor for a moment, trying to come up with words. You were meant to have something written, but you hadn’t been able to. Each time you tried to put something on paper all you could do was think about Steve and how he was meant to be yours. How he should’ve been yours. Now it was dooms day and here you were, nothing prepared and all fucking eyes were on you. You could always wing it, no one would know. Right?

Snapping out of your trance, you looked up and smiled. “A toast to the groom.” You said lifting your glass to the room. “And to the bride, from your sister who is always by your side.” You said with a smile and placed a hand on your chest. You did love her, even if your heart was shattered, she was your best friend. “To your union, and the hope that you provide to everyone here.” You smiled around the room as your cup was lifted high. “May you always…” your eyes landed on Steve, his eyes were glued to yours. His long fingers held his champaign flute high as he watched you. “Be satisfied.” 

As the words left your mouth, as your eyes took in the sight of the man you loved, he slowly lowered his glass while everyone toasted. The pair of you stared deep into each other's eyes, unable to look away. The world around you began to rewind and go back to that night that you would regret for the rest of your days. The night you met and lost the only person who you ever wanted, and you gave up for family.

The lights twinkled like candlelight, it felt like a dream as you and your sisters arrived at the party. From the moment you stepped inside the ballroom, eligible men began to fawn over the three of you, desperate to get your attention. Your family was well off, and everyone knew it. Weaving through the crowd, you got yourself a glass of champagne and swayed to the music enjoying the scene around you for a moment as you stood alone. 

Several men had approached you while you enjoyed your time people-watching, not a single one was interesting to you at all. Hargrove, Munson, Byers. With a simple smile and a decline of dancing, they moved on quickly to other women, some trying your sisters, some approaching Nancy Wheeler or Tammy Thompson. None of them mattered to you, even interested you. They didn’t make your heart race.

But then you saw him.

Everything changed in that moment, you knew you'd never be the same again. Those beautiful eyes, that perfectly crafted jaw. Slender body, he looked muscular even if he looked a tad skinny. His eyes locked to yours, and it was as if time stood still for a moment. He began to move fighting against the sea to meet you. Straight across the dance floor, bumping into couples, his eyes never leaving you for a second.

Maybe it was gravity, he was the sun and you were a planet. Or maybe he was a magnet attracting you with an intensity that you had never felt before. Either way, you made your way to him, meeting near the edge of the dance floor. Your eyes focused on each other, neither daring to look away.

“Hi.” Your heart skipped a beat as he continued to stare deep into your soul. His voice was as silky smooth as caramel. What was a proper greeting? What was your name again? You couldn't remember as you stared at him, fuck how could someone have such an effect on you? This never happened to you before, you weren’t that sort of person.

“Hi.” You finally managed to say. He smiled and stretched his hand out. “May I have this dance?” He questioned, before he could even finish his sentence your hand was on his. His touch set you on fire, every part of you aflame. 

Moving to the dance floor, the pair of you began to dance. His arm around your waist as he held your hand, your other resting on his shoulder. Your bodies moved close together, an intense desire bubbling between the two of you, that neither of you had ever felt before. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his face. The way moles littered his face, how his hair just fell perfectly in place almost like he wasn’t even trying. Was this what love felt like?

“You strike me as a person who has never been satisfied.” The way he spoke in your ear sent your stomach twisting, desperation and desire bubbling up inside of you. You were practically salivating as you felt yourself becoming turned on by his voice. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself.” You replied looking up at him. He was bold, and you liked it. 

He smiled, a boyish smile on his face. “You're like me, I'm never satisfied.” His face was close to yours, you could feel his breath on your face as you thought about what it would be like to feel his lips on yours. Biting your lip, you looked up at him attempting to keep your composure. “Is that right?” You asked, unable to stop the smile from breaking through. “I've never been satisfied.” He whispered to you. Your eyes met as your lips moved close to each other’s. You didn’t feel like you could breathe, you wanted him. 

You told him your name with a smile, proud of your family. “Steve Harrington.” He replied. “Where is your family from?” He smiled and shook it off. “Unimportant, there's a million things I haven’t done, so just you wait.” He told you as his forehead touched yours. His hands fidgeting didn't go unnoticed, or the way he looked away for a moment. It was like he was hiding something.

He was so graceful on his feet, his eyes were locked to yours at each moment. You couldn't stop smiling. Even as the song ended, you were meant to clap for the band. But Steve kept hold of your hand, not wanting to let you go. He escorted you to the side so you could talk more.

You began to talk about literature, about science, and so much more. He was like you, you had so much in common. You'd never before met someone who matched your wit. What was the catch? He seemed too good to be true, was it possible to see find your soulmate tonight? 

You couldn't stop the hopeful feeling inside you. You rarely found someone that you had so much in common with, and yet here you were. Steve Harrington, the man who came from nowhere and wormed his way into your heart with only a few minutes of your time. 

Of course you couldn't help but notice how much of a flirt he was, the way he touched your arm, the way he gazed into your eyes. His smile was causing you to melt on the spot, for heat to pool between your legs. You needed him more than you could ever begin to admit. 

He was so handsome, and he clearly knew it. Your eyes studied his jaw and how his beard fuzz was beginning to settle in. His eyes were the most captivating thing you'd ever seen and the way his face was decorated with moles and freckles. Were they all over his body? You questioned mentally as he spoke, saying something to make you laugh.

You decide that you want to take him away, that you want to be alone with him, that privacy was something you were desperate for with Steve. You were in society, of course you shouldn't be thinking about what the pair of you could do alone, but it was so very tempting. Alone with Steve, a place where your lips could meet and the pair of you could give into the hunger that you both felt.

Turning to lead him away, your eyes landed on your sister across the room. Her eyes were on Steve and you suddenly realized the look she had on her face, she was in love. She was helpless as she gazed at Steve, she wanted him as badly as you did and as you stared at her you began to realize three reasons you shouldn't be with him.

“Where are you taking me?” You heard Steve ask, your hand still holding his. “I'm about to change your life.” You tell him with a smile. “Then by all means lead the way.” He said his fingers brushing over yours as he smiled. You know that this is the last moment he will be yours, the last minute that you will ever see him look at you that way.

Number one.

You were the oldest, it was your job to marry a well off man who could help take care of your father when he was old. You were the best choice though, even if you did say so yourself. But from the insidious gossip that echoed throughout the town Steve was penniless… but that didn't mean you wanted him any less.

You watched your sister introduce herself to Steve, a shy but bold smile as she looked at him. His eyes looked toward you as he heard the last name. “She's my sister.” You said with a charming grin. 

Number two.

He was only after you because of your last name, you'd be naive to ignore that. He knew you were rich, he knew that it would set him on the right path. You couldn't have someone using you, so your sister seemed like the better option. Of course if you'd of realized the truth, if you knew who he was you'd have kept him for yourself.

Watching as the two of them spoke, the way he held her hand and placed a kiss on it, it hurt. He was meant to be yours, he should've been yours. “I'll leave you to it.” You walked away, your hand moving to your chest as you did, it hurt. You were in so much pain at the loss of him. If you'd of looked back you'd have seen his eyes on you asking you to stay, asking for you.

Number three.

You knew your like you knew yourself, she was a good person and if you told her that you loved him she'd resign and he'd be yours. But you couldn't do that to her, you couldn't tell her that. Even if you told her that you loved him, and she told you that it was fine to have him. You knew she would've been lying. Glancing back for just a moment, you felt your heart breaking. He was no longer yours.

As your words for your toast echoed around you, you glanced down at the glass in your hand. You tried your best to keep your emotions in check. Looking up you smiled, before walking away. You didn't want to stay here, you couldn't stand it. 

Stepping out into cool night air, your hands held onto your chest. Every night since you first met you think about him, you'd fantasize about his eyes and each little part of him. You wished you'd not sized him up so quickly. It had been the biggest blow when you discovered he was a prince.

Tears began to trickle down your cheeks, at least you knew your sister would be happy as his bride. You'd never seen her so fucking happy. Even if you were miserable, at least she was. You honestly didn't care about the crown, didn't care that he was royal or rich, you only cared about him. But now your sister was his princess.

A jacket wrapped around your shoulders, cutting the cold from reaching you. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was, you could smell the expensive cologne. His presence always caused your heart to flutter. It always made your stomach twisted and made you feel nervous.

 It was Steve.

“You strike me as a person who has never been satisfied.” He said in your ear, you could feel his touch, feel his hands on your waist and it was driving you insane.”I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself.” You whisper gently as you turn your head to look at him.

Your bodies were close, his hands on your arms, his breath in your ear. You just wanted him to hold you and tell you it was okay. Sighing gently you bit your lip. “You're like me, I'll never be satisfied.” He whispered to the point you could feel his lips on your ear.

“You shouldn't have said that in your toast.” Turning around you looked at him, your tears shon in the light. Slowly Steve reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don't care…” you whispered your voice breaking as you spoke. Without a word he pulled you into a hug and held onto you tightly.

You could feel his large hands on your back, the way he held you made you wish that you didn't just have to fantasize about him. But you knew that your sister would be happy as his bride, you couldn't do that to her. You didn't have it in your heart to hurt her.

Pulling back slightly, you looked into Steve’s eyes. His fingers moved to brush your hair from your face. “I will never be satisfied.” He whispered as he kept his eyes on you, unable to look away. You wanted so desperately to just have one kiss, just a single kiss with him. But you couldn't, he wasn’t yours.

Hearing calls of his name he glanced back toward the hall and sighed. Leaning forward he pressed his head against yours for a moment. Just soaking in that feeling of how losing a soulmate felt. You stood together, foreheads pressing to each other for maybe a moment before he stepped away.

Slipping off his jacket, you pushed it into his hand. It seemed as he took it his scent went with him. He looked you in the eyes one last time, glaning down you sighed as you heard his footsteps recede. It felt like he was walking out of your life forever. Looking up, you watched him as he glanced at you one last time before he left to go back inside to find his bride. As he disappeared in the crowd, the sadness bubbled over and the tears started once more.

“He will never be satisfied.” You whispered as you took a seat on a bench, your hands wiped away your tears as his lingering touch faded from you. “I will never be satisfied.”

Tag list: @entermxnson @mrprettywhenhecries @shescreamslikeachild @halflifejess @keerysfolklore @stveharringtn @darleenjade @reidsbtch @inourtownofhawkins @tsukillama @southerngothicchic @artheauxyongguk @bubbblessss @eddie-steve1986 @wroteclassicaly @freckledjoes @kingstevc @lesservillain @rattkween86 @take-everything-you-can @we-out-here-simping @stevesbeautifulhair @honey-eyed-munson @teen--marvel @corrodeddeadlydoll @pumpkinonice @diffrent-spokes @megxplryxb @cherryflavoredchapsticck @season4steve @sh0rtcakee @joekeerysmoles @littleplushpumpkin @eddielove @sweetdazequeen @sweetsweetjellybean @yourfavoritewitchbitch @bunnyhargrove

I have tagged people who have either interacted with this post, are a mutual who i hope wants to read it, or you've shown interest in it. please note if you haven't been tagged and you did interact with the post it's either A. because your age wasn't on your blog, b. because your tag wasn't showing up.

REBLOGS ARE LOVE, REMEMBER THAT PEOPLE

#Steve Harrington x reader #reader x Steve Harrington #Steve harrington one shot #steve Harrington x you #You x Steve Harrington #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #Prince!steve Harrington #Steve Harrington au #steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #Stranger things fanfic #stranger things one shot #satisfied

[angel-of-the-moons]

Running With The Wolves

Wolfwalker!Moon Knight (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You're on the verge of being labeled a witch, but can one handsome stranger (and his two "brothers") save you from the same cruel fate as your mother, who was labeled as one and burned at the stake?

Can you handle the truth about your heroes identities, despite it all? Would you find out who your masked savior truly was beneath his cloak?

Only you could answer that.

TW/CW: Witch hunts, violence, graphic violence, graphic death, blood, public execution, parental death, persecution, grief, depression, Wolfwalkers AU, Moon Knight AU, incorrect lore

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I was watching Wolfwalkers and it gave me the idea for the boys. I did a little research into the lore, so some will be inaccurate (my pagan ancestors would frown upon me lmao) as well as historically inaccurate; so what is in this fic is largely based on the film. It will be especially inaccurate because y'know, Marc is American and Jake is Spanish and Steven is English etc, as well as Khonshu being around (but in the comics he's had a Viking Moon Knight so this isn't too far fetched he'd be in a place like Ireland) so please bear with me, my poor mind has been going through it lately and I wanted to write somethin' pointless, so enjoy this weird ass AU I came up with! (Header does not indicate the reader's race!)

Taglist: @enheduannasposts

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PT. 1

"I heard tha's the girl who lives on the outskirts." You heard a young woman whisper to her friend. Her accent was clearly not from Ireland. She sounded like one of the people from England. They'd been arriving slowly but surely, like a trickle from a leaky bucket, since you were a child.

Your skin prickled as you looked over the vegetables in the market stall, tended to by an old woman who was blind in one eye. Mary, her name was. Mary was probably one of the only around here who was kind to everyone, unless they gave her a reason not to. And those two English girls certainly gave her a reason...

"Aye, ye two hussies best be leav'n this girl be!" She spat, waving her old wooden stick around. "She 'ent done nothin' to ye!"

The two women jumped back with a yelp and scurried off, an armored guard eyeing you and Mary warily.

Your nose crinkled at him and you turned your nose up as you looked back at the crop Mary was selling.

"I'm sorry, lass. I don't like 'em either." Mary said, winking her blind eye at you.

You can't help but smile as you trade some herbs for the vegetables, placing the juicy morsels into your basket. "I just would like for things to go back to the way they were." You sighed.

"Like when I was a girl, before they came to our town. Things were fine, everything was in balance."

Mary leaned in, holding a finger to the sky as she spoke quietly to you.

"Aye, lass. But don't worry. The crimes these English folk are doin' to us? They'll be payin', mark my words! The land, the very sky itself is angry because we can't honor the promises we made so long ago." She grinned, half her teeth missing from old age. "Then, maybe we'll be forgiven."

"Aye, or maybe be consumed by the wolves and the forest while we're at it." You smile sadly. You remembered being safe in those woods as a girl, playing in the creeks, chasing birds and hares, the wolves singing on the breeze...

But the wolf attacks have become ever so common, now. None had been bitten, but their homes had been trashed, their livestock spirited away into the cover of night, wolf tracks everywhere. You were the only one whose homestead was spared. You often wondered why. The only thing different between your little plot and the rest of the homes that were driven empty was... wait.

They were all English.

You weren't. That house you lived in had belonged to your family for nearly half a century. The English farmsteads were placed on the grounds that were cleared by the King's woodcutters and soldiers, they were the ones being attacked. Not you.

But lately, you've heard other tales as well. A "devil in white" the King's men would ramble, their voices shrill with fear. A man in white armor who moved like a ghost, and fought like hell itself. You paid no mind, figuring it may be some hermetic hunter who called the forest home, who simply didn't want to have them invade his solitude.

Maybe--

"Lass, you should get home." Mary said, looking at you with worry as a small gaggle of women whispered and pointed at you. You were used to the stares, you'd been getting them as a child. But since the English arrived, those whispers became accusations.

"Witch."

Your mother had faced a similar accusation, given her odd habits and ways of whispering to the wind.

Some considered her addled, even moreso when she began raving of spirits and the voices she said came from the ground.

You remembered the night that she died, the horrible, evil way that she left this world.

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You were only twelve years old, gripped hard by the local men as the bishop to your village spoke from the Bible, quoting things about the crimes of witchcraft and how your mother could only be cleansed by fire.

You screamed, and kicked, and cried and cursed, but all that earned you was a punch to the gut as they lit the kindling beneath your mother's feet.

You'd heard tales of witch burnings, but you'd never ever thought such horrible deeds would come to your town; your safe, warm little home.

Your mother was strange, yes, but she taught you many things that had proven useful. The best herbs to cure the worst fever, the best tonics to drink to cure an ailing cough, how to track in the woods, how to trust the forest to show you the way home; but only if you respected it as a living being, and respected the souls who lived within.

She wasn't a "witch" to you.

She was your mother.

And she was right in front of you, burning.

"Mummy!" You screamed, your voice sounding as though you swallowed shards of pottery.

She looked at you, and smiled, crying and struggling against the ropes that bound her to the stake.

The fire crept up, up, until it reached her feet.

You could smell it--the acrid, disgusting stench of oil and burning flesh. You could see her skin blister, peel, and burn away as she screamed, begged for mercy. Mercy that the church was not willing to grant her.

You screamed and cried until your throat was raw and bloody, struggling until you broke free of the men's arms.

You didn't think twice on it--you leapt towards the pyre.

Your mother was dead. You knew this. But all you wanted was to hold her one last time, even if all that was left now was blackened, charred flesh.

Your soft, delicate hands burned, your dress beginning to catch aflame as you desperately tried to reach for what little remained of the woman you loved most in the world.

The pain was so blinding, so debilitating that your vision went white around the edges, and you saw the world begin to go dark.

"Damn it--put the girl out!" Was the last thing that you heard before you lost consciousness.

When you'd awoke, it had been two whole days since your mother's trial and burning. Two days since she plead to the "court" about how they were treating the land; that if they didn't change their ways they would all suffer for it.

The first face you saw was the bishop looking down at you with a solemn and sad expression, completely different from the way his eyes had gleamed maniacally as he cheered the death of your mother.

"I'm sorry, dear girl." He said kindly, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Your arms and hands were wrapped in clean linen--or, well, as clean as they could get it, anyway--your burns itching and painful.

You gritted your teeth, feeling hot tears burn as you glared at him, your throat still raw and aching.

"You killed her!" You meant to yell, but it only came out a hoarse croak.

"Aye, girl, I did. But I took no pleasure in it."

Liar. Filthy, disgusting liar! You wanted to shout, You smiled when she screamed!

"Your mother was bewitched by the devil, don't you see? The only way to ensure she could make it to heaven was if she was cleansed by fire." He told you, his wrinkled eyes looking at you with such gentleness you could almost scarcely believe this was your beloved mother's executioner.

"At least now, you know your mother made it to the gates of heaven. And hopefully God finds it in Him to grant your mother eternal peace." He continued, "After all, she loved you greatly, and there is nothing more pure than a mother's love. Even if it was the love of a witch."

You bite back bile that wanted to rise--partly from the pain, partly from disgust--and turned your head away, your tears heavy like chains that hung from your lashes and held your eyes closed.

"So hopefully, we can pray she found salvation and forgiveness in the fact she loved you so."

His hand brushed a lock of burnt hair from your face.

"Don't worry, girl... You can go home. But I must implore you not to give in to the teachings your mother no doubt gave you. None of that talking trees or animals nonsense, you hear?"

You wanted to kick him, to bite his disgusting fingers off and pluck out his eyes. But... all you did was nod, and say:

"I understand."

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Later that night, barring the English women's gossip, you'd had a fairly decent day. Your snare on the edge of the forest had gotten a nice hare; providing you with some nice soft fur and meat and bone.

You'd spent your days thereafter doing much of the same work you'd done since you returned to your empty home the week your mother died. You gardened, placed more snares, cleaned the house, worked the loom, began weaving a small tapestry.

One night, you were broken from your tedium by heavy hands on your door, making you yelp and prick yourself with a needle.

You stuck your bloody fingertip in your mouth and stuffed the tapestry into your heavy wooden chest, rushing to your front door to see what was the trouble.

When you opened it, there was the bishop, flanked by two men in heavy plate armor. You felt a shiver creep up your spine; the sight was eerily similar to the night your mother was taken away, only this time the bishop looked so ancient he looked like a piece of dried, brittle leather.

"Dear girl, thank God you're alright." The bishop breathed, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.

Your brow creased, and you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off.

"That... That man, that devil whom the townsfolk here and elsewhere have been seeing--he was here. Tonight! He killed four of the King's finest men!" He said, panicked, his touch cold and clammy.

"And earlier in the day... wolves. A pack of white wolves! I feared for you, girl. I know that you're alone and so far from town." He shuddered a breath. His lungs sounded awful, even to your ears. Honestly... If the man had allowed it, you could have fixed his long coughing illness. He's been suffering for years with it, sometimes to the point where his surmons had to be delivered by proxy.

He was suffering... but so had your mother, whom he murdered in the name of his god.

Your jaw was tight, and you nodded. "I... I see. I haven't been attacked yet, sir. B-but I will keep an eye out and alert you if I see anything strange."

You wouldn't.

"I don't want that devil to hurt anyone else."

You hoped he chased them all away.

He mistook your shaky voice for one of mutual fear for the man that haunted the nights, like the dreaded vampires back in England and the smaller towns and villages.

"Yes, dear girl." He put his hand to your cheek and smiled, his aged features twisting in agony. "A good girl. May God protect you."

"And He, you." You replied, the words tasting like rotten meat on your tongue.

"Such a good girl." He turned, coughing into his hand. "May God help civilise this land..."

Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if the very sky itself was urging the cruel men on their way, to leave you be.

As soon as your door was closed, you grabbed a nearby cauldron and heaved it over to your hearth, hanging it from the iron hook and dumping the pail of water into it to boil.

You hastily stripped your clothes free and dumped them into the cauldron, rushing to find your small bottles of tonics.

When you'd found the ones you needed, you dumped them, alongside fresh herbs, into the pot with your soaking clothes.

You knew, based on your own observations, that those who coughed often spread it through touch or spit. And he had coughed into his hands and touched you; you simply don't want to take the risk.

You had to start selling your healing tonics "under the table" as Mary said, as cleaning agents for clothes and blankets just so you could pass it to the townsfolk with sick family. You hated doing that, but seeing a sickly child able to run around with her siblings again without fear of that wretched cough was worth the pain of lying.

You watched as the water bubbled, standing naked as you poked at the fabric with your long wooden spoon, swirling it around and around.

Once you deemed it hot enough, you carefully picked up the cauldron and set it on your stone slab at the mouth of your hearth, you scooped some of the herbal water into your wash bucket and began scrubbing at your clothes mercilessly to rid it of any possible sickness.

Once they were clean enough, you hung them near the fire to dry (but not close enough to catch fire while you were asleep).

You felt goosebumps chill your skin as the wind rattled your shutters, so you grabbed a heavy woolen blanket to wrap yourself up in while you dug around for a new linen dress to put on.

It was a small comfort, given how early in the year it was, and these certain storms always brought unseasonably cold weather in their shadow, but you accepted it nonetheless.

You walked over to your wooden chest and pulled out your half-finished tapestry. It was one your mother started when you were barely hip-height; your father, strong and large, next to your mother, petite and soft. Interconnecting between them was you, holding their larger hands in your tiny ones.

Much of it was unfinished, and only within the last year did your grief finally allow you to finish what she started, as this was the only thing left that you had of her. When the church took her away, your mother knew they were coming, so she hid certain things out in the woods for safekeeping, only telling you their whereabouts. Once the church lifted it's eye from you one autumn day, you finally ran out into the clearing your mother hid her things in.

Being able to have something to visually remember your parents by wrenched your heart in a bittersweet way, but it was all you had of them, other than their rings you wore, hidden and slung low beneath your bodice so nobody would see.

You knew if the bishop found out... He would have them all destroyed, burned like your mother; and he would likely have you thrown into the stocks and publicly lashed as punishment.

In a twisted way, the bishop cared for you. He saw you as an innocent, God-fearing girl who had been brainwashed by your witch mother, whom only acknowledged the paganistic "Old Ways".

You hated having to keep up the act, but you didn't want to die. You owed it to your mother and father, wherever their souls were together, to live on.

You blinked, and a heavy teardrop splashed down onto the tapestry.

Your body jolted with the clap of thunder. How long had you been crying? Had you been crying this whole time, but didn't realize it? Oh, you hated how often these crying fits would strike you.

All you wanted to do was think of the happy times with your family, but it always came back to the fact that they were dead and you were alone.

You dropped back onto your bed, the old, dried wood creaking beneath your weight, the smell of the straw mattress stuffed with dried flowers and clovers soothing to your senses.

Your eyes felt heavy, weighted down from your painful thoughts, and you turned your head to look at the wreath above your bed, shamrocks with dried berries carefully strung together; it was something your mother taught you. You couldn't remember the significance of the thing, but making them when you were bored became a mundane comfort.

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily.

You would need to check your snares in the morning.

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Your leather shoes squelched in the mud as you carefully made your way to the treeline early that next morning. You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek to check if the coast was clear before venturing into the bushes.

It was early enough none had arisen yet to start the day, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you set off into the forest.

Yes, setting your traps beyond the treeline was dangerous, as they would tell you, but you knew the game in the woods was fat and ripe, perfectly full of meat. If you could hunt at all, you would try your aim at shooting one of those slovenly bucks with a bow and arrow.

But a hunter you were not. Trap-maker, yes. But no hunter.

Your tiny iron dagger was slung low on your hip, your mostly-empty wooden sack carrying fresh bait for any snares that were sprung, or if the bait had been snatched.

The first two traps hadn't been sprung, but picked clean, most likely by birds and quick-witted squirrels. No luck in catching anything.

But as you neared your final trap, you heard an odd noise. A wheezing sound, almost, followed by heavy pants and a whimper.

Your footsteps stopped as you peered around the thick trunk of an ancient tree, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at the sight in front of you.

It was your last snare, set up with some bread and berries to lure in a rabbit or squirrel (as was your typical game) but it seems that this time, somehow... you snagged a wolf.

And this was not a normal wolf; it was one with fur as white as the coldest snow, now muddied and stained from the soggy ground it flailed around in; your snare secured firmly around its neck and front paw, cinching the two together in a painful manner.

Your heart broke as you saw the creature struggle and wheeze, choking out quiet howls that couldn't be heard through the underbrush.

With your jaw set tight, you stepped out of the clearing, and the wolf turned to you, trying to limp away.

"Shhh, hush, now." You soothe the animal, your hands out in front of you as you got lower, trying to seem less threatening.

Yes, the townsfolk feared wolves, but you wouldn't just leave this beautiful creature to slowly strangle to death on one of your own traps; your soul wouldn't be able to handle the weight of guilt.

"I won't hurt you, sweetie." You say, your voice calm and soft as you reached out.

The wolf snapped tentatively at you, whimpering as the pain of the cord dug further into its throat and paw, red stains now blotching the white fur.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you..." You urge the panicked animal. Your own eyes locked with its dark brown ones, and you could almost hear its thoughts plead:

Help me. Please. It hurts. Please!

You wait for the wolf to still, and sit its haunches on the ground, those big, pained eyes staring right through to your very soul.

Once the wolf is calm, you hook your fingers through the snare, reaching for the part of it that looped around, and try to loosen it enough for it to slip free.

But to no avail, the amount of flailing the wolf had done had twisted and cinched it to the point you couldn't. Your brow pinched and you nervously chewed the inside of your cheek before unsheathing your dagger.

Upon seeing the glint of the blade, the wolf whimpered and panicked again, beginning to flail once more as you reached for it.

"No!" You say, frantically trying to calm the beast. "Stop! You're making it worse! Please--I'm not going to hurt you."

You grunt as you leap forward, crushing the wolf against you in a bear hug, trying to calm its thrashing body as you swing your sharpened blade through the cord, severing it from the branch it was tethered to.

You sliced your thumb in an attempt to cut the cord around its throat, but you somehow managed it, your blood leaving fresh streaks of red and pink through the wolf's surprisingly soft fur.

You drop your dagger and release the animal, falling back on your bum as you carefully crawl away as the canine heaved for uninhibited air, its barreled chest shaking with effort.

Once it had collected itself, it limped up to you, it cut paw hanging an inch or two above the ground as its wet, charcoal black nose sniffed at your wounded thumb.

Its pink tongue laved out and lapped up your blood, as if to say "sorry" for causing you to injure yourself for trying to aid it.

Your eyes however, were drawn to the cuts into the wolf's throat and paw, oozing small rivulets of blood as it stared at you.

"Oh... You poor..." You breathed, rising to kneel on your knees, dirtying your skirt even more.

"I... Those can get infected. Please. I... I can help you..."

You don't know why you were trying to bargain with an animal, but somehow it paid off. The wolf nosed its way into your lap, ears flattened up and eyes pleading up at you.

"Okay..." You murmur, scratching behind one of its ears. "Let's get you home, boy. I have stuff there that can help ya."

The wolf whimpered.

"Er... Well, I assume you're male?" You chuckle awkwardly, trying to think of how to carry this large and hefty animal back home without being seen.

"I'm not gonna violate you by takin' a peek or anything." You clear your throat when one of the wolf's ears flop as "he" tilts his head at you.

"Er. Okay. Let's go..."

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It was easier than you thought, getting him back home. As the sun crept higher, the fog and mist were your ally as you smuggled the "dangerous" animal back to the safety of your home.

You had to haul him over your shoulders and beat feet through the underbrush. Once you were safely inside, you had to (with great difficulty) maneuver the wolf down onto your bed.

You chuckled when he rolled over--and he was most definitely a "he"--and began rolling this way and that into your blankets, making small huffs and growls.

"Ah-ah..." You murmur, reaching out to brush your hand through his muddy fur. "You might make your injuries worse, 'kay, m'love?"

That seems to get the wolf's attention. You weren't sure if he could understand you, which honestly had you thinking you were crazy, but the way he sat up and stared at you, one ear flopping down as he looked up into your eyes sent a strange feeling through your body.

"Hmm..." You murmur, brushing your fingers tentatively around his wounded throat. From his muddy thrashing he'd accumulated a fair amount of dirt, and that would lead to infection.

You hike your skirts up and tie them around your waist, and you could almost swear you saw a look of modesty cross the wolf's eyes as his ears slicked back against his head and he buried his muzzle into your warm blankets.

You scratch the back of your head, a little confused at his reaction as you adjust your knickers and rush to gather your herbs you'd need, plucking dried leaves and roots that hung above your hearth.

You set the herbs down into your mortar and pestle and begin to grind them down, mixing them evenly into a dissolvable mass that would melt in the water once you'd boiled it.

You crack your knuckles and grab a pail, untying your skirts and smoothing them out, frowning at the mud stains as you reach for your door, making a "shush" gesture to the wolf.

"Stay quiet and don't go near the windows! It's dangerous if you're seen." You gently urge him before slipping outside into the morning light once again.

The trek to the well was always annoying, but your neighbors never minded you coming to fetch water, knowing how dangerous it could possibly be for you to hike to the creek at the edge of the forest just to get yourself some of the life-giving liquid.

You inwardly cringed when the Kenny's daughter, Aisling, was already at the well; her belly already round with her unborn child. Barely 19 years of age and she was already with a babe; she was often sickly as a child, this you remembered, so her family (namely her husband) was very concerned about her well-being and that of her impending birth.

Upon seeing you approach, Aisling smiled widely and waved at you, saying your name chipperly, almost like an excited morning bird.

You were really hoping not to have a conversation so early, afraid someone would know you were harboring a wolf inside your home...

"Hello, Aisling. Feeling well this morning?" You hum innocently at her as you tie your pail up, before cranking the wench and lowering it down to the water below.

"Yes, surprisingly!" She giggled, patting her belly with a soft smile. "M' little one decided it was a good day to let mummy keep food down."

"That's good! I still recommend broths if you feel nauseous, however..."

"I know, I know. My mum is constantly making sure of that." She sighed with a roll of her eyes, hooking her own two pails of water onto her yoke.

Your hairs raised and you reached out, the wench slipping from your hands and your bucket dropping all the way back down into the water below the earth.

"No! You mustn't lift something that heavy." You caution. "It's not good for your baby."

"Ohhh! You sound like my father." She sighs, frowning deeply, her hands on her hips. "I'm not helpless, y'know!"

"Yes, I'm aware, but--"

"Aisling!" Her husband panted, trotting up to the both of you. He was at least a decade or so older than she was, but nonetheless it was a good match; he seemed to love her greatly. He was English, and one of the few kind ones you've known, in fact. A gentle giant.

This fact was emphasized when his large bulky hand reached down to touch her belly, sighing with relief. "No, no, you know that you can't be out here alone! The wolves!"

"I 'ent seen no wolves!" Aisling pouted up at him.

"That doesn't mean no wolves see you, m'love." He sighed dejectedly at her. He gives you a kind smile and a nod, hoisting the yoke over his own shoulders, "Aye, lass. Glad to see someone else talking some sense into my pretty little wife, here..."

"Bah!" Aisling scoffed, throwing her arms in the air as she waddled back down to their house.

He shook his head with a chuckle, "I swear, if we have a girl and she turns out like her..."

"You'll have your hands full, alright." You sigh, cranking the wench again.

"Aye." He says, giving you a cautious look. "But, I must warn you, the same way I did Aisling... with these wolves about, it's dangerous..."

"I know." You smile. "I'll be fine."

"Alright..." He replies, giving you one last look before going back home to his wife and family.

You on the other hand, rushed back home with your water to your waiting furry companion...

You almost dropped the pail of water when you saw what he was doing. Somehow he managed to nose open up the chest containing your mother's things, and was insistently sniffing the tapestry.

"Ah! No, no, no!" You frantically say, setting the water down to rush over, gently shoving his snout to the side to close the chest.

"Gah..." You sigh in relief, and smile softly at the wolf, reaching out to pinch and squish his cheek. And surprisingly, he took it well, making a little "whurf!" as you do.

"Don't go through my stuff, it's not very polite after I risked my arse you take care of you." You chuckle, setting yourself to task of boiling the water with the ground herbs. You kneel next to the remaining bit of water on the floor, dipping a rag into the pail and making a clicking noise with your teeth.

The wolf tipped his head to the side, ears pricking up at the noise as he slowly moseyed over to you shyly.

"Oh relax, I won't poison ya." You chuckle, dabbing the soaked cloth onto his fur, cleaning him of the muck.

He of course, did not like this. He whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, his gorgeous brown eyes pleading with you.

"Ah! That won't work on me, Mister... You need to be clean before I can clean your wounds!" You cluck at him, not falling for his cute little attempt.

Thankfully, he sits there and lets you gently massage the mud away, carefully cleaning around his wound sites before hastily grabbing the pot of boiling water and pouring some into a wooden bowl.

You scratch behind one of his ears and say softly, "Now... I'm going to take care of you, okay? Now... just let me..."

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"No! Down! Bad wolf!" You groan, watching as his tail wagged happily, one of your kirdles firmly in his jaws, daring you to come get it.

"Ooooh! I should have left you in the woods!"

His ears flatten back and his eyes get big, giving you the sweetest, saddest look you've ever seen...

And it definitely broke you.

"Ah... You little... mouth off my clothes!" You grunt, tugging the garment from between his teeth, groaning at the sight of tears from his fangs.

He dropped down onto his front paws, wagging his tail happily as he makes a playful whine and yip.

"Oi! Ya seem just fine now!" You scold the animal, shaking the torn kirdle in front of him.

It was true. In just one day, your furry companion seemed to have healed miraculously faster than what was natural. It concerned you... but you didn't feel threatened by the creature's playful antics.

If anything, having him around made you feel less... lonely.

Dinner was almost ready, a simple stew with vegetables and salted meats tossed in. You weren't sure if wolves could eat such a meal, but you would feel awful if you were eating and your new friend merely had to sit and watch.

You sigh and toss your clothes aside, watching with a snort as the wolf playfully dove for it, rolling around and kicking it with his feet as you used your ladle to scoop two bowls.

You curled your feet beneath you as you plopped a spoon into your bowl before placing the spare on the floor. Your wolf's ears perked up and he sniffed the air, licking his chops as he abandoned your torn-up kirdle in favor of investigating the food you placed for him.

You smiled around your mouthful as he accidentally dipped his nose too deep into the broth, whipping his head around with a heavy snort.

"Ah, that's not how you eat, by the way..." You hum innocently, and again, your wolf gives you an almost human reaction, flattening his ears back as he seems to glare at you for a moment, before lapping at the food, curling his tongue around to eat the bits of veggies and meat.

"Oh, I'd love to keep you, but you don't belong here, fella." You say, scratching his ear softly in an affectionate way. Your skin crawls when you hear a mournful howl travel from the forest, across the fields, and into your house.

Your wolf whimpers and looks at you.

"As soon as you're ready, I'll sneak you back out to the woods." You promise him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

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He looked out from the treeline, his glowing white eyes staring out from the darkness.

A large, fluffy animal--a gorgeous white wolf, fur stained with mud--sidled up next to him, ears flattened back.

"Still no sign of him?" He sighed, frustrated.

The wolf whimpered, his tail tucking and nose dipping towards the ground in a response that seemed to say "no".

"Damn it!" The man roared, his fists balling tight as he began to pace angrily.

"Still no sign of your third?" A deep voice rumbled from the trees.

He lifted his gaze to spot him in all his imposing glory--Khonshu; god of the night sky, the moon, justice and many things in-between. His lithe frame ominously perched on the limb of an ancient, thick tree. One of his legs dangled down while the other supported his arm, his dominant hand clutching his staff in a tight-fisted grip as he stared down at him.

But mostly, he was his fist of vengeance. He was dispensing justice against those who imposed their will on the weak; like the other Englishmen who oppressed the local populace with their threats of jail, execution...

He also had to deal with bandits. Bandits, constantly seemed to prey upon travelers trying to find better places to live, to eke out a livelihood to support their families.

But right now, he was on edge.

He was incomplete. He was missing a vital part of himself. Someone he would not be able to fully function without.

Finally, his tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth and allowed him to speak.

"No."

"He is alive. I can feel it." Khonshu sighed, almost sounding bored. "You and your wolves... Sometimes they are a gift... other times it is a curse."

It was true... there weren't many of his kind left, and they were useful as a commodity, but also a vast hindrance if they were separated. Very few were born after being hunted to near extinction, and even fewer still were bitten and turned.

He tipped his head to the side, "He will come back. But until then, we have work to do. There is a group of soldiers that have taken women and children from their homes. I'm sure you can deduce what it is that they intend to do to them. I want you to stop them and set their captives free." Khonshu tapped his staff against the thick bark of the tree, and in a sharp breeze, he vanished.

"Right..." He said, his throat tight; his body thrumming with anxiety, his hand shaking immensely at the strain of lacking such a vital part of himself. He wondered still, if he would be able to control himself, to hold himself back without him.

His wolf companion moved forward, nudging his snout into the palm of his hand, whimpering softly.

Sparing one last glance over the countryside, he made a hefty sigh.

"Where the hell are you?"

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Pt. 2: I will get to it eventually, I swear you guys

Extra super late author's note:

Yeah it's gonna be at least one or two more parts. I am gonna split it up to ease on the scrolling time for you guys! That and it feels neater than cramming so many lazy time skips into one post. I am going to get the rest of my drafts cleared (hopefully) and begin eating away some of those asks I have piled up in my inbox (that Tumblr didn't manage to delete by some miracle...)

My trip might be postponed, dealing with a lot at home, like me almost burning the house down today and almost passing out from the damn smoke because wooooo fire is bad

If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have none whatsoever!

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #wolfwalkers #wolfwalkers au

[swayziiwriter]

Forbidden | Pablo Gavi

summary: ahead of the Ballon d'Or winners being announced, Barcelona midfielder Pablo Gavi had been presented the Kopa Trophy at a lavish ceremony that you’ve attended with your brother Pedri, you find yourself stealing glances at Pedri's best friend, Pablo Gavi, whose presence ignited a mix of emotions within you. Pablo's eyes frequently met yours with a hint of a shared secret. As the night unfolded, your unspoken connection deepened, hinting at a shared affection that had long been hidden beneath the surface.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: the forbidden brothers best friend and off limits sister trope is everything, i’m obsessed and back writing

A muted groan left your mouth as Pablo embraced it with his hot lips, hauling them down to your uncovered neck leaving open mouthed kisses down your hot flesh. Your head fell back against the mass of the extravagant washroom, your body shaking as Pablo's cock siphoned all through your trickling center. Each push felt outrageous, an unfamiliar impression that cajoled your body in delight.

Would it be a good idea for you to have been doing this? No. In any case, you were unable to stop, regardless of how frequently Pedri cautioned you to avoid his companion Pablo was a forbidden fruit you were unable to let be.

Pablo was to far gone into this, an actual aggravation in his heart when you were around however distant, so often that he would get the ball really rolling anyplace he could. This time, the washroom of a costly extravagant function. A service that ended up having both your families on different sides of the walls. Pablo couldn't imagine that now, not while your walls were wrapped so intently against his cock.

"Pablo, it feels so good" you murmured into his ear, scarcely perceptible as the frail commotion of you bodies cooperating reverberated through the space. Your bodies were squeezed facing one another, your dress was clustered up to your abdomen as Pablo's pants were pulled adequately down to free his pulsating member.

Pablo's cock kept on penetrating your tight opening, smooth cum covering his part permitted him to slip in and out without any problem. Making an ensemble of your juices and his cock slapping against one another.

"Te ves tan hermosa así, llena de mi polla." You look so gorgeous like that, brimming with my dick. Pablo moaned, carrying a hand to cover your mouth as he calculated his hips to hit that perfect balance within your center that made your whole body shake. You could feel yourself drawing nearer to your peak, the closeness among you and Pablo considering you to get on his hurling relaxing. “I'm-i'm so close Pablo" you murmured, zeroing in on controlling your own relaxing. Pablo simply gestured not having any desire to make any more clamor then fundamental. It was exclusively until he as going to answer that you both heard it, the restroom entryway clicking open.

"No es una oportunidad mi amigo" not a chance my friend a voice said between chuckles. Perceiving the voice quickly both you and Pablo froze, your eyes went wide as Pablo brought a hand over your mouth hushing your relaxing. Pedri was inside the restroom, water running as he murmured a melody delicately cautious to not disturb whoever was in the stall down the line of them.

Pablo remained stilled within you, bodies nearer then ever as the apprehension about being gotten by your more seasoned sibling striking a virus feeling through both your bodies. Pablo looked as you moved your hips gently, so light that he nearly didn't get it. You were all the while attempting to get yourself off, gripping to your climax that was so close.

Pablo inclined his head down, concentrating all over intently prior to inclining toward your ear. “If only Pedri knew the amount of a cockslut his younger sister was for me.” You nearly came at his words gulping your groan that took steps to emerge from your mouth. “Y para su mejor amigo? Me mataría si descubriera lo sucia que realmente estabas." And to his best friend, he'd kill me if he found out how dirty you really were.

Once more pablo's hand tumbled down to your clit, moving his long fingers in a roundabout movement, your head shifting back against the wall. "Please, please don’t stop” you asked unobtrusively, gazing toward Pablo's spellbinding eyes. “Not even when your brother is on the opposite side?" Pablo ridiculed faintly.

You turned your head to take a gander at the slow down entryway concluding that even you remained invisible or heard then doing this present time and place with Pablo merited the gamble. Gesturing brutally you essentially moved your hips onto his fingers, asking for him to proceed. Pablo played with your clit, pushing into your pussy gradually with his cock at times.

Your core held around his cock, spasming hard around the length. Eyes moving to the rear of your head as Pablo quieted your groans with his mouth, interfacing his hips with yours as he considered his doused cock to brave your high. Eyes lustrous, legs frail, Pablo let out a delicate breath as Pedri at long last left the washroom negligent of the wicked demonstrations your were participating in not far from him.

"Mira lo que me haces hermoso." look what you do to me beautiful.

#Spotify #football #soccer #world cup #football imagine #imagine #football smut #mature reading #smut stories #oneshot #pablo gavi #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x you #gavi #gavi x yn #gavi barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #fc barca #spain football #futbol club barcelona #futbol #smutshot #smut smut smut #footballer #football fanfic #spain #la liga #gavi x reader

[pascalispretty]

Aches and Pains

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: showering together, comfort sex, general post-apocalyptic trauma, dirty talk, riding, unsafe sex

Summary: You know Joel has had an awful day, and you’re determined to help soothe his aches and pains in any way you can. Ambiguous timing, could be in the Boston QZ, Jackson, or anyplace else you like post-Outbreak. (AO3).

With love to @misscharlielulu for her support! Have been in love with Joel ever since I played the game, and Pedro's portrayal is just so...inspiring.

You hear the sound of the shower running as soon as you open the door of your apartment. 

“It’s just me,” you call out, but there’s no answer. 

Closing the door gently behind you, you survey the room. There’s a line of discarded, dusty clothes on the floor leading in the direction of the bathroom, like a breadcrumb trail pointing you towards Joel. There’s no booze out that you can see, but you’re not sure if that’s a good sign or bad. 

Shedding your own clothes, you tiptoe towards the bathroom. You had come home as soon as you heard. Mel had come to find you, to warn you. She’d barely finished before you’d started hurrying down the street, a need to see Joel yourself blooming in the pit of your stomach. The sounds of life coming from the bathroom are a small comfort; he’s here. 

He’s alive. 

You ease open the door of the bathroom, wincing when it creaks. If Joel heard, he doesn’t react. All you hear is the sound of the falling water. 

Through the fogged-up glass, you can see the outline of Joel. He’s not moving; instead, he’s just standing under the water and letting it wash over him. Slipping your underwear off, you open the glass door and step into the shower with him. 

The water is lukewarm, and you shiver as you close yourself into the stall. Joel doesn’t move; you think he grunts in acknowledgement, but you can barely hear it over the shower spray. Even now, you can’t help but admire him. The broad shoulders, the bronze skin littered with scars and fresh bruises, the salt and pepper hair rendered darker by the water. It’s the end of the world, but Joel still has a strange, rugged beauty to him that draws you inexorably toward him. 

Carefully, like you’re trying not to spook a wild animal, you rest your palm between Joel’s shoulder blades. Your thumb tentatively strokes the skin, and even with your light touch, you can feel the tension he holds there. 

“Mel told me what happened.” Not even a grunt this time. But he doesn’t pull away from you, so you step closer. Joel is stiff in front of you, his broad back unyielding. He doesn’t accept tenderness easily, but he’s here for a reason. He came to your place instead of his own, came to you instead of hiding himself away with whatever moonshine or pills he could get his hands on.  

Still moving cautiously, you wrap your arms around Joel’s chest, hugging him from behind. After a long pause, he shifts his arms to give you room to do so, and you feel the sigh rumble through his chest as you rest your cheek against the broad expanse of his back. 

Mel had told you what details she could. A run outside the walls gone awry, an Infected child that Joel had been forced to dispatch with his knife. Close quarters, close enough to see what the little girl might have looked like before the fungus had begun to ravage her features. 

You have no idea how long the two of you stand in silence like that, moulded against his rigid body. Eventually one of his large hands comes up to press yours against his chest, and you relish the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Hearing that a run had gone bad, you had feared the worst. 

He doesn’t need to tell you; you know what’s on his mind right now. And you know that nothing you can say will make him feel better. 

The two of you stay there long enough for the water to turn from lukewarm to freezing, and the spray eventually becomes a trickle. You slip one of your hands out from beneath Joel’s and grope blindly for the tap to turn it off. Standing in the stall, dripping wet, the cold of the room is biting. A shiver runs through you, and for the first time, Joel turns his head to look back at you. 

“C’mere,” he grumbles, sliding the shower door open so he can reach for the towel hanging just outside. He wraps the threadbare cotton around your shoulders, using his grip on the fabric to pull you close again. Face to face like this, you can smell the hint of alcohol on his breath, and you wonder if he has a flask stashed in his pack. 

“What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, as you’re suddenly acutely aware of Joel’s naked body pressed against your own. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really need to. This isn’t the first time he’s sought you out after a rough day or a worse night, seeking out a different kind of oblivion that opiates or alcohol can provide. He uses his grip on the towel around your shoulders to lead you as he walks back into the bathroom, moving slowly to avoid slipping on the damp floor. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, reaching blindly for the doorknob behind him. You stretch up and press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, his stubble prickly against your lips. The door swings open and the two of you stumble back through it together, muscle memory carrying you towards the bed. 

Joel grunts when he bumps up against the edge of the mattress and sits down so abruptly that you almost topple onto him. His large hands find your hips and squeeze as he tugs you down onto his lap. God, but you love his hands. Warm and strong and big, just like him.The towel slips to the floor, abandoned, as you follow Joel’s grip to straddle him.

His fat cockhead bumps against your stomach as you settle over him, the feeling making you choke on your own breath. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, fingertips skipping across his skin to avoid the worst of his bruises.

One of Joel’s palms cups the back of your head, tilting your face down so he can kiss you. There’s little technique to it as he licks greedily into your mouth, his stubble scraping your skin and his hands roaming down your back. He wants you close, so close that it leaves no room for him to think about anything else.

You’re happy to oblige him.

“Joel,” you sigh against his lips. His cock is pressed between your bodies and when you flick your hips, the hard length of it drags exquisitely against your clit. “Joel, can I?” You drop one of your hands down to wrap around him, and he hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck, yes, want you to take it-” he chokes out, throwing his head back as you line the blunt tip up with your entrance and slowly start to sink down. His hands clutch at your backside, fingertips digging almost painfully into your flesh. No matter how wet you are, or how often you do this, taking Joel is always a stretch. A low groan tears its way out of Joel’s throat as your walls flutter around him, struggling to accommodate his thick cock.

By the time he’s fully sheathed within you, excess slick is smeared halfway down your thighs and Joel’s grip on your ass has turned bruising.

“That’s it baby, good girl,” he murmurs, ghosting kisses across your closed eyelids. “Always so fucking tight.” His hand tugs at your hair, baring your throat to him and allowing him to lick a line from your collarbone to your jaw. Between the fullness of him inside you, the warm drag of his tongue, the pull at your scalp - it’s too much. You can barely breathe.

He keeps a hand tangled in your hair as you slowly roll your hips, his mouth roaming greedily over your neck. He’s no help at all, leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock while he marks up your throat. Your thighs quiver with the effort, your hands clutching tighter at his shoulders as you start to ride him.

That familiar heat is already building low in your belly, every nip at your neck and press of Joel’s cock inside you stoking it higher. His teeth drag against your pulse point and you wail, a plaintive sound that you swear makes Joel’s cock twitch inside you.

“Marking your territory?” You ask breathlessly, gripping tighter onto his shoulders.

“You like it,” he replies, breath hot against your neck. “Can feel that pretty pussy get even tighter when I do this.” His teeth find the delicate skin again and you can’t even deny it, a loud moan tearing out of you instead of a comeback.

“Jesus Joel,” you pant, moving faster on top of him. His free hand shifts to your waist, holding you tight as he starts to meet your thrusts with his own. The added force drives him impossibly deeper inside you, so far that it makes your eyes roll back in your skull. You’re so close, agonisingly close, and you slip a hand down between your bodies to find your clit.

It only takes a few presses of your fingers against that tiny bundle of nerves before you come, all that tension in your core snapping at once and sending warmth blazing through your body. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re chanting Joel’s name, your mind half-gone with the force of your orgasm.

He doesn’t stop or slow down; instead of allowing you a moment of respite Joel plants his feet on the floor and fucks up into you harder. Even when you sag against him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, he keeps up the hard pace. By some miracle you pull yourself upright again, your heartbeat roaring in your ears as you try to remember how to breathe.

Both of his hands settle on your hips, his palms searing against your skin as he helps you ride him. Your skin feels too small for your body, your nerve endings flayed open and raw as that tension starts to coil tighter again. A thin sheen of sweat covers you both, your hands slipping across his shoulders until you sink your nails in for purchase. It makes Joel groan, his hips jerking off-rhythm at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it-” he manages, his breath coming harder as he gets closer to his own climax. “Always make me feel better.” You’re barely doing anything at this point; he uses his grip on your waist to keep you bouncing on his cock, meeting his every thrust. Your nails scrabble against his shoulders, doubtless leaving scratches, and you feel the loud groan vibrate through Joel’s chest as it escapes him. All of your muscles are locking down again, a second orgasm racing towards you as Joel manhandles you.

His thrusts are becoming increasingly sloppy and erratic, and you dig your nails harder into his skin.

“Don’t-” you sob, “don’t you dare, ‘m so close, Joel please-” You screw your eyes closed against the onslaught of pleasure, desperate to come before he does. It’s his turn to drop a hand between the two of you, and your spine arches at the first brush of his thumb against your folds.

“Good girl, good girl, fuck,” Joel manages, his thumb working fast at your clit. Everything in your body pulls down towards your core, locking down as he sends you hurtling over the edge again. Your vision whites out and your mind goes blank, everything in you focused on the scorching pleasure ripping through your body.

“Ohfuck,” Joel grunts, pulling out of you so quickly that you whine and coming all over your abdomen. You’re barely aware of it even as his warm come spatters across your skin. Instead you fall forwards, sagging against Joel and resting your forehead on his shoulder. Both of you are breathing hard, content to stay silent until you come back to yourselves.

The first thing you really become aware of, other than the press of Joel’s body against yours, is his rapidly cooling come on your abdomen. Wrinkling your nose, you look around for something you can use to wipe it off, climbing off Joel’s lap with great difficulty to grab a rag on the windowsill.

Your legs feel weak beneath you, and as soon as you’re done, you collapse back into the bed. Joel let himself fall backwards, his head near your thigh and his hair tickling your skin as he turns to look at you.

“You okay?” He asks after a long moment. He might not be given over much to tenderness, but you know he worries about hurting you.

“I’m fine.” You stifle a giggle. “I’ll feel it tomorrow, but I’m honestly more pissed you used all my hot water, and then made a mess of me.” There’s a low chuckle from the other end of the bed.

“How about I promise to make it up to you?”

#joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction

[rodolfoparras]

What if you threw in a little bit of breeding and maybe some piss into the puppy Soap idea?

Now imo, the reader in this a little bit of a subtop in this situationship. I can imagine after a long day of teasing Soap, he is dragging the reader to the nearest spot to fuck. Maybe it’s the shitty couch in the break room no one uses anymore since the base was renovated. Soap is just shoving you down onto the couch, already nipping at your neck and tugging at your pants.

Anyways skip the foreplay and straight into the sex. Basically Soap is bouncing on your dick like his life depends on it. You make some snide comment about him being horny like “a mutt in heat”, and he takes that to heart. He steps up his game, basically being like “I’ll show you a mutt in heat”, and just absolutely wrecks you. Like I’m talking multiple orgasms and no breaks while he is somehow only on number 2. He’s teasing, calling you the “real mutt” since you keep cumming like you’re trying to breed him.

After awhile, you’re shooting blanks but he still needs to prove you wrong. He says he isn’t stopping till he cums again, but you feel the pressure in your bladder grow more and more. You try to tell him and just says, “only a mutt would piss on themselves.” And now it’s a game for Soap. Which will break first: your bladder or his mental fortitude?

Lil goofy rant that includes like 3 of my favorite kinks (piss, overstim, and breeding)

-🤠

*grabs mic*

This is def taken from @/lieutnt but imagine jealous soap who literally acts like a puppy around you clinging onto you, calling for you when you spend too much time talking to the other recruits, going out his way to join you on every mission now we all know how territorial dogs can get so what if a recruit seems to have taken extra much liking to you and no matter what approach he tries he can’t seem to get to you, you have to be with the recruit for the day have to show them around on base have to spend excessive amount of time with them he literally sits in the common area sulking like a puppy

Maybe something happens the recruit wants to hang out with you outside of base maybe the recruit is wearing your shirt or something or maybe he’s straight up ogling you in front of soap

So as soon as he can soaps gets the two of you alone so eager he shoves you into the shower stalls, luckily they’re empty but it’s not secluded anyone can stumble inside he strips the clothes off of you before he drops to his knees sucks you off until you can’t breathe until you’re on the verge of pissing yourself but no matter how much you shove his head away he doesn’t stop bobbing his head and before you know of it you’re pissing in his mouth, watching the way it trickles down his chin and throat mingling with the water from the shower head and he looks proud as ever especially when he hears the shocked gasp from the recruit who was just about to head for a shower

#alec answers #hello litlre cowboy friend #🤠 anon

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[whatsnewalycat]

acting lesson

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: Dieter convinces you to roleplay with him.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Tags/Warnings: LDR, roleplay, bar, drinking alcohol (casual), dirty talk, swearing, public bathroom sex, D/s elements, fluff, impact play, pet names, hair pulling, blow job, unprotected piv sex, graffiti, football mention

Word Count: 4.3k+

Notes: In the Psychomanteum universe between Ch 12 & 13. Could be read as a one-shot. Based on this ask from @frannyzooey:

Dieter and Lou — roleplay He’s an actor, she’s….not 👀👀 How does he indulge her? ❤️

The idea first came up during one of your many phone calls with Dieter.

It was the kind of call that works as a surrogate for sitting in the room together, despite the some-odd 2,600 miles keeping you apart. Comfortable silences between organic conversation, running parallel to your evening routines. In LA, Dieter hummed to himself while rifling through his kitchen cabinets for snacks. In New York, you stared at up the marigold painting hung above your bed, and you asked him, “How do you act?”

“When I’m with you, like a fool.”

His voice purred through your phone speaker, low and warm. Heat bloomed in your chest and crept up your neck.

You giggled, “I mean, like, for your job. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I try to channel the character and pretend to be them. You ever do plays in school or anything like that?”

“In fourth grade I got to play a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. I had one line and I completely butchered it.”

He laughed, “Seems about right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re just… very good at being yourself,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his words, “It’s not a bad thing, doll. I like that about you.”

A smile spread across your face. You hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I can show you how I do it. Give you an acting lesson. You could be my scene partner,” he lowered his voice an octave, “We could make it fun.”

Something about this pricked your skin with excitement. You twisted a strand of hair around your finger and smirked, “How’s that?”

“Have you ever done roleplay?”

“Oh no,” you laughed, shaking your head, “I would be terrible at that—”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out,” he protested, “What if you got to play yourself?”

You quietly pondered this, then asked, “Who would you be?”

“I would be… a stranger at a bar. You’d just have to play along,” he rumbled, “Treat me like one of your hookups.”

Warmth trickled down your spine and pooled between your legs. You licked your lips and traced your collarbone over your shirt, “You’ve thought about this before.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea. It could be… hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time I see you,” you conceded.

And so, this morning, while sipping coffee together out on his patio, he brought it up again.

“Do you remember when we talked about… an acting lesson?”

Your eyebrow quirked and you glanced over at him, “You mean roleplay?”

He shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulders, working his thumb against the starfruit tattoo on your arm, “How do you feel about it?”

“I wondered what it would have been like to meet you like that.”

“Me too,” he said, then scooted closer and murmured, “You know, I’ve always thought that was something so fucking sexy about you. The way you chew men up and spit them out.”

“Really?” you studied him.

The corner of his mouth tucked up in a smirk. His gaze bore into yours, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Not you, though,” you brought your hand to his cheek and smoothed your palm along his cheek, “I like you.”

“No, not me,” he agreed, nuzzling into your touch, “But we can pretend. It’ll be an acting lesson, remember?”

“An acting lesson, yeah, that’s why you wanna do this. Not because you wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall, right?”

“It can be both,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stared at him. His dark eyes flicked around your face, searching for an answer. When you released a reluctant sigh and frowned down into your coffee cup, he continued.

“I’ll give you some pointers beforehand, love. It’ll be fun. You just be you and pretend you don’t know me,” he purred, his voice growing lower and more persuasive, “I wanna see what it’s like to be used by you, Lua. Please. Let me be your piece of meat. Chew me up and spit me out.”

How could you say no?

When you step inside the door, it slams behind you. Outside, the sun still douses Los Angeles in daylight, but the underground bar shows no signs of it. Your eyes sting as they adjust to the darkness, and you find yourself momentarily blinded.

Slowly, things start to come into focus.

Neon beer signs and pucks of dim, golden light studding the low ceiling make their surroundings glow, reflecting off the dark wooden bar and high-top tables. A few clusters of people are scattered around at the tables, and one androgynous person sits at the bar, scrolling on their phone while taking occasional sips from a tall glass of beer. Over the speakers, “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac plays just a decibel too loud, but you have a feeling this is the standard music volume here.

It’s one of those places that seems unchanging. Static. You bet that if you walked in here at any moment, on any day, it would look and feel mostly the same.

You approach the bar and take a seat in one of the tattered barstools. Its red pleather sticks to your legs and back. One of the advantages and disadvantages of wearing your most fuckable dress: it’s really goddamn short.

“What’ll you be having tonight, miss?”

You look to the portly bartender and smile, “Vodka cranberry, please.”

He walks away, returning a minute later with your drink. You slide a twenty across the counter and thank him.

When the bartender brings you your change, he nods at the man pulling out the barstool next to you, who says, “Old fashioned.”

The bartender makes his drink and brings back your change. You leave a few bills on the rail as a tip, then lean back in your chair and look up at the TV. Two college football teams slam into each other on the screen.

The man sitting next to you is not discreet about his ogling. His eyes burn your skin, but you pay him no mind. You lift the drink to your lips and take a few quick gulps to hush the excitement bubbling up your neck.

He does the same, then you feel him lean towards you and ask, “Why do bars always play the most boring shit on TV?”

You look over at him, looking up and down his very expensive looking, and thusly very out-of-place, navy suit, obviously tailored just for him. The top three buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest that gleams gold in the dim lighting. A lusty ache twists at your center.

You smirk and meet his deep brown eyes, “What, you don’t find the underlying threat of concussion-induced brain injuries to be exhilarating?”

The handsome “stranger” laughs, exposing this big, contagious smile, dimples tugging at his cheeks and everything, “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You grin, staring down at your drink for a moment, then say, “I’ve found that if I go into it pretending it’s the first half of a horror story I’ll never know the ending to, it’s not as, umm,” a giggle escapes your throat, “fucking boring, y’know?”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I want to run for the hills or ask for your hand in marriage.”

“The first option is probably safer,” you wink, then take a sip of your drink.

His gaze lingers on you for a beat before he stammers, “I’m Diego, by the way.”

“Louella,” you take his outstretched hand and shake it.

He holds it there, grazing his thumb along your knuckles before pulling back, “What brings you out tonight? Meeting friends or something?”

You tilt your head at him, dragging your eyes across the broad expanse of his body, “Just, you know… seeing what’s out there.”

His throat rumbles and he drops his gaze to your lips, “Find anything?”

“Maybe,” you grin and take a sip of your drink, “What about you, Diego?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here, having a drink, talking to me. Is your evening going as you’d hoped?”

“Much better, actually,” he murmurs, leaning close, “Didn’t think I’d come across someone as gorgeous as you.”

You smile, and find yourself restraining laughter. Not because he’s doing bad or anything, but because he’s doing so good.

“Quite the smooth-talker, aren’t you?”

He grins, bobbing his shoulders in a shrug, “Is it working?”

At this, you do laugh. You tuck your hair behind your ear and depart from his lustful gaze, glancing down at your drink. A wide palm slides onto your back, warming the skin between your shoulder blades. The magnetic force of his body drawing close makes your breathing stutter.

“Listen,” his voice seems to melt, low and heated, into your ear, the baritone dripping down your spine, pooling between your legs, “If this is too forward, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but… do you want to have sex with me?”

You turn to find him just inches away, hooded eyes dark and heavy with want, flitting around your face like he’s brainstorming ways to make it contort with pleasure. You love seeing him like this. Needy. Aching. Putty in your hands.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Diego,” you tell him in a throaty whisper, “And I’ll consider it.”

A flash of his pink tongue breaches his lips. He glances around as he scoots his barstool closer, knee brushing against yours, and murmurs in your ear, “As far as the venue goes, we have a couple options. Bathroom, out back, in my car—”

“Romantic,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow at you, dragging his gaze from your face, down your neck, following the curve of your body, “But you don’t want romance, do you, Louella? That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” you tilt your head and bat your lashes at him, “Then why am I here?”

His throat rumbles. He leans so close, his breath scatters across your cheek when he says, “You’re here because you want to get fucked. Hard, preferably. You want me to bring you into that disgusting bathroom and stretch your sweet little cunt out with my fat cock, isn’t that right? You want me to squeeze your tits and use my teeth. You want it to hurt, not a lot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you feel something. Enough to make you feel… real,” he pauses here, smirking at you, licking his lips as he drops his gaze to your mouth, “Hmm? Isn’t that right, Louella?”

You swallow hard and nod, and realize you’re holding your breath. When you draw air in, it’s shaky and subdued.

“Will you let me do that for you?”

His touch trails up your bare leg and makes you shiver.

“Yes.”

He stands from the barstool and takes a cursory glance around, then nods at you, “Lead the way.”

Miraculously, the bathroom at this shitty dive bar is one of those no-stall, single-toilet situations with a deadbolt to keep the outside world at bay.

Dieter guides you through the threshold with his hand at the small of your back. You peer around the small, dim room, studying the graffitied black tile walls. Colorful tags, crudely drawn dicks, and witty remarks surround you on all sides. The scent of bleach burns your nostrils, which is a little disorientating, but you suppose it’s better than the alternative.

The lock clicks in place behind you.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already burying his fist in your hair and pushing your cheek against the cool tile wall. You gasp with surprise at the force he uses, exhaling a giddy laugh, and he murmurs in your ear, “What’s your safe word, baby?”

Your eyes dart around for inspiration, and you focus in on a cartoon giraffe wearing sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to a word bubble that reads: Giraffiti is cool!

“Giraffe.”

“Giraffe,” he repeats, and you nod as much as his grasp on your hair will allow.

He slides your skin-tight dress up to your waist and yanks your underwear down to your ankles, rumbling, “Fuck, look at this ass.”

His palm slides warm and gentle across one cheek, then he digs his fingers into the soft flesh and groans when you whimper. He lets go, and the deep, bruising grip is quickly replaced with a sharp, hard slap.

A gasp expands your lungs as heat tingles across the site.

“How’s that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe, eyes drifting closed, mouth falling open. He does it again, same spot. Smack. This time you moan.

When he releases your hair, you stay where you are, with your hands and face all smushed up against the tile. He smooths gentle circles into your unmarred ass cheek. When it draws away, you flinch in anticipation, and he chuckles, “Too hard?”

“No.”

It’s followed by another smack, by pain and heat, and you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

His throat makes this noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. He slides his hand around your front, between your legs, and he purrs, “You fucking love this, don’t you, Louella?”

“I do,” you whimper at his soft, exploratory touch, at the gentle way he spreads your arousal up and down your wet, hot middle. Fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and hold there. The contrast between his two hands is excruciating.

“What’s my name?”

Not thinking, you exhale, “Dieter.”

His gentle hand freezes against you. The other lays down a sharp smack that burns your skin and makes you whimper. He grinds out, “That’s not my fucking name. What’s my name?”

“Diego.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, putting the hand against your pussy in motion, tracing around your clit, not touching it directly, flooding your body with a tingling, frustrated kind of excitement that makes your heart race and your breathing quicken.

You reach down and grab his wrist, pressing his hand into you harder, rolling your hips against it, and moan at the pressure it relieves.

He yanks his hand away from your grasp and buries it in your hair, pulling the strands taught, smacking your ass again, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please,” you pout, arching your hips back towards him, “Please fuck me, Diego.”

All the air leaves his lungs and scatters across your back.

“Louella,” he rumbles, and all your insides clench at his low, patient cadence, at the way your name vibrates off his lips onto your shoulder, then he says, “You are fucking demanding, aren’t you?”

“No—”

Smack

A hot, searing pain from your battered ass cheek makes you gasp, then whimper. Arousal shoots up your spine. Your cunt aches with need.

“I’ll be patient—I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, Diego, please—”

“That’s it,” he coos, “You’re gonna be my little slut, hmm? Let me fuck you the way I want?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out with a throaty, needy force, almost a fucking sob. You want him so bad it hurts. He chuckles at this, at how fucking desperate you are right now.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

He releases you and steps back. You turn to face him, holding his lust-blown gaze as you drop to your knees like he asked.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

You nod in understanding, your shaky hands clambering at his belt buckle, unzipping his slacks, the mechanism all strained with the force of his bulge. You pull his pants and briefs down with a frantic kind of energy that makes him hum with amusement as he watches you.

His cock bobs out as his pants fall to his feet. You admire it for a moment. How it’s so thick and swollen and twitchy with need, delicate skin pulled taught, a sticky little bead of arousal sprouting up at the tip. You test its weight in your palm, grinning when you look up and see Dieter’s lips part and his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You open your mouth, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your tongue up his length. Again and again, painting his cock with your saliva, using flat, firm strokes, until it’s shiny and soaked with spit.

He moans when you stretch your lips out around him, rolling your tongue against the tip, the salty, heady dribble of pre-cum smearing into your tastebuds. You slide your lips further down his shaft and start to suck him off at a steady rhythm, bobbing your head along his length.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, eyebrows threading together, nodding down at you, “You’re so fucking good at that. Do you like sucking cock, baby, hmm?”

You look up to meet his eyes, mouth all full and stretched out from him, and answer anyway, “Mhmm.”

“Fuck yes you do—you fucking love it, don’t you?”

You pull off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand, jerking him off as you whine, “Yes I do, I fucking love it—”

He grabs your hair and forces his cock back in your mouth, gritting out, “Did I fucking tell you to stop?”

A moan surfaces from your guts. His head rolls back and he twitches against your tongue. You take the length of his cock faster now, the stretched-out band of your lips slick and tingling. He pets your hair and holds your gaze, watching you with awe as you work, quiet groans falling from his parted lips.

The doorknob jiggles, then there’s a knock.

“Occu—”

You sit up higher to plunge your mouth down on him, jamming his cock down your throat. His mouth falls open and he moans while you move in short, quick strokes. A wet gurgling noise echoes off the tiles back into your ears.

There’s another jiggle. Another knock. A faint, feminine, “Hello?”

You pull off of him, gasping for air while you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him as he hollers, “Occupied!”

A beat goes by while he stares at the door before he brings his focus back to you, shaking his head, kicking his pants off over his shoes, “Get up.”

Your underwear tangle around your heels and trip you up. By the time you yank them off and toss them aside, Dieter has grown impatient. He rips you off the floor by your armpits, pushing your back against the cool tile wall.

Beneath you, your shaky legs buckle, but he slips an arm around your waist to prevent you falling.

As if second nature, he looks you over and draws his body close, cupping your cheek with his palm.

And… fuck, the way he stares at you, with this warm, attentive gaze… you know he wants to kiss you. You know he wants to hold you close and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’ll never stop loving you, forever and ever until he’s dust, and maybe even then, if dust has feelings.

It’s all Dieter, not Diego.

You grin and search his face, then whisper, “You broke character.”

He narrows his eyes for just a moment, as if trying to process what you said. When he realizes you’re right, this big amused smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, “You hush.”

You link your hands at the back of his neck, “We can rewind.”

His throat rumbles as he considers this, brushing his knuckles along the side of your face, glancing down at your lips. The grip around your waist tightens and his hips sway a little.

“You just wanna kiss me and make sweet, sweet love to me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggle and comb your fingertips through his mess of curls, “You big softie.”

His smile falters a little and he shrugs, “Sorry.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hey, no,” you pull back enough to meet his eyes and shake your head, “It’s one of my very favorite things about you.”

He furrows his brow and blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, rubbing your palm against his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch and you tell him, “Diego is hot, but Dieter? My Dee? I fucking love him. And he’s hot.”

A bright, bashful smile spreads across his face. He meets your gaze with those loving, loving eyes and asks, “Can I fucking kiss you now?”

“Oh my god, plea—”

His lips cut you off, pressing into yours with passionate force. From its place pinned between your bodies, his cock twitches. He brings a hand to the back of your head and renews the kiss, pulling you closer, slotting his mouth against yours.

You whimper at the velvet of his tongue. The tug of his fingers clamping down in your hair. The persistent, pulsing current where your bodies meet.

The two of you seem to lose yourself here, in the heated kissing and touching and writhing, forgetting your presence in the restroom has a time limit.

Another knock on the door. Harder. Impatient.

Dieter parts from your swollen lips, his mouth a mess of your red lipstick, and hollers at the door, “Give me a minute!”

Then he turns back to you, his gaze all obsidian want, and mutters, “We better hurry before they ram the goddamn door down.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trailing a fingernail along his jawline.

“Just like this.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he is.

When he lifts your hips you let out a little yelp of surprise and hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Legs around my back, love, I got you,” he breathes. The wall bears some of your weight as you lean against it and wrap your legs around him. He settles in closer, shifting his hips under yours. The tip of his cock nudges your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the slope of his nose.

Normally, he has to work himself in slow. Let your body adjust to the stretch of him in increments. So you know what he means when he asks this.

But when you nod, and he loosens his grip to let gravity take you down, it still shocks you. The pain is immediate. And exquisite. You bury a deep, guttural moan into his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin. Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale a few sharp breaths.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses when you can go no further, “So fucking tight, holy fuck.”

All you can respond with is a whimper. He holds you here, impaled, not moving, as you start to relax around him and the pain condenses into a gooey ember right at the center of you.

“That’s it, love.”

His hips start to roll slow, dragging his cock along your walls, sending sparks up your spine.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp.

He snatches a kiss from your trembling lips and asks, “Too much?”

Your mouth gapes open with a ragged moan and you press your sweaty forehead into his, “Issss perfect—So fuuucking good—“

He lets out a raspy chuckle, “Listen to you, Lua, all fucking cock drunk, fuck—”

The laugh you release is delirious, and quickly devolves into moaning as he starts to fuck you faster. He’s not wrong. You feel disoriented and tingly, like you’ve been launched into space and you’re no longer on Earth, but on Planet Dieter.

You can tell he’s starting to unravel when he pants all kinds of filthy things against your frantic breathes, fueling the fire licking your insides, pulling you closer and closer to your ascent.

“You fucking love when I stretch your cunt out, don’t you doll? Hmm?”

You whimper and nod.

“Say it.”

“I—I fucking love w-when you stretch my cunt out.”

“Who’s my little slut?”

“I’m your little slut, Dee—oh, fuck—”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he grunts, fucking you harder, faster. You clamber up his body, tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, gasping at the brilliant heat expanding at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop, don’t fucking stop, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you sob, drawing one more sharp inhale before you fall off the edge, ecstasy shattering you into a thousand pieces, then bringing you back together whole.

“Fuck yes, baby, there we go—oh my fucking god—”

Dieter’s hips drive up into you with a handful of rough, deep thrusts, while your whole body shudders and you release a choked moan. His echoes alongside yours, harmonizing in this unrestrained, unmistakably feral noise.

Every ounce of pressure held under your sweat-drenched, tingling skin deflates.

“Holy fucking shit, Dee,” you pant, ripping your sticky legs away from his, trying to find solid ground.

He lowers you to your feet, and you both stumble back a little, chests heaving, grinning at each other like mad.

“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head as he doubles over to catch his breath, then he glances around and mutters, “I need to lay down.”

Three hard bangs against the door make you both jump.

“Are you done fucking yet?”

Your wide eyes meet his for a terrified moment, then you both burst with laughter.

“Yeah, give us a second,” Dieter calls back, then scoops his pants off the ground. After adjusting your dress and collecting your underwear, you walk to the sink to wash your hands and notice something resting between the faucet and wall: a metallic silver sharpie.

A smile spreads across your face. You grab it and hold it up to Dieter, who’s buckling his pants, “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

He raises his eyebrows when he glances up at you, and when he realizes what you’re implying, grins like a madman, “May I?”

You hand him the sharpie and he finds an unmarred section of black tile on which to write the message, framing the words with a frilly Valentine’s Day heart: DEE + LUA 4EVA!

#psychomanteum #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

[yankstrash]

october 13

boston colleges first home game of the season

three days since gabe and amelias third date

and their first kiss

it had been on gabes mind to invite her to the game, but he didn't want to pressure her

there is no pressure.

you've kissed her.

and been out multiple times.

and already have a fourth date planned.

but alas, he did not ask her to come to the game.

so imagine his surprise when he looks up during warm ups and sees her in the stands

he had never done such a hard double take in his life

he saw her.

and she knew he saw her.

amelia was bumped in the ribs by her friend standing next to her

"he sees you." she whispers in her ear

amelia rolls her eyes but can't fight the smile

"i can't believe i let you drag me to this game. he's probably going to think i'm stalking him or something." amelia says

her friend gives her the most 'are you serious?' look she's ever received and says, "stalking him? really?? after what he did to get you to go out with him? showing up at your job until you said yes? i mean don't get me wrong, romantic and honestly hot as hell, but you should not be worried about him thinking you're a stalker, meel. i'm sure he's flattered."

and flattered he was.

gabe couldn't wipe the grin off his face after he saw her

she was at his game.

without him asking her to come.

was she here to see him?

well, who else would she be here to see.

or maybe she wasn't here for anyone at all?

she does like hockey.

ish..

maybe she just wants to support her school

..or maybe she is here to see him...

~

throughout the game, gabe tried his absolute hardest not to look up at her

because everytime he did, his mind wandered and his dopy grin broke out

he just needed to see her.

the game did not start the way bc was hoping for but it sure did end that way with a 4-2 win over long island

as soon as the teams were done shaking hands, gabe was bolting to the locker room

no one even had time to question his sudden burst of speed as he whipped past everyone and raced to his stall

he pulled his phone from his hockey bag

from: gabe

"you should meet me by the locker rooms."

luckily, his text was sent just in time.

amelia and her friends were just standing up to leave when the text came through

immediately, they all knew who it was.

"that was quick!" one of them grinned

amelia bit her lip as her mouth tugged up as she read his message

she looked up to see all her friends smirking at her

"go see him." one of them said, giving her a little shove

"but-"

"GO!"

"GO GO GO!"

"meel you better get your butt down there and see that boy."

she had no choice now.

"go tell him good game and we will see you later."

amelia slowly nodded her head, letting her legs move for her

by herself, she slowly made her way down by the locker rooms

after waiting for a few moments, players finally started to trickle out

her heart sped up as more and more guys filed out

"this is a bad idea. he is going to think i'm so weird." she thought to herself

but really, who is the weird one here? this was basically what he did to her. except only now, no one will be turned away with a rejection.

finally, gabe appeared in her eye sight

and holy hell, he looked good..

so good...

he was dressed in a navy blue plaid suit with a white button down underneath

her mouth opened slightly at the sight of him in his game day outfit

she swallowed, pushing herself off the wall she was leaning on and walking towards him

"what a nice surprise" he says as he reaches her

his arms went around to her back, pulling her in to his chest

"came to see me play?!" he asks, grinning widely

hereee we go.

amelia pulls back a bit and shrugs

"my friends dragged me" she tries to sound casual

"yeah? you didn't come to see me play, hmm? you could just tell me you wanted to see me play." he says

she smiles and playfully rolls her eyes

"it was just a bonus" she says

"mmhmm, sure it was"

she looks up at him and shakes her head

"good game though"

he smiles at her compliment

"thank you. saw you cheering up in the stands"

the grin still hasn't left his face.

she shrugs, "i can get into hockey games when i want to"

"and you wanted to tonight because you came to watch me"

she smacks his chest lightly

"i did not"

"you did too!"

she shakes her head

"you're never going to let this go now are you?" she asks

he slowly shakes his head

"nope.."

they fall silent for a moment

still looking at each other

"so.." gabe breaks the silence "you said i played good?"

amelia nods her head

he smiles, "do i get something for that?"

she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth

"what do you want?"

he grins at her question, lowering his head a bit

"this." he whispers against her lips before connecting them

her hands go to the back of his neck, keeping him close

"that's what i wanted." he pulls back a bit and says

amelias lips tug up in a grin, her eyes meeting his

"i like your suit" she says, rubbing his arm up and down "looks really nice on you"

"you like it?" he asks, smiling

"mmhmm" she hums, nodding her head

"then this is my new favorite game day suit."

#princess!gf x gabe perreault #g + m timeline !

[pearlescentpearl]

Rebirthed!Maedhros AU

The previous post was getting long enough to be cumbersome, so we’re starting fresh.

Presenting; Part 8! Utúlië lómë

Findekáno’s funeral is a tense, shellshocked affair

Naturally, the entire family attends. Ruining all previous efforts to evacuate them

Maitimo cannot look his aunt and uncle in the eye; it was his idea to run back to Tirion

It’s alright if they blame him. He blames himself too

Fëanáro furiously checks and rechecks the stained glass windows, looking for proof they were tampered with

After the fifth time, Ñolofinwë takes a hammer to the broken window until not one shard of glass remains in it

Anairë takes a bigger hammer to each and every stone in the receiving hall touched by her son’s blood until only rubble remained, forcing Finwë to order new flooring

The sight of Findekáno bristling and bloody from glass shards is one that will haunt them all for a long, long time

Maitimo drifts about as one hollowed out, thoughts and emotions trickling out of him like sand through cracks. He, Angaráto, and Aikanáro attempt to find some solace in each other’s company, but in truth Findekáno was their strongest bridge, without whom a chasm seems to gape between them

He wanders Tirion instead, unable to bear company, not knowing what he’s looking for

(That is a lie, he knows exactly what he’s looking for)

He admits it’s a lie when he finds Melkor in the smithy district and the drought-stricken, hollow places in himself flood with rage. Such wrath as he has never known, he snatches up a finished knife from a smith’s stall and attempts to drive it through Melkor’s heart right then and there

The confrontation is unspeakably public

It takes three people to restrain him

News gets back to Manwë

A trial is called at Máhanaxar

It is every nightmare Maitimo knew it would be

He accuses Melkor of seven murders; he has no proof to back it up

Melkor speaks, and it is lies and ruin. He tells of how Maitimo is one of his former victims, freshly remembered, and confused by the horrors of the past. 

“How ashamed I am for the pain I have caused him!” Melkor declares before all. “I’ve done what I could to help him reconcile the past with the present but-- oh, but pain is never reasonable. After several accidents befell his loved ones it must have touched too close to my shameful past actions; he blamed me to explain his pain.”

“Do not blame him, brother,” Melkor entreats. “He is hurting. He needs help, compassion, understanding.”

Nienna rises, moved by this plea, and joins her voice to his

It’s the final nail

Manwë rises and makes his judgement known; “To act from pain is understandable. But to deliberately cause more pain by your actions is not acceptable. If time and healing is what it will take to mend this; hereby do I declare Maitimo Nelyafinwë Fëanárion is exiled to Lórien, to abide under Estë and Irmo’s care, for the next ten years--”

The uproar in the House of Finwë is beyond outrage

“--may he find the peace of mind he requires to live joyfully once more,” Manwë finishes

The hollowing shock settles in again. It’s over. It’s really over. He’s ruined their chances of exposing Melkor. Whatever he says now, whatever his family says, it will always be tainted by this day. The uphill climb has become a mountain, an encircling Pelóri trapping them within

This is his fault

Again

“--fine then! Fine!” His father is shouting somewhere behind him. “If my son is to be exiled, then so shall I be as well!”

“Fëanáro!” Finwë exclaims. “Lower your voice!”

“I will not!”

No. No, no no no

Hasn’t his family suffered enough from his actions?

Maitimo turns and pushes his way out of the crowd surrounding the Ring of Doom; his family, many of his friends, a number of quietly observing Vanyar. Many familiar faces try to greet him, but he cannot bring himself to speak

A hand lands on his shoulder. “Give him some air, people!” Ñolofinwë shoos them away, firmly steering Maitimo out into the open field around the great thrones of the Aratar

Maitimo lets himself be led

He owes his uncle this

He got his son killed

“Well,” Ñolofinwë says. “Well--” he cuts himself off, face spasming

“I’m sorry,” Maitimo says, miserable

“For what?” Ñolofinwë asks, voice tight

“Everything,” Maitimo says. “Running headlong into a trap. Losing my temper in public. Discrediting our entire family in front of the absolute last person I should have. Take your pick, I have many things to be sorry for.”

“Nelyafinwë,” Ñolofinwë says, hand tightening on his shoulder, “the only reason you are on trial for attacking Melkor is because I failed to get to him first. The only reason.”

His head snaps up at that

“If I am mad at you,” Ñolofinwë continues, “it is mostly because I am jealous. I should not be. I wouldn’t have fared any better than you. But still--”

“Still.” Maitimo nods

Ñolofinwë claps him on the shoulder, mouth tight, gaze on the horizon, and. Maitimo supposes it’s forgiveness of a sort

It’s good enough

“There you are!” Nerdanel cries, crashing into his side, clinging to him in hard hug

Makalaurë hits his back with his own hug, only letting go to elbow Curufinwë in the gut so Ambarussa can get there first. It feels good to be surrounded by his family’s smothering affection, shores up some of his crumbling foundation

“Father’s not really exiling himself, is he?” Maitimo asks his mother, face buried in Tyelkormo’s shoulder

“We all are,” Nerdanel hisses furiously. “This is outrageous!”

“Not to Lórien though,” Carnistir says. “We need a place we can fortify.”

“We’ve got some ideas,” Tyelkormo adds. “Don’t worry about us. We can handle this.”

“Who all is going with?” Ñolofinwë asks wearily, looking awkward and alone outside their huddle

“Just our House,” Nerdanel says. “Fëanáro’s insistence. Too many other people need Finwë for him to leave, you and your family chief among them. Unless you want to come with?”

Ñolofinwë snaps around to look at her. “Fëanáro is letting me have father?”

“He’s not heartless, law-brother,” Nerdanel says, stepping away to hold out her hand. “He doesn’t hold you so far away he can’t be moved to pity by your grief.”

“I-- alright.” Ñolofinwë grabs her hand, squeezes briefly, lets go to bury his face in his hands, turning away, shoulders shaking. “I might... might join you later. Not now, but. Later. Later.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

The trip to Lórien is the quietest and unhappiest yet

But not the most hopeless

Not quite

#silmarillion #bulletpoint fic #maedhros #lots of characters #melkor being his lying gaslighting self :D

[dantesunbreaker]

Ditch of Despair

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader (based off me falling in a trench the other day, fluff, anxiety, hurt/comfort, 1.9k words)

You are working outside when you manage to trip and fall. But a certain Papa finds you and comes to your rescue!

Warm sunlight seeps out between a cover of thin wispy clouds reaching across the blue sky. Birds chirp their beautiful evening songs from the trees above. Sweat clings to your skin in a thin even layer, a single river trickling down between your shoulder blades to pool at the small of your back.

Luckily, despite The Clergy’s insistence that all Siblings of Sin are to wear uniforms, you had yet to encounter anyone who would enforce said dress code. And thank Satan for that. Otherwise you would have long since melted into a puddle under the sun. Wearing a pair of shorts and an all too big cut off shirt was all that was sparing you from the full brunt of the blazing Summer heat. Plans had been set to build a gazebo near their small pond in order to make the church grounds seem more lively and inviting. You happen to be among the Siblings tasked with making it happen.

Others had been with you through the day and afternoon, but without a supervisor to oversee their work, they all had decided to call the day early around 3PM. Ever the workaholic however, you were set on working until the expected 5PM cut off time. Even if that meant working alone. Why prolong a project more than is necessary? So, alone  you stand as you place a level along a cross beam that would soon make up the floor. A few minor adjustments are made before you are expertly securing the board into place.

Along the outer edge of the frame of the gazebo some of the Brothers have dug small trenches where Primo plans to plant some of his rhododendrons. You remain completely unaware of the uneven earth surrounding you. Okay okay, so maybe you did know about your Brothers digging around the worksite. But what’s the phrase? Out of sight out of mind?

Taking a step backwards as you are turning around surely isn’t your brightest idea, but you are already in motion before the thought crosses your mind. Big mistake. As your foot twists along with you, it catches the edge of one of the many ditches and has your balance immediately thrown out the window. Strings of curses spill from your mouth as your world begins to turn horizontal.

Your ankle hits first, exposed skin dragging along rough dirt until the flesh is pink and raw. From ankle to knee your shin burns with the friction along the disheveled earth you come crashing down upon. All too late for salvation, your palms catch the grass in a futile attempt to stop your already stalled momentum, right hand catching and slicing layers deep. Flat on the ground you lie as you wait for the thunder in your chest to cease. But it doesn’t.

Tears bubble at the corner of your eyes as you try to make sense of what’s up from down. Frustration fueled panic sets in, inducing your anxiety to cloud your senses. Stomach churning, you can’t bring  yourself to lift up and out from the shallow ditch. Can’t bring yourself to assess the damage. You are content to wallow in the makeshift grave until either the passing of the feeling of impending doom or Satan himself is ready to come claim you. Pressing your face down you try to let the soft grass kiss your cheeks and muffle the stutter of your quiet sobs.

“Caro, are you out here?” A breath hitches in your throat at the sound of a familiar accented voice. One you have grown to love, but one you dread to face in your current state.

Maybe, just maybe if you hold ever so still enough he won’t be able to spot you. But he isn’t that prehistoric. The last thing you want is your partner seeing you in such a sorry state. But you hear the crunch of footfalls through grass continues to creep closer. You can’t bring yourself to lift your head as the footsteps halt a few feet away.

“Napping on the job are we now, amore?” From an outsider’s view it surely looked as if you had stepped into the small hole and spread your upper half out amongst the grass.

You are somewhat sprawled out in an awkward way that if anxiety wasn’t killing you, you would find it quite comical as well. Kind of like a starfish clinging to the rocks of the tidepools. But we don’t always get what we want. Giving the single most pathetic whimper you have ever heard, you lift your head just enough to expose your big watery eyes and trembling bottom lip. Mismatched mirthful gaze turns somber within seconds as Papa Emeritus IV drops to a knee before you.

“Oh, caro, what happened? Did you take a tumble?” Copia speaks in such an easy soothing tone that is full of concern. At your nod, he gives the most heart wrenching frown. “May I see? Can you do that for me, amore?”

Stifling another sniffle you drop your face back into the grass but you lift  your stinging hand, outstretching it away from you. Leather clad hands grasp your hand in a feather light touch before delicately turning it palm up. A whine leaves your lips as a thumb brushes along what you can only assume is a large gash splitting your palm. 

“It’s not so bad topolino. Come take a look, si?” You really don’t want to, but as both thumbs move to rub gentle circles along your wrist you know that you have to. “Prometto, it truly is not as bad as you may think, amore mio.”

Sucking a deep breath in hopes it will provide the strength you require, you lift your head once again. Your eyes follow the same path as the mismatched pair before you to take in the damage.

“Oh...”

You feel just as small as you are sure your voice sounds in the moment. A mere two inch cut is what you see before you. Blood is clearly seen between the torn skin, but it is trapped below the surface of another layer of skin already sealed off due to the angle of the wound. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you drop your head and let out a pitiful wail. Tugging at your arm, you try to pull from Copia’s grasp to curl up in on yourself. But he holds fast.

“No, no none of that! There is nothing to be ashamed of mio dolce ragazzo!” His hands slide down your forearm to grasp just above the elbow. As you pause your retreat, Copia takes that as his go ahead to continue. “Will you come out so I may see all of you?”

Eyes lifting to meet those of your lover, you silently beg for him to lend you some of his strength. Sensing what you need, Copia gives  you a bright beaming smile that tells you without words that he believes in all that you are. Another whimper passes your lips, but in a way that communicates your appreciation.

Reaching your other arm out towards Copia, you wait for him to take hold and begin to move backwards. Half being pulled and half crawling, you manage to slither out of your pit of despair only to sprawl awkwardly partially in Copia’s lap. He hums and coos at you as he shuffles your limbs around until you are cradled perfectly between his legs and side pressed to his chest.

“That’s it,” Copia gives one of those old man sighs of comfort and content as he gives you praise and holds you to him. “Now let Papa see the rest, si? Let me take care of you.”

Nodding, still not quite ready to use your words, you press your face into his neck and point him towards your shins. Unlike your palm, your left leg looks a bit worse for wear. From ankle to knee your skin is a practically glowing shade of radiant pink. Patches of skin in areas are rubbed away and completely raw, oozing bits of blood and plasma. It will certainly be a big mess of scabs come the following day.

“You will be fine,” Copia’s soothing voice hums as one hand rubs up and down your bicep. “Just a few scrapes and booboos, nothing you cannot handle, si?”

Once again you nod, head tucked nicely into his neck. But that is all the answer Copia needs. Rather than pushing you before you are ready, Copia is content to simply hold you until you decide to tell him the chain of events that led him to finding you this way. Focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest with breath puts you more and more at ease with each passing moment. Nuzzling once into his neck, you finally sigh and straighten your back.

“Are you ready to tell Papa what happened?” Copia’s voice regains his teasing tone as he takes note of your improved mood. It earns him a small giggle and soft elbow jab to the ribs. He takes it as a sign he has done his job.

“I uh... forgot that the others had dug out some holes for Primo’s flowers. And well, I kept working after they all decided to leave early,” your hands are moving and gesturing, conveying nothing really in particular as you explain your mishap. “So there I was making sure the board was level, then I stepped back as I was turning to grab something and... and well then I was in a ditch. It seems my clumsiness knows no bounds.”

All the while Copia listens intently, reassuring hands giving you a gentle squeeze whenever your speech begins to falter. When you’ve finished, he gives a nod and gains a look of being deep in thought. Holding you close to his chest, Copia lets his eyes meet yours before he speaks.

“I see, topolino,” a thumb reaches up to brush along your cheek. “Would you like for me to punish the other Siblings for abandoning their duties early? It is not safe to leave a Brother to work alone on the job.”

For probably too long you consider the thought. Sure, had the others been there you may have not fallen. Or even if you did, they at least would have been there to help you immediately instead of leaving you to wallow with frustrated anxiety.

“No, Copia,” you punctuate his name by placing a kiss along the bottom of his jaw. “Thank you for the offer though.”

“Are you sure? I know Sister Imperator would be more than delighted to subject  them to a weekend of work.”

Snaking your arms around your Papa’s shoulders, you smile and once more press your nose into his neck. Without a doubt you could see Sister full of glee at putting more work onto the shoulders of your Siblings.

“Yes, I am sure. It wasn’t their fault, and I just as well could have gone with them when they all left. But you know me, a big workaholic.” You feel the way Copia leans into your touch. “However,” you break the brief pause of silence. “I would love it if a certain Papa were to carry me back to his room to get cleaned up...maybe even to share a hot bath with.”

Happy chuckles leave your partner as he slides an arm under your legs. A small giggling scream leaves you as you are lifted into the air as Copia stands. Though you hear the creak of his old joints, he shows no signs of strain or discomfort under your added weight. 

“That I can arrange, amore mio,” you don’t miss the eyebrow wiggle he gives before setting towards his room at a more than walking pace.

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