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peachesofteal · 3 days

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Ghoap x female reader / 18+

Everything was fine.

Your phone was quiet, but that didn’t mean anything. You would wait. You’ve waited before.

Sometimes it took a while for them to ring. They had a life together, a home, things to take care of. They had lives to rebuild every time they touched down, got home, got out of their work clothes. Pieces to patch, blood to wash clean.

You weren’t their girlfriend. They aren’t beholden to you, there’s no sacred vow tethering the three of you, no promises or pledges. You don’t know Johnny’s middle name, or Simon’s, anything about their families, their private lives. You barely knew about their jobs, only holding the scraps tossed to questions lobbed back and forth across pillows. They leave little marks across your mind, little spots of scars, knowledge scratched into your skin, sunk into your body, but never too much.

You weren’t a part of their life, really.

You were a part of the dark hours. The soft ones. You were in the orange rays of sunlight cresting over the city, and the emerald abyss of pitch black night. You were the flickering yellow street light, the grey blue smoke of Simon’s cigarette. The in between. Here in the moment, gone with morning.

For months, you had spent their time home pressed between them, folded beneath them, balanced above them. They made you sing. Made you scream, made you cry.

But most of all, they made sure-

you understood the status quo.

“Say it.” Simon cradled your jaw, thumb and finger full of steel, like he was oblivious to Johnny beneath you, his cock sliding in and out of your body, his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, your back to his chest, eyes wide and mouth agape, Simon did not flinch.

“I- I’m not-“ a gasp, a groan, words bitten off when Johnny strokes faster, curved deep against the spot that makes you see stars. Sweat builds across your skin, slicking down your spine, and Johnny chases it, tongue sweeping salt clean. You swallow to try again. “I’m not- not yours.”

“Not ours.” Simon’s fingers wrapped around the engorged length of his cock, stroking leisurely, eyes half lidded. “You’re not ours, sweet girl. But we’ll take care of you, when you’re here.”

So, you fell into it. Fell into them. Got comfortable waiting for the phone to ring, going weeks or months at a time- holding your breath. You got into a rhythm, syncopated behind the swell of their voices, their bodies, their souls. Along for the ride. A passenger.

It was fine. You weren’t looking for anything serious anyway. Maybe someone to hang out with here and there, grab a drink, have some fun. All of these things, they gave you. All of these things were provided. Granted, you only went out with them to a dive around the corner, a dark, bottomless place with tar licked floors and worn away wooden bar. The kind with dusty stained glass pendants swinging over pool tables that have seen better days, wrought iron back patio furniture that squeaked when Simon would pull you onto his lap and hook the hem of your panties to the side to stare at your pussy, hungry and desperate glint in his gaze under the silver glow of moonlight. He’d flip up your dress and stroke you with the back of his knuckles, just the down the seam, cooing, telling you how lovely you look, asking how much you missed them.

They never took you out for meals, or dates, or anything like that. They kept you in bed, buried beneath them, wrung out, drained dry. They took and took and took until you had nothing left to give. They’d feed you, make you come, fill you up and put you to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

And it was all… fine.

Even tonight was fine. Johnny had emailed, said they were back in service range and they’d be around soon, if you weren’t busy. Typically, a phone call came later. Late, in small hours, when half the city slept.

So when you fell asleep to nothing, you weren’t surprised. They’d catch up with you.

They always did.

You didn’t hear from them the next day. You forced it away easily, didn’t let the unease nag at you, pasted a smile on your face for your friends when you agreed to meet them for dinner.

No strings. You’re not their girlfriend, you’re not theirs. You’re cool. It’s cool. You’re fine.

Besides, your friend had gotten a reservation at a very nice restaurant in one of those shiny new hotels that just went up.

You shoved the boys from your mind.

You were the cool girl. You were unaffected.

You’re fine.

“So how’s work?”

“Oh, it’s fine. You know, same shit different day.” You roll your eyes, touch light on the thin stem of a wine glass. The red is a shade darker than your nails, and your lips, and it tastes like sweet cherries soaked in acid. Stringent. Sweet. You’re about to reciprocate the question when the bulk of a man catches your eye, handsome width of a shoulder you’d know from a mile away.

Interest in your friend’s conversation evaporates, and your tongue turns tarnished, sticking in the back of your throat like an overgrown thorn.

It’s Simon. Your heart pounds, and you drink in the sight greedily, elated to see him outside of their flat, or in the bar. Thrilled to get a glimpse of him in the real world, in a restaurant, a real, tangible place, in a real, tangible moment.

“I’ll… be right back.” You manage, slipping from the both to the wall, openly gaping across a room full of diners. As he moves, you mirror it, coming closer and closer to a hallway, a lead off down to the bathrooms.

“Simon.” His name slips from your lips without permission, a build up of excitement and anxiety, all twisted into one heap that darts out in front of your intentions, your resolve. Not cool.

You expect him to be surprised, certainly. You expect to see that small spark, the little fire burning behind his irises, expect him sweep the length of your body.

You don’t expect the surprise to be blanketed with the white fog of indifference. The grey slab of a stone wall.

It confuses you. Startles you. And when you take a step-

Johnny turns the corner, an arm slung around the waist of a pretty, thin, blonde.

His lips part, brows knitting together in slow motion. The girl, their date, it seems, is oblivious. She only bats her eyelashes at Simon and then gazes up at Johnny, sweet and hopeful.

You turn cold. Your fingers go frigid, ice cracking through your veins and attacking your heart, slowing your pulse.

The room spins.

And you’re alone in it. Dining room chatter falls away, drowned out by the thrumming between your ears.

You’re alone. Alone, staring at them, trying to piece it all together, trying to breathe, trying to be-

Cool.

“I uh…” You teeter, precarious in your shoes that now feel like a mistake, like your dress is a mistake, being here is a mistake, getting up from the table-

You’re not their girlfriend. You’re not theirs.

“I’m just gonna… go.” You begin to backpedal. Johnny says your name, says it quietly, and takes a step, lurching forward, an animated corpse seeking its last meal.

“Bonnie, ye-“

“I’ll see you around.” You blurt, stepping back out of reach. Johnny’s fist clenches, and he casts a dubious glance towards Simon, who’s tense and focused on you. “See ya.” You croak, and then spin on your heel, trembling all the way out the door and into the cold, crisp air.

Very uncool.

#Ghoap x reader #angst #lmao #john soap mactavish #peaches writes #simon riley #thinking about the cool girl monologue #phone writing #I know there are mistakes in here

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amandacanwrite · 2 months

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The Bear and the Fox - A Halsin x Reader One Shot

Word Count || About 6,000 Words

Scenario || You are a druid adept that has been imprisoned by Kagha for trying to stop the Rite of Thorns in Halsin's absence. He returns to find you and is none to happy to see it, especially after all you have been through.

POV || 2nd Person, ungendered tav/reader.

CW || mentions of entrapment, trafficking, self-deprecation, trauma. (Please let me know if I forgot anything.)

A/n || I have been a little stressed out and have been using this as a distraction/escape. I would appreciate so much if you all let me know what you think! Requested by the lovely @drabblesandimagines, thank you for the idea and I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for your patience in waiting for this one!

You’re almost certain Archdruid Halsin doesn’t know you exist, but it doesn’t stop you from being devastated when he doesn’t return to the Emerald Grove from his travels to the nearby goblin camp. Even if he doesn’t remember you, you certainly have never forgotten him. Nor have you been able to wrench your heart from the grip of the merciless pining that has plagued you ever since you woke up on a pile of soft hides on the floor of his vault beneath the temple..

The truth is, Archdruid Halsin had saved you.

You’d been captured, at the time, by a troupe of traveling drow with the intention of taking you deep into the underdark to be used for whatever nefarious purposes they deigned. You were one of many captured, but the only druid in the lot.

They’d entrapped you in a cage, preventing you from even taking your wildshape to flee. They’d gone between distressing you in both forms, though. They’d seemed to have a particular talent for making you miserable, and in time you’d lost a bit of your humanity to the shape of the russet and auburn fox you often favored.

When he’d reached in to coax you out with a gentle hand, you pounced on the appendage–far too entrapped in the fear-addled mind of an animal that would sooner gnaw its own foot off than let a hunter find it caught in his leghold trap.

But he hadn’t flinched; hadn’t even grimaced as you sank your sharpened teeth into the thick flesh of his muscled forearm and tore at it. He’d simply watched calmly as you got it out of your system. When you’d realized he was an unyielding mass of man, you’d backed into the farthest corner of your kennel and cowered.

“Fear not, little one,” he’d cooed with that gentle, gravelly tone. “You are among friends now. I only wish to ensure you’re uninjured, and you can be on your way to find your mate or your burrow.”

You’d only blinked and he swapped his bleeding arm for his other one. You’d sniffed cautiously before dropping your head and your ears. He’d not needed any other sign, he’d known the way animals communicate; with gestures and body language rather than sounds.

He’d smoothed a hand over your ratty coat; it was the first kind touch you’d felt in months. You’d leaned yourself into it and he’d used the opportunity to scoop you up into his arms.

Perhaps it was at that moment that you’d fallen for him. Because as soon as you’d registered the strong and tender support of his warm, cradling arms, you’d suddenly realized how exhausted you’d been. You lost hold on your wildshape and changed back to your humanoid form, unclothed and skinny.

He’d started, adjusted his grip a little clumsily as you’d spilled out of the space he’d allotted in his arms for you; but he didn’t drop you.

“You surprised me, child,” he’d said as you’d started to drift into unconsciousness. “I’d certainly thought it was strange to go through such stringent measures for a single fox, but I see now why they’d made such efforts to keep you entrapped.”

He’d reached up to brush your tangled hair away from your face. “I can see you’re exhausted. Rest now; when you wake, you’ll be safe and warm with a meal and a warm bath awaiting you.”

He hadn’t lied, and the Emerald Grove had quickly become your home in the months and years that had passed since then. You’d seen Halsin around, of course. And he always seemed to have a smile to spare for you as you passed like swans floating in a pond. But you’d never quite been able to find a way to speak to him in private.

Perhaps it was your fault, you think, as you find yourself in a new cage, heart broken and aching as it seems less and less likely that he will ever be coming back.

You know Halsin to be strong. He’s a seven foot elf and built like the cave bear he so often likes to take the shape of. But there is only so much a single druid can do on his own, even one as competent as Halsin.

It hurts to be facing the possibility of rotting in the cells below the grove–below the place that had so much begun to feel like home for you, finally. It hurts to realize you may die here having never told Halsin how you feel about him.

But perhaps it’s better this way. Perhaps it is better to die having never faced the awkward acknowledgement of feeling that could never be returned.

Halsin has always been effusive, warm, welcoming…brave.

But there is a reason you chose the fox for your wildshape.

You have always been furtive, timid, too reliant on a single person. It has always been your nature, but you can’t deny the fundamental absurdity of the fox falling for the bear. At best, you could only be an inconvenient pest to him. You’re sure of that much.

Still…you miss the sun…you wish you could see it one more time. You’d always wanted to die bathed in the sunlight, not cold and damp in a stone chamber flooded with three inches of water. You curl into yourself, hugging your knees close, trying to remember the feeling of those warm arms around you as the Rite of Thorns continues somewhere above ground, heedless of your pleas for stalling, uncaring of the courage you’d had to summon to stand up to Kagha at all.

Kagha had never cared much for you; found you weak and miserable.

Pathetic. That was the word you’d heard bandied around when she didn’t know you were within earshot or when you were cozily cloaked by your shadows.

“You should have just kept your mouth shut,” you tell yourself.

But even you don’t really believe that. Not truly. You found kindred spirits in the Teiflings who had come to find refuge in the grove. You’d even played with the children in their little hiding spot beneath the old stone structures.

When the goblins came screaming the name of the Absolute, when Halsin left to learn more about the parasites, you’d been shocked and frightened by the sudden turn of sentiments against them and gotten swept away in your own outrage over it. As far as you’d been concerned, everyone in the grove should have been well aware of what Halsin would have tolerated. They should have known that he’d want any living being to be safe and fed–especially the children.

But it’d seemed that even the Emerald Grove druids were merely people; they were just as vulnerable to intimidation, coercion and power hunger as anyone else in Faerun.

You shiver in the cold and the dank, wishing you could get some rest so that you could take your wildshape and find warmth in the silken texture of your auburn coat.

You think of the nights curled up by the fire in Halsin’s secret cache while he allowed you a smaller space to acclimate to when you’d first arrive. You remember the feeling of large, gentle hands cradling your small, vulpine body in comfort as you slept.

It’s at that moment that you hear the scuff of loud, fast foot fall on the decrepit stairs that lead down to this sodden prison. It’s followed by heavy, hurried sloshing before, as if out of thin air, Halsin stands before you. His hands are wrapped around the thick, stone bars of your enclosure so tightly that they are white at the knuckles. His broad chest rises and falls with exertion; or is that emotion? It is hard to know.

He looks…utterly stricken. So much so that you wonder what happened to devastate him. Did he get back to The Grove to find all of the tieflings slaughtered? Did the tieflings rise up and destroy the grove before the Rite of Thorns could be finished?

He opens his mouth and you expect terrible news–expect the worst.

“A-are you alright?” is what he chokes out instead.

You’re quiet for a moment; the question not making sense to you. Why in the world would he care if you were alright? You were…nobody. A druidic adept that found much more comfort tucked into a nest of blankets than anything else. You’d failed to stop the Rite. You’d failed at almost everything in your life so far.

Has he…is it too dark down here? Does he think he’s talking to someone else?

He grits his teeth and starts to wrestle with the door to your cell.

Its mechanism is like the others in the temple; controlled by a stone tablet which should be placed in the proper slot and then activated with druidic magic. But he’s trying to use his own raw strength to open it.

“Forgive me,” he grunts as the stone actually begins to give way, heeding his command. “I should have never left you here while The Grove was tangled in so much unrest. Had I thought the Kagha…had I known–”

“Archdruid,” you stammer. “You’re going to hurt yourself–”

“I care not,” he says, his tone taking on an almost ferocious quality that has you lifting your shoulders and shrinking into yourself. “It is you I am most concerned for. You had only just begun to smile and I– because of my negligence I find you entrapped all over again.”

Your mouth drops open as you realize that he actually came down here looking for you. Specifically to find you. To save you again.

You are small; practically half the size of the archdruid. Yet, you suddenly recognize that he is trying to free you and you are just sitting there like some kind of dead fish. You stand to your feet and hurry over to the bars, grasping two of the other juts of stone and pulling it as he pushes.

You’re not sure, but for a moment you think you see the barest ghost of a smile before his teeth clench again with effort.

When the door is finally forced open a few inches, you release the stone. You roll your shoulders, shake out the tension in your hands. You will yourself to become smaller, to become lithe. You will your mouth to grow sharp, unforgiving teeth. You become vulpine.

You slosh through the water on four padded feet and dash through the opening.

For a moment, you almost flee up the stairs, ready to retreat to the fresh salty air outside. Ready to resign yourself to life as a fox.

But Halsin drops to his knees and you look at him as he looks at you.

He reaches a hand out to you, and you see the faint, silvery scars on his forearm from where you tore into him on the day you met. You sniff at him for a moment, then you shift back to your human form, carefully cradling his arm in your hands.

“Did it get infected?” you ask. “After I gnawed at you?”

His brow is low and lips turn down at the corners.

“No,” he says.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “You shouldn’t have scarred…you should have been able to simply heal yourself.”

“I was able,” he says. “But I was unwilling. I…I didn’t want to forget.”

You look up at him. “Why?” you ask.

There is the sound of chaos from up the stairs. You turn your head, letting your ears tune into the finer details of it as the quiet ambience of the water dripping and sloshing around you obscures it. As your focus narrows, you hear her.

“She’s back,” Halsin sneers. “Kagha has finally returned.”

You look at him, your eyes wide as if you’re seeing him for the first time. The expression on his face is nothing short of raw, wild fury. He is the snarl of a wolf, he is the crackle of wildfire, he is the dark promise of death in a row of pointed teeth.

He draws his arm back, stopping to take both of your small hands in his. His expression softens. “I will tell all,” he says. “But not before I punish the one who did this to you. Not before I see justice properly served for all of the disarray and cruelty enacted in my absence.”

You try to find a way to answer, but you can’t, settling instead for a dumbfounded nod.

He stands and, once at his full height, shifts the position of his hand to cradle yours; offering you help, but also offering you the chance to help yourself. You grasp that hand and he tightens the muscles of his arms as you use his strength and stability to get yourself back up to your feet.

“I am loathe to leave you down in this terrible place…but if you’re too frightened to face her…” he offers.

“I’m not…” you say. “O-or at least I won’t be…not with you there.”

He graces you with the first real smile he’s given you since he suddenly appeared before you and you think you may no longer need the sun if he can continue looking at you just like that.

“Come,” he says. “I want you to be part of this discussion.”

You follow Halsin, dwarfed in his shadow as you ascend the craggy steps, your soft leather shoes uncomfortably soggy and embarrassingly loud as you go. It feels almost surreal to be acknowledged by Halsin. Even more strange that he remembers you–that he seemed to have come to seek you out before anything else.

There are more questions than answers immediately available, and you’re not sure you’ll have the nerve to ask those questions when all is said and done.

When Halsin reaches the top of the stairs, he stops and looks back at you, giving you a calm smile as you quicken the pace of your last few steps to catch up with you.

Now that you’re in better light, his brow faintly tenses and he reaches out for you. You go utterly still as he places two of his fingertips under the very tip of your chin, using the most minute bit of pressure to turn your face.

“You’re hurt,” he says. “I didn’t see it in the darkness of the cells.”

You’d forgotten about the injury on your face–it’s not one you’d actually gotten to see before you were imprisoned, but you’d felt it throbbing for the entire day you were there.

“It’s just a bruise,” you say.

He removes his hand from beneath your chin and draws those same finger tips carefully over the curve of your brow. You wince slightly as he touches the most tender part and shakes his head.

“There’s a split in your brow,” he says. “It will scar…”

You heave a little breathy chuckle. “Perhaps it will make me look more distinguished,” you say as you meet his hazel eyes. “You certainly wear them well.”

His heartbroken expression eases up and he shakes his head, hesitant amusement on his face. “If I wear them well, then you’ll be exquisite as ever with your own,” he says. “Still–that you were hurt because of my absence–”

“The fox was caught sticking it’s nose where it didn’t belong and was appropriately punished for it,” A familiar, haughty voice interrupts. “Don’t let the little bandit fill your head with untruths.”

Halsin takes your hand in his and pulls you slightly behind him as he also moves to block you from Kagha’s sight. It’s a protective measure, but he doesn’t force you to hide. Instead, it feels like he’s asserting his position as your protector–as the protector of any who are weaker than him–while allowing your agency to remain intact should you wish to take the lead.

“I don’t want to hear about your paranoia Kagha–I’ve heard enough of it to turn my stomach,” he says, that gravelly voice gaining an almost abrasive quality. “Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you out–or hand you over the shadow druids you’ve been cavorting with?”

You watch as Kagha goes pale and your stomach churns with a dizzying mixture of nausea and fear.

The shadow druids. The order of druidic magic that lay closest to the dark. The drow, the deep gnomes, Shar. Everything that represents the terror you’d once experienced crammed into a too-small cage.

How could she? How could she want to work with them?! And then to have a nerve to call you a fox in the hen house.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “I was only looking for a way to convince you that we needn’t go through with the ritee…”

“By snooping in places you DON'T belong,” Kagha says.

“Perhaps it is you who does not belong here,” you snap.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Halsin growls. “You do not deserve to remain here, yet it is Nature who will determine what becomes of you. One thing is certain: my teachings have clearly not made the difference here. You are to start anew—be made a novice once again.”

“You can’t do that—“ Kagha starts.

“I am the First Druid in this Grove and I will do whatever I see fit to protect the people who call this place their home!” Halsin booms. “Kagha, you failed me. You failed everyone who relied on you!”

“That fox is an outsider. Ever since you pulled it in by its scruff it has done nothing but consume priceless resources and shrink into the corner like a frightened rodent. If you so crave balance—“

“Enough!” Halsin barks. “I will hear no more of this.”

“But—“ Kagha says.

“I said enough. Get out of my sight before I lose hold of my humanity and tear you to shreds,” Halsin snarled.

He says it loudly and deeply enough that it echoes in the stone chamber. Even you flinch a bit at the sudden fury coming off of him. You can almost smell it coming off of him–the adrenaline, the willingness to fight and gnash at Kagha.

Kagha has the good sense to dip her head in deference.

“Understood, First Druid Halsin,” she says.

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Now. Apologize.”

Her head snaps up again and her gaze slides over to you, sharp as an arrowhead. The silence between you carries the same anticipatory nausea of waiting for a cobra to strike. You can sense quite well that Kagha may be properly chastened for her actions in the grove, but her opinion of you seems to remain the same.

Pathetic, you remember. That’s what you are to her.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just happy to be free again.”

“No,” he commands. “It is not fine. You did what was right and were punished for it. Kagha. Will. Apologize.”

Your heart stutters and pounds in your ears. You know Halsin means well. You know he is angry on your behalf, and that he wants to see you treated kindly, but you don’t like confrontation.You think that ferocity is meant to be directed to Kagha, but you’re not entirely sure. Flashes of terror and confusion climb out of the burial ground of your mind. Memories of a cramped cage, the smell of blood, the sound of pained mewling, angry shouting in a language you don’t understand and the pain of punishment when a command you didn’t understand was not followed.

You don’t want this display; you do not want to be the vehicle of this lesson. You don’t want to rock the boat unless the situation is absolutely dire; especially now that you’ve proven just how little efficacy you have when you insert yourself into the matters of people who do not like you or simply have more investment in their own interests than in the interests of the collective. It feels like a leg snare waiting to lock down on you and you’re not sure you can escape it this time.

The tension between Halsin and Kagha sings at a tenor that pierces your ears. Or is that your adrenaline? You’re not sure. Whatever it is, your muscles are sore and aching; wound tightly and ready to spring at the first sight of danger; the first sign of movement toward you.

Halsin spares a glance your way, perhaps sensing that growing tension. Your eyes dart up to his as your body starts to tremble, not with fear, but with the urge to act. You are a small, scrappy creature locked in a stand-off with a larger predator.

His expression softens, looking almost apologetic.

“Easy, little one,” he says as he reaches his hand out to touch you.

Your mind is more feral than human by then. Just before he can actually touch you, you drop into a crouch and dart away from him, your heart hammering painfully against your sternum like an animal backed in a cage. You feel that wild urge to scratch, to gnaw, to snarl.

His expression drops into one of worry, his guilt clear in his expression and in the way he bends at the knees, lowering himself and making himself small like one might when trying to calm an injured animal.

“You are safe, dear one,” he says. “You are safe.”

You don’t believe him. It doesn’t feel safe here, not anymore. Perhaps never again.

A sound comes from behind you and you lurch forward, losing your footing on your slick, damp boots, falling hard onto the palms of your hands before you get back up to your feet and fly through the old temple and scrambling out of the door.

You simply run, your mind a blur of colors and raw, terrible fear. You can’t even register and savor the feeling of the sun on your skin or the sweet, salty breeze coming off of the lower cove. You run, and run, and run until familiar sights bleed into unfamiliar ones; until the wound up tension in your muscles gives way to trembling exhaustion.

You don’t immediately recognize where you are, but you find a little alcove tucked into a glen of oak trees, their trunks fat with age and their canopies heavy with acorns and boughs full of leaves.

The sun shines through the eaves, coloring the long grasses in deep emeralds and dappled yellow light. You sit against one of the trees, feeling the steady presence of Sylvanus as you gulp in desperate, exhausted breaths, your heart still hammering loudly in your ears. You rest your head back against the tree and close your eyes for just a moment. You breathe, and then you breathe again. Distance from the grove gives you a moment to realize just what being in that place was doing to you.

The politics, the prejudice, the precarious balance between the available resources and the people who needed them most. You always do better on your own. There’s a reason the form of a fox comes to you most naturally; they aren’t pack animals. As it so happens, apparently, neither are you.

So why had you stayed so long?

The fear of being captured again, perhaps.

Or maybe it was the Teiflings–you’d found a little group of friends among them; enjoyed sharing a drink with Dammon once in a while.

But neither of those seem to ring true for you, in reality.

No, what really seems to be the reason is the other part of foxes that makes the most sense to you.

That they tend to find a mate, have a family, and remain with them for life.

A reality you’d spent the last several years trying to avoid. Because there was only really one person keeping you at the grove. And that person was Halsin.

He’s just…

He’s everything you wish you could be.

He’s everything you wish you could have.

But you can’t. Because at the end of the day you’re just some animal, fleeing the first offer of help and biting down on the hand that feeds you. There’s regret in this moment. Regret that you will never get to inquire about the expressions on Halsin’s face; about the reasons he came to free you so quickly.

But the regret gives way to exhaustion and as you soak in the speckled rays of sunlight, feeling truly warmed for the first time in days–perhaps even weeks–you drift into a dreamless sleep.

It’s the quiet sound of metal against wood that wakes you.

The manner in which you wake is not a lurch; not an abrupt burst of movement that feels like you’re gasping for air. It’s the slow, soft blinking of an afternoon nap becoming an evening laze. In breathe in through your nose, slow and deep, faintly aware of the feeling of soft fur against your bare feet.

You feel swaddled by warmth. Wrapped in the familiar scents of clove, moss and tobacco.

You finally open your eyes and find a fire crackling before you, hemmed in by stones half-darkened by clay, as if someone collected them recently to guard the oaks from the danger of an unkempt flame.

You don’t put it together at first that you’ve been moved; specifically that you’ve been laid down within a comfortable bedroll. That the smell infused into the furs is comforting because of the man sitting not even a few feet away; the source of the sound of metal against wood.

You crane your head up to find him. Halsin Silverbough quietly focused on a block of soft wood, whittling away at it. You just watch him for a few seconds, almost dazed that he’s here with you.

“Is this a dream?” You ask.

His knife slips a little clumsily, he hadn’t noticed you were awake. He drops his hands into his lap and turns his head to smile down at you.

“Do I often visit you in your dreams, dear heart?” he asks.

Hearing that gravelly timbre and that tender pet name sets your blood on fire. You feel a flush rising to your face and you can’t keep from bringing the covers up to hide the evidence. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he lets out a pleasant, easy laugh. The easiest you’ve heard him laugh in…well, ever.

“Forgive me for laughing,” he says, setting his little project aside. “You gave me quite a scare when you ran off like that. But I suppose I can’t blame you for reacting that way…I know how hard it is for you when tension is high. Forgive me for being inconsiderate of those feelings by making you the instrument of Kagha’s repentance.”

You’re quiet for a long time, unsure what to say. You finally settle for, “How far did I run?”

His brows rise a bit and he heaves out a bit of a grumbling breath as he thinks about it. “Hard for me to ever tell how long a distance is, but we’re somewhere near the goblin camp at that old temple of Selune,” he says. “Lucky for us that I cleared it with a group of adventurers today. Otherwise, I fear I would have made things much worse for you by tackling you down before you could get too close to their camp.”

You bite the inside of your lip, trying not to imagine your body tangling with his. Your face is red enough.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say, still beneath the covers. “I was so devastated when you didn’t come back from the goblin camp.”

“I’ve been worrying about you since I left,” he says. “I was…I wasn’t behaving calmly when I found you. I wasn’t acting in a way befitting a First Druid.”

“No one is above their own natural drives,” you say. “Anger is a natural reaction to disobedience.”

He looks at you, his brow creasing. “You think I was angry because Kagha disobeyed me?” he says.

“It’s as good a reason as any,” you say.

He inhales. Hesitates. Then inhales again before saying, “You asked me about the scars on my arm. Why I didn’t want to forget them.”

“Yes,” you say. “But then Kagha came back…”

“I know,” he says. “But I’d like to answer that question now. Now that I’m calm.”

There’s something in his gaze that feels heavy and significant. You slowly rise from your position tucked away in the bedroll, letting the furs fall away from you. You notice, now, that your damp boots have been placed on the other side of the fire to dry, along with your socks. A small act of care a lesser man may have never thought to do for you.

You turn to face Halsin and he turns to face you.

“When we found you…that day with the drow,” he says. “You…reminded me of something I went through as a young adept. A time in which I was kept as an unwilling guest in a drow lord’s estate. As time goes on, it’s easy to forget those things that have happened to me, or to minimize what I went through.

“In truth, I admired you. I admired how you snarled and gnashed at my hand when you were barely the size of my forearm. I admired the way you reached out for care when I housed you while you got back on your feet…for a while I feared that you were never going to heal. But then I realized that you were strong in a different way…in a way that I was not.”

“I’m not strong,” you say, shaking your head.

“You are,” he insists. “Strength is not only measured in brute force. It’s not measured in violence and demands and power. It’s in how you wake up every day, how you rise out of your bed and try to be better than the day before. What I experienced…I shoved it deep down inside of me until the pain was forgotten, but I watched you facing yours every day.”

You’re shocked to hear this, because in your recollection you struggled each day. In the beginning, you were frightened of everyone and everything, and the only thing that allowed you to function at all was the desire to be worth the effort Halsin made in saving you.

“Then…then I learned of you trying to stop the Rite of Thorns, and of you winding up imprisoned again in the very place you should have been safest,” he says, his anger a quiet undercurrent as he remembers newly. “I was so terrified that you would fully retreat back inside yourself, but then you stood and put your small hands on the stone door, snarling at your entrapments just as you were that day I met you.”

You remember his smile, a brief flash when you came to help.

“Am I still strong if I run away from the grove?” you ask.

“You wish to leave?” he asks.

“...I’ve realized, Halsin,” you say, your voice quivering. “I’m not well suited for the social hurdles involved with remaining with the druids…and that the only reason I’ve stayed is because…”

You swallow tightly, words lodging in your throat. Halsin is silent, ever patient as he waits for you to speak.

“Halsin, I have loved you for some time now, I think,” you say. “I know that I am young and that I can’t hope to compete with your past lovers or even the braver druids back at the grove. I know that you hardly have the time for romance, and that even if you did, you likely wouldn’t spend that precious time with me–”

“Hah…you sound so certain,” he says, his voice quiet and contemplative.

It’s your turn to be silent, now. You bring your gaze up to meet his again and he is smiling so gently at you. “The only reason,” he says finally, “the only reason that I have not invited you to my bed is that I didn’t want to cause you inadvertent harm by placing pressure on you that you wouldn’t have the resolve to deflect. I didn’t want to risk my position as the first druid making you feel as if you couldn’t say no to me.”

You blink, the world coming to a screeching halt around you.

Halsin…wants you? You?

You shake your head, feeling your face begin to blaze like you’ve come down with a fever.

“Well, I suppose it’s moot,” you say. “I can’t expect you to leave the Emerald Grove with me.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ve already left.”

“What?” you say.

“Did you think I packed a bedroll and a pack just to come retrieve you?” he says through a chuckle before he heaves out a rough sigh. “No, truth be told, my heart, I have long become disillusioned with my place among the druids in the grove and with you and the ache of old pains, I can no longer say that my heart is fully in it. The adventurers who released me…they are making their way to the shadowlands and I hope that if I join them, I can undo an old failure from a century ago. Finally heal the ache instead of simply avoiding it. I’m hoping that I can be more like you.”

You feel breathless for a moment, even more so when his eyes lock on yours.

“It will be frightening, my love,” he says. “The shadow curse makes the underdark look like a stroll after midnight. But if you still feel the way you’ve told me you do and if you can trust me to continue protecting you, I would have you in my tent with me greeting each day together.”

You don’t speak, not because you’re uncertain, but because you want to savor this moment.

Halsin loves you.

The bear has fallen for the fox.

And he wants you by his side.

It is the purest bliss you have ever felt. You think you could die happily in the shadow cursed lands if it is a sacrifice you make for him.

You will protect him.

And he will protect you.

“Dear heart,” Halsin says, his nerves coming through his voice. “You torture me by keeping me in suspense. Please know if you don’t wish for this you needn’t agree. I know what I ask of you is–”

“I’m going with you,” you say freeing him from the discomfort you’ve resided in for years. “Of course I’m going with you, Halsin.”

The smile he gives you is nothing short of miraculous.

“Nature blesses me with you,” he says. “Now come here, I need to enjoy you before I take you to meet the others. I have waited so very long for the opportunity, and I have until nightfall to make good on it, if you will have me.”

The image of your body tangled with his appears in your mind’s eye again. You rise to your feet and stride over to him, slipping your fingers into his wild hair. He cups the back of your thigh with a large hand before coaxing you to sit on his lap.

Where he kisses you for the very first time.

May the oak father bless you with countless others.

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honestsycrets · 8 months

Text

playing house | single parent au: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader

❛ pairing | mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader; single parents au

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love.

❛ tags | explicit, mechanic!miguel, first grade teacher!reader, some mention of hurt, heavy themes of voyeurism (both ways), single parents, unhygienic sxconditions, Spanish not translated, very domestic fic, f!reader, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❛ request fulfilled | Miguel is a single dad, Reader is his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and he is both very obviously crushing on her and very reluctant to say it. Fortunately, his daughter isn't! "Did you know my papi likes you?" Cue flustered Miguel. + BROOOO mechanic!miguel is hot please tell

❛ sy's notes | flashback to that one time a car fell on my tio. 😅

The job was a simple part replacement. A fizzled-out chunk of metal that would cost any single mother more in labor and puff costs at any mechanic shop. But not with Miguel, who was known around the barrio for his begrudging care. He’d do any job Lyla brought to him for any madre around who needed him.

He wrung his hands out on his stained top and lifted his head out of the hood of an old but faithful car. After a click and a lock, he turned his eyes toward the dusty cover. Syncopated beats trill from a radio ring background static that he’s long since zoned out to focus on his work. He wiped his forehead and looked at the trampled grass underneath a cheap plastic pool.

“Gabriella, bring me the manguera,” he called out to his little girl, who looked at the hose in her little pool bobbing with poppy bright toys. The older she got, the worse her loneliness became. Not due to any ill-doing of Miguel who always tried his best to be present. For some reason, Miguel couldn’t bring himself to date in anything but short bursts.

“Papi, look across the street. New neighbors!” Gabriella cooed delightfully. She splashed out of the pool with the long emerald green hose in hand, bobbing over on her long skinny legs. “It’s a girl. A pretty girl! And she’s looking right at you!”

Like that was a new occurrence. Miguel turned his hand over his sun-bright daughter’s short, sodden braids that whipped just over her shoulder. She stood in place, bouncing delightfully over newcomers. There were many viejitos in the cul-de-sac, but not enough kids.

“¿Y qué, mi vida?” he asked her. His hand shipped free from her hair. “She’s probably taking in the barrio.”

“I think she is! You!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder only to find your prying eyes eating him up from across the street. You speak to a pair of movers-- but your eyes slipped away from theirs, where he stood with his little girl. The hose dumped water onto the street. Water that he’d usually be extra concerned about wasting. Today, he was more interested in a game.

His dirty white t-shirt is matted to his back, soaked in the sweat of the day. He gripped the bottom of his t-shirt on either side and tugged it over his head. It pulls on his well-corded arms, protesting its release from his body. Miguel slipped it over his shoulder and proceeded to release bits of sweat from his thick hair. An adorable gasp fell free from your lips, replaced by your hand over your lush lips, snapping back to attention.

“You’re right, Gabi.”

He took the sputtering hose from her and cracked a begrudging smile. Gabriella waved eagerly-- and to his surprise, you waved back. If it wasn’t the hot sun beating down your face, it was the embarrassment on your face. You settled the sunglasses on the cute crook of your nose. With that, Gabriella helps him wash the car until her most hated part, drying it with old towels and bits of Miguel’s ripped old shirts.

“Hola!”

“Coño,” Miguel cursed in surprise, turning around to face you. In your hand was a clear plastic bag stuffed full of the filled corn husks, warmth steamed its sides. Miguel glanced down at the bag in your comparatively soft hands, drawing his sweaty shirt over his cut muscles to wipe away the sweat that slicked his dusky skin.

“I brought you and your lindita tamales.”

“Tamales!” Gabriella cooed, her hands cradling a limonada. They made it together, like clockwork every Sunday. “I love tamales!”

“Don’t old neighbors bring new one’s food?” Miguel bit out, a bit annoyed. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate food, it would save him countless bright-ass early meals dragging himself out of bed to make Gabriella something with school right around the corner. He’s annoyed at that star-bright smile you have whipped across your face. It stirred excitement he thought he killed a long time ago. “Or are you just a show-off?”

“I teach first grade at the school across the street,” you ignored his snark and looked none the more bothered by it. There’s some magic in a woman that didn’t feed into his shit. You provided Miguel with a name that felt familiar to all the orientation packets he received just this week. “Ya tú sabes, umm, at Carillo’s.”

Of course.

“That’s where I go!” Gabriella beams. “I’m Gabriella O’Hara and I’m going to be in first grade, right papi? This is my papi. His name is Miguel.”

Damn it all. Miguel slaps his sweaty shirt on the top of the car. You kneel down, offering her up the tamales instead of Miguel. He blinks through his sudden irritation, realizing that he’s fucked now. Gabriella grabs the plastic bag, giggling delightfully over them.

“Then maybe you’ll be in my class, Miss O’Hara.”

When he checks her orientation paperwork-- there it is. He suddenly felt the pressure of the ordeal, of the pretty next-door neighbor who wore flowy dresses and apparently, loved muscles. His eye darted out to the window, the movers zipping off in a whir of color, leaving you just there, spinning around in the driveway of your new home, nearly too sun-bright.

Maybe it’s tied to being a father, but Miguel notices little things you do. Some are ineffectual. Others are dangerous. You leave your bedroom window wide open as you change. Miguel sat outside on Gabriella’s swing on his second cup of coffee for the day when he noticed it for the first time.

You come in from your shower and scurry about your room nearly naked. Then, cupping your breasts between your hands, you whirled around for a set of underwear. From this far, he can’t quite make out the color. It might be red. Not a poppy red, but a deep, soothing red he recognizes from his dead wife’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t just change in the bathroom, but in any case, it was… dangerous. Any freak walking by could see you changing. Mimi’s room had very well-used blinds and yours did not. He turns his attention back to the newspaper on his lap. Nueva York stalker confesses to stabbing murder in five-year-old cold case. He scrunched his nose at the news and drank a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Sometime later, your front door swung open. Mimi busted through, a little girl with long black twists and black eyes that held a similar excitement for the weekend. It was her papi time. Gabriella doesn’t have that luxury, two homes full of warmth. Just one, with a papi who loved her more than life itself. Miguel hopes it’s enough. He left his newspaper on the bench as you settled her in the car, making his jog across the street.

“You should buy blinds,” Miguel said the second you shut the door. You jumped, your hand on the locket on your chest.

“Ay dios, it’s just you. You shouldn’t walk up on a woman like that, Miguel,” you laughed. “Especially not a single mother.”

“You’re painfully oblivious. Buy some blinds for your room. It isn’t safe.”

Dry as his tone was, it was laced with concern. If there was no one in your life to tell you what he thought was obvious, he would. “You saw me? How much did you... see?”

He responds with a dull stare, his gaze falling to the red strap of your bra that set slightly off-kilter along your slight shoulders. You sucked in a breath to calm yourself, your heart beating at a rapid pace behind your modest shirt. You reached up to hide the strap. A frown marred his contrite features.

“You look beautiful in red,” he found himself muttering, pushing off of the back of the car without another word. He beat himself up for that-- stupid, stupid response. Because of course you know you look gorgeous. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Gracias, papi,” you called after him.

He hoped he was not flung into the creep category after that winning display.

You bought blinds for your window and a swing for Mimi’s new, sturdy tree. Its long arms offer some reprieve from the heat, casting a shadow on the small house. It wasn't long before you spent days on heaps of homework from the kids and a glitter-bright pen to grade spelling tests.

It's nice to have a little bit of company as he works on cars and yard work, even if you watch him like a voyeur, blushing if he notices, gasping if he plays into this new little game. At some point, he voided his shirts altogether. It’s not long before Gabriella has a game of her own to play.

“Psst, Lyla. Vente, Lyla.”

Gabriella sits boredly in the shop after school. Sometimes in his office, other times in the shop during breaks. One of his technicians, Lyla, sat on an upside-down bucket by Miguel’s side as he worked on a car. This time, it was a stupid simple fix. The idiot ripped off their bumper parking too far on a curb. Lyla sat in gold coveralls, undoubtedly grinning behind that black mask slapped across her face. He didn’t need to look away from the clips he was applying to know they were both up to shit.

“Yeah?”

“Papi has a crush on my teacher. I think she could be my new mami. If--”

“Miguel has a crush?” His other tech, Peter chirped up with a hunk of sandwich in his fingertips. How was he always slacking off and eating? Miguel didn't know, but he was. “I can't believe it. He hasn’t had a crush since Tem--”

“I don’t have a crush,” Miguel responded. “Less scheming, more homework, kid. She told me you’re behind on schoolwork.”

She does so well on spelling tests, Miguel, you told him at parent-teacher conferences. But she never turns in homework.

Gabriella was not behind because she was stupid. She was behind because she was a stubborn little child who, Miguel knew, was trying to set him up. Lyla abandoned the bucket to walk over near Gabriella’s unicorn table, pulling out a microsized table and looking down at the stupid simple homework. Single-digit numbers were a painful waste of time to a kid who loved math.

“She’s single?”

“Yup,” Gabi chirped, scratching away at her coloring page with a fat purple crayon. “Mimi told me.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. I double-checked. And get this, she said she would come help me with homework.”

“Lyla.” Miguel shoved the opposite end of the bumper in place, securing it carefully. Lyla was bent down by Gabriella. So Papi has more time to see her! Gabriella whispered. He may not know what you’re saying, but he knows it’s bad by the way she looks at him. As though she were a cat might with a glass it was about to shatter on the floor. “You can go home now.”

His daughter doesn’t need any more of her devilish attributes.

“You fucked it alright, mujer. What did you hit?”

Miguel twisted a bit of the sidewall between his fingers to gauge the depth of the hole. Never mind that the back passenger wheel whistled away until it ran flat. It wasn’t the first time someone brought him a car that was fucked. It was the first time you had.

You never asked him for anything, not at the price of your pride. You simply… made it work. Just like Miguel made childcare work by leaving his shop to pick Gabriella up and leaving her bored as fuck every weekday until he could close up shop.

Today, Mimi and Gabriella were inside, playing with dolls after a warm dinner of arroz blanco and fatty pork chops. He wasn’t much a fan of your sickly sweet platano, but he tried it tonight after Gabriella hounded him. Don’t be rude, papi! He’s gotten used to coming home on Wednesday to dinner. It’s something that he realizes he’s missed: having someone to come home to.

“A pothole,” you murmured shyly. His forehead rippled into wrinkles, holding the chunk of broken-off rubber between his fingertips. He rubbed the exhaustion out of his dark eyes, minding the nervous twiddling of your fingers.

“A pothole,” he repeated after you. No matter how many times he considered it, it did not fit. His body was ripe with aggravated energy. He’s too tired for this. The shit he’d seen in his shop and you expected him to believe that you hit-- a pothole? “Qué mierda.”

Miguel set his hands on his hip, rolled on his heel, and stepped back to inspect his future work. His body thrummed, a tightness pulling with the sight of your shy smile. The truth tittered on your luscious little lips.

“I may or may not have hit those rocks by Doña Díaz’s casita.” One look around the street revealed the chunky, pointy rocks you referenced. Miguel flicked the bit of rubber onto the top of the car and looked at you. You were guilty as the day was long. “They weren’t that far off the curb before! I know that it’s bad. Do you think you could-- fix it?”

“You’re going to have to replace those two,” Miguel gestured. “What, did you not see the massive rocks on the side of the road? What were you doing? Eres una mama, you have to pay attention, por dios. You could have been hurt.”

Your eyes darted to the wheels. The nervousness was strong, nearly all-consuming, bidding you to shut up. Though it was a good question, the shame that flecked your eyes was enough to cause Miguel to move on. He knew you were likely inattentive, your mind hovering somewhere else than the quiet cul-de-sac.

“I… had a bad date, Miguel. I was upset and dizzy and… Don’t tell anyone, please.”

The pain of being a woman. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his large hand warm on your slight shoulder. A pulse of warmth rushed through his hand as you leaned in, your cheek plastered to his stained top. He smelled of oil and sweat, but somehow, you find it comforting. Your hands come over his back, tugging on the dark coveralls.

“It’s alright,” Miguel sighed. He'd tell you not to pick shit men-- but sometimes, as he knew, that didn't matter at all. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“I don’t have that much money, Miguel,” you began. “I have to take care of the kids, my house, Mimi. I…”

“No te preocupes. You can do something else for me.”

You drew in a small, choked breath. The type that settled in your chest and did not leave. Not until Miguel’s arms wound over your waist to soothe you through the pain and pressed a kiss that lasted entirely too long to the top of your head. It’s the first time he wants another.

“She is dating,” Peter said. “You know what that means? It means you’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one!”

"I'm not concerned about it."

The one, Miguel shook his head as he paced past the car he was propping up. He never heard anything more ludicrous. There was no such thing as the one. There was only a range of possibilities to pick from. At any point, life can happen. Then your one is gone-- and you’re left with only the memories and a body to bury. Still, as he clambered underneath the car, he found that he quite didn’t like the thought of you out with anyone else... especially not men who may or may not spike your drink.

“You should ask her to a date. Like, more than playing house with sticky kids and lasagna.”

“She’s never made me lasagna.”

Peter sloppily suckled on his fingers, the juice running down his thin wrists. “Then what was lunch?”

“Pastelón,” he answers bitterly. “It’s… plantain lasagna.”

“Okay, I thought you didn’t like--”

“I don't-- I eat it because she spends time on it.”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes wide. He’s about to say something terribly unuseful, something like how Miguel has it bad. Miguel knows he does, half-formed images of what a family could be every day he went to pick Gabriella up, homework done, and happily fed. A feat in itself.

In place of that, though, were the car’s melded, mechanical squeals. He has but a moment and a half-formed plan that goes up in smoke the next second that it falls on his arm. He hears Peter’s half-formed, panicked shout to Lyla and recalls the flurry of steps and medical attention sometime later.

Admittedly, he did tell you to be careful.

When he wakes up, so does everyone else. Lyla chastizes him with her hands balled up on her hips, Peter sobs almost twice as much as Gabriella does until the two are dead asleep against his bed. Miguel’s eyes have rolled way too far.

“Is he finally asleep?” you peep into his heavy hospital door with a ginger knock of your knuckles. Miguel throws a look at Peter’s squishy face, half slumped over.

“Hermosa, I thought he’d never stop,” he grumbled.

“You scared him.”

Tch. Miguel watched you pick up Gabriella, settling her on the stiff pull-out bed. He foggily asked you what time it was, close to the end of visiting hours. He’d need to arrange something for Gabi with Lyla taking care of the shop. It itched at his throat.

“Gabi too. Should I…”

“Take her home for me,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s just a broken arm.”

“You coughed up blood, Miggy. You could have died if Peter wasn’t there.”

Miggy. You finally used the nickname somewhere between Wednesday dinner dates and a car slumping on him. Miguel throws a growl to the side, using his non-fucked hand to pet the top of Peter’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you were right.

“What happens if… something happens to you?”

“With Gabi?” he asks.

"Sí. With everything."

You nod, looking idly at his little daughter, still in her school clothes. You brought her as soon as school was over, soothed the panic in her voice, the thought of becoming an orphan just because the car had cracked his arm. She wouldn’t have remembered her mother’s death, it was far too long ago now.

“Lyla. Why the face? If you’re jealous, know that was the agreement with my wife before she was murdered.”

You hadn’t known you were making a face, but you were to the trained eye. Some small pout of your lip, tears welling at the corner of your eyes. Miguel shoves himself up on the bed, straining sore muscles. It was going to be a long night. A longer month or two until he was up and running again.

“I’m not making a face. It's just... You were reckless when you're usually so careful. I'm wondering why. I'm sorry.”

"It's fine," Miguel urged you to come closer. "Come here."

You slid into his chair, tentatively sneaking your hand on top of his. Miguel wanted to tell you more. There was not another friend nearly so close, one that would take care of everything and anything he needed. He's suddenly aware of his situation. It would be difficult to make a woman secure that he'd not tied down yet. You clearly care-- based on the insecurity in your eyes.

You’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one.

He doesn't want to miss his shot. He brought your hand to his lips, straining with a pained little grunt. You stood up to help him, allowing his lips to flutter over the back of your hand in a small kiss at his urging.

“Trust me. She’s not a threat,” he said. “You’ll take Gabi with you?”

“Of course, Miggy. Anything you need.”

Securing a relationship would just have to wait.

The first day back, Miguel sent Gabriella off with Lyla. Mimi is off with her papa, leaving you with nothing but time. He finally saw his projects through without Peter loitering over his shoulder, revitalizing cars with bad radiators and fizzled-out air compressors. As if Peter was the boss and he were the employee. The grease under his fingers feels more like Miguel than any squeaky clean shower you’ve helped him take. Yes, you’ve helped him take. He could have asked Lyla or Peter, but why over-extend their lives when you lived in his home for the past month to take care of Gabriella anyway?

He wonders what you thought, stripping him down to nothing, seeing his naked thighs, watching him clean sensitive bits that, as you lied, you were not looking at. He finds it cute, the way you tried to look away, but of course-- you always snuck a look. You’re nosy by nature. He’s never been ashamed of his body, though. For all the work you did, he thinks you deserve a look.

“Miggy,” you slipped through the side door, your heels clicking over a greased-up floor. He hopes you don’t fall, arms deep in the hood of a shiny dark blue convertible. It’s nearly perfect. “I got your message. You said we need to talk?”

“Don’t slip.”

Miguel whirled a wrench into its place, slammed the hood shut, and rubbed the grease on his hands together. Like it will come off his callouses. Miguel meets you half way, offering you his greased up hand. You look down at his hand, then up to Miguel again. He half thinks you won’t take it, but you do, allowing him to whirl you in a spin before lifting you on top od the hood of the car.

“Ay Miggy--” you cursed, looking down at the car. It shone bright, its smooth metal cold under your bare thighs. He pins you in place as you attempt to wiggle off, nearly jiggling your way onto his lap. “The owner will be mad--”

“It’s mine and I’m not.” He explains. “I know what I want.”

“You want…?”

“For the work on your car.” It’s cute how clueless you act, holding your breath as his fingers course past your bare thighs. You barely manage to choke the words out, your hands inching on his. He replaces himself between your thighs. You both know that you more than made up for the few hundred dollars in repairs with the work you’d done for him in a month. Holding your breath, you nod.

“Tell me.”

“I want a night with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, leaning your trembling fingers up to the bits of dark brown hair that accentuated the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. You met his eyes, trained on your own, challenging you to respond. Words formed in a mishmash of nonsense on your tongue. You take the chance to press your lips on his, your hand suddenly cradling the side of his face for some stability. You were hardly comfortable on his car, but Miguel didn’t seem to care, biding your lower lip to open and let him in. You relinquish, savoring the distant taste of roasted coffee on his tongue, his fingers teasing along your thighs.

“That’s not an answer,” Miguel pulled back from your lips for an instant. He graces your neck with soft kisses, leaving the occasional bite and tug just in case-- he doesn’t need another man thinking he has so much as a chance. Your big man pins you down onto the car like you were weightless, any willingness to inch away tempered by his mass.

“Depends,” you answered. “I want this to be an every night kind of thing.”

“Consider it a trade.” He chuckled against your neck, the heat from his lips traveled across the valley of your breasts. You complied with his desire and let him slip your breasts free from your romper. His mouth closed his mouth over your nipple. His greasy hands melded your breasts between his desperate hands, tongue prodding your nipple fat. Your legs met his hungry performance by pulling him forward, his scratchy belt against your clothed cunt.

“Careful,” he teased. His hand fell to his bulge, unbuttoning his stained pants. You watched him pull himself free, pulling panties and romper alike to the side of your lips. Your lips parted, much like that very first day you met him, sundered by the sight of his cock. This time, fully hard. He doesn’t enter your cunt-- no, he’s patient, slotting himself between your folds for a teasing grind. His dick twitched in response, eager to finally fuck you. “You’ll fall off.”

“It’s your fault. You could have asked over dinner.” He greets your complaint with a nod, flicking your other breast. He envelops the other nipple between his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. You take a long breath, hips leaning up against his firm length.

“Like that would be anything new. We always have dinner,” Miguel murmured in protest. “A far better use of our time is soaking your pretty cunt with my cum on this car before dinner.”

He felt your cunt clench at nothing. His hips, thrusting against your mound, nudged over your wet little folds, knocked against your greedy clit. Before you could respond, Miguel popped off your nipple again, “You like that thought? Going to dinner leaking?”

“Miggy, por dios,” you complained. “Stop dry humping and give it to me.”

He huffed darkly, snatching one of your thighs and leaning back. He spreads your lips, inspecting his work. You were wet, but not just wet, soaking his car. Miguel brought his other palm to wipe your wetness away, jerking himself with the fluid. He tests your reaction by nudging the head of his cock against your unprepared hole.

“Miguel,” you bit out, this time a warning.

“Ya te oigo,” Miguel loomed over you, pinning your shoulder back to his glistening car. You don’t debate him on that, allowing him to say whatever he wants if it would just get him inside. Miguel relinquishes control, pushing inside of your tightness. He bit back a groan, pushing past your body’s resistance, throbbing against your core. Your hands fisted his dirty shirt, cunt split wide on his cock, and glad for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands securing themselves on your hips. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls nearly free, slamming forth just a moment later. Breath punched out of your throat, his cock rocking your cunt nice and full. You loved this-- looking beautiful and full just for him. He knew it too, “Hermosa.”

Miguel held his arm tight around your thigh, holding you flush against his rutting hips. His balls slapped your ass, pulling tight. You were distantly aware of his thumb at your clit, leaning your hips into his thrusts the best you could. You could only squirm to keep yourself upright on his car despite feeling your body sliding into his. His thumb worked in insistent, tight circles, forcing the pleasure to burrow in your low belly, tightening over him. It’s no marker of your performance, you think, hoping he’d give you another chance to be anything but a toy on his cock.

“No, no puedo--” you whined, your hands dipping under his shirt to scratch at his finely cut muscles, knowing you were about to gush.

“Do it,” Miguel grunts in response, his thumb more insistent. You’re not entirely proud of the way you came, creaming his cock desperately. He held strong, smothering his own groans if only for the pleasure of hearing your passionate cries. You come to moments after, Miguel’s thrusts now intent on his own pleasure.

“Come on, papi,” you worshipped. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” Miguel complied, his dirty nails causing sharp indentions on your thigh and hip. His sticky cum fills you in a few deep thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and he’s spent. If he was dirty before, he was filthy now. Miguel catches your lips in a lingering kiss, going soft in your body. He knew the second he pulled out your cum was soaking his now-dented car.

His eyes peeled open to find your gaze on him, tracing fresh superficial scratches on his belly. Of course, you are-- you’re a hungry addict. Miguel pulled himself free and looked for a cloth that wasn’t grease soaked to clean your cunt with. You piece yourself together and slide off his car.

“Let’s go.”

“¿Qué?” he zips himself back into his pants.

“You promised me dinner.”

He sighs-- just as long as it wasn’t lasagna.

There’s something attractive about your love of children.

He thinks it’s likely because he’s never had that himself. His mother was a beast of a woman. Never affectionate. At least, not with him. After his wife’s subsequent death, life proceeded in a vacuum. The years passed: first one. Then six. Then he was here, holding a bundle of jewel-bright roses against an uncharacteristically clean button-up, walking down the dull blue carpet of the beige hallway to the pod that usually held the kids. For all the days you tolerated him smeared and slathered, you deserved a good display.

They were usually alight with noise, rambling on about their latest toy or prattling on about a mommy that Gabriella just did not have. The more she grew, the more important it became to have that for her-- maybe it was more for himself. Today, that hall was dead of life.

“Gabi, I hear your papi,” you called from somewhere inside. He hears her subsequent pitter-patter of feet across the carpet, popping out with Mimi from the door before he can open it. Miguel cocked his head, a sigh working on his lips. They whirled the door shut. Gabi bolted to your would-be desk and slapped her tanned palms on the tabletop.

“Maestra, maestra!”

Ah, damn it all. Miguel’s hand hovers around the knob, chewing on the next thought. He couldn’t really blame the kid for what she was about to say, because he knew exactly what she was about to do.

“¿Mande?”

“I have something to tell you, it’s really important. Papi likes you, did you know my papi really, really likes you?”

There’s a pause. Then a slight, amused giggle from Mimi. It’s short-lived as he pulls open the door, loathing this dumb thing called Teacher’s Week that leaves him with a bundle of flowers and instant regret.

“Sí, Gabriella. I know he does. I like him too. He’s so cute.”

If he weren’t so dark, he’d worry about the flush in his face with the embarrassment of being outed by his little girl. He stares at your hands on Gabriella’s, then at the small sea of desks and colorful name tags to break some of the tension, hardening his face to shield it from the embarrassment. Was he really so obvious?

“Hola Miggy.”

You scoot out of your chair.

“Hola,” he sighs, remembering he was holding flowers. He slides them into your hands, hooking his hands on his slender hips. “This is… Gabi wanted to give you flowers.”

“I never said that,” she chirped, bouncing his way. “You said--”

“Gabriella.” Miguel hisses, his tone sharp at her interjection. She goes dead silent by Mimi's side, staring up at him with watery eyes. He jerks his head in the direction of the quartet of desks she sits at. “Go get your things.”

“I think Papi is embarrassed,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her little back, soothing down her milky white top. “I’ll talk to him and make it better, okay? Go with Mimi.”

“Okay.”

Mimi bounded off behind Gabi, stuffing her bag with her colorful work and chunky crayons. Miguel exhaled air, staring at her powdery blue backpack for something other than the complete and utter embarrassment that yet someone else had called him out. If it wasn't Peter, it was his daughter.

Had he been this obvious the whole time?

“Don’t be too hard on her tonight,” He peered down at you, small in the grand scheme of his height and musculature. You pecked a small kiss on his lips, stroking his week-old stubble, just enough to cool Miguel’s teetering nerves. “It’ll be better when she finds out.”

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel fic #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse imagine #across the spiderverse fic #spider 2099 x reader

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lunargrapejuice · 6 months

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alhaitham x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, anal fingering, double penetrating, squirting, touching yourself, cream pie, praise kink, over stimulation, cum play, oh my goodness i think that’s it haha not proof read i wrote this at 1am i don't know what came over me

“‘haitham, w-wait,” you’re breathless, body still shaking from your orgasm mere moments ago but that doesn’t stop alhaitham from rolling hips into you slow and deep, fucking his own release into you. still so very hard and not nearly satisfied yet. “‘s too much.”

“you can take it,” alhaitham coos, soothes the fat crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks, now smearing against the pillow under your head as he moves you to your side.

once he’s sure you’re settled comfortably there, one of your legs underneath him and the other draped over his hip, his cock still buried deep inside your velvety walls, he leans down with his strong arms holding him above you, folding your leg in your side, breath hot on the space below your ear.

alhaitham hair tickles you as he kitten licks your supple skin before placing a kiss below your ear as he sinks deeper into you, his voice hot and thick in your ear.

“just like that,” he groans as you take every inch of his impressive length. “you’re taking me so well sweetheart.”

“so deep,” you whimper, twisting your neck so you can see his seafoam and amber eyes full of love and lust, have him kiss your lips. when he does, he feels your squeeze around him and he swallows every little noise you give him with the picking up of his pace, the slapping of skin and lewd noises of your ever growing essence mixed with his plentiful cum.

he feels it with every sticky slap and it only fuels his insatiable need for you. it has only ever been you and he needs every bit you.

with slowing thrusts he sits up, so easily moving your body as he pleases. first he spreads your legs wide, one hand wrapped around your ankle, dainty and trembling in his hold. long, calloused fingers collect your mix of arousal on his fingers, your sensitive pussy squeezing around him with the added sensation.

your body is on fire, every nerve tingling and aware of your beloved's touch and the way he was devouring you with his eyes. when his fingers are covered and wet, he brings your leg down and rests it over his muscular thigh, giving him a perfect view of your ass. his fingers move there along with his gaze, sticky fingers caress your other hole, circling around the sensitive skin.

“oh - fuck,” you curse, eyes and mind hazy, the heat between your legs sparking and bringing you to another level with alhaitham inserts one finger into you tight ass, slow and gentle, respondent to how your body reacts and takes him even when he was losing himself to how fucking amazing you feel like this.

all of you is so greedy for him, pulling him in deeper until you could feel him your guts, his finger curling lightly, feeling himself through your thin walls. he still takes it slow, almost painfully so when he pulls his finger from your ass all the way to the first knuckle, his cock following and you swear you’re going to die at the emptiness but it’s only a moment before they both are buried in your warmths again.

you can’t think, can’t barely breathe, can’t control the whimpers and moans from spilling past your lips or the cries of his names that only grow in amount and volume with him repeating this motion until he falls out of sync, filling one of your holes but leaving the other but at other times giving you both, massaging you deep with his finger while his leaking tip repeatedly hits that spot within you that had you seeing stars like sparkling emerald shards behind your eyes.

“touch yourself angel,” he instructs and ever his good girl, you do as he says, your weak fingers traveling between your legs to your clit, familiar but so different for when alhaitham touches you here.

but you still try to mimic his rousing motions, circling around and pressing into the hard bud in time with his thrusts. your fingers are quickly soaked by your fluids and grow even more drenched when you can’t help the clear liquid that slowly leaks from you.

“fuck.. that’s it,” he groans through clenched teeth. “my pretty girl.”

alhaitham feels it too, on the cusp of having you pulsating around his cock and fingers and squirting intensely but not quite moving at a pace that would allow you too. the space where you’re connected, the sheets underneath you, is so unbelievably wet. your legs are shaking, your face half buried into the pillows to hide the sounds you can’t control.

you’re not gonna last like this. you can’t when the pressure between your legs is too much, you’re crying from how utterly wonderful and overwhelming it feels and you’re begging for it when he adds another finger into your ass, deep and feeling every inch of you as he thrusts into your pussy again and again.

“‘h-’haitham! please!”

he’s not faring much better, beads of sweat traveling down the length of his spine and his temples. balls heavy and slamming into the mess you’ve both made. and when you’re begging like this, pretty and like you need it, when he’s this close from spilling into you again, he can’t deny you.

alhaithams other hand lifts up your leg so he can get even deeper inside of you, allowing you to rub your clit better but it was so hard to do when you like a waterfall that would soon be taken over by the rapids building behind it. and it didn’t matter anyways with how quickly it comes to you, having you screaming at the messy thrusts into your holes until he’s spilling ropes of cum inside you, fingerings slowing in the tightness of your ass and he moans your name, deep and sinful, as you feel his heavy cock twitching inside of your flutter walls.

✿✿✿✿

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#alhaitham #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #al haitham smut #🌙moonlight.stories

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blondwhowrites · 1 month

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A/N: here you go, loves, a little prequel story from my last blurb <3

You stood in the middle of the pitch-black hallway. You held up your wand. "Lumos," you whispered, and the tip of your wand began to glow faintly enough to light the way through the deserted halls of Hogwarts.

You began your journey to the library, just itching to find the one book you had been looking for. That's when you heard the sound of paws hitting the floor behind you. You turned around expecting the familiar cat, Mrs. Norris, but instead a Dobermann sat infront of you.

The dog furiously wagged it tail and it stood up walking towards you. It was big probably bigger then a dobermann should be, and it's eyes where a shade of emerald green.

You would be concerned, but the dog certainly seemed friendly. You had never seen it before, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was Hagrid. You shrugged. It very well could be a stray that had somehow wandered into the castle.

You kneeled down, and let the dog come to you. You cooed, reaching out your hand to pet the adorable animal. "Aren't you a handsome boy?" you giggled, watching the dog wag its tail and happily accept your affection. The dog nuzzled its head against your hands, no doubt asking for more love. You happily obliged.

By the end of the night, you had accepted your new companion. The dog followed you around to the library and back to the Hufflepuff common room entrance.

"I'm afraid this is where we must part ways, bubs," you whispered, kneeling down once again to bid the dog goodbye.

The dog whined, and you felt your heart ache at how cute it was. "I know I'm sorry," you cooed, patting it's head lovingly.

You pressed a kiss on its head and stood up. You pressed the wand against the wall, tapping it in the familiar rhythm, and before you knew it, the Hufflepuff entrance appeared before you. You said one finally goodbye to the dog and disappeared into the common room.

The dog watched as you disappeared into the common room, and it tilted its head. The dog vanished in an instant, and Mattheo Riddle took its place.

"Well, that went well," he whispered to himself, his lips curling into a lazy smirk.

Taglist: @iluvjules @eddiesleftsock @ultramarinetovelvet

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #harry potter #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle blurb 🐍

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verdanturfwind · 5 months

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help

#emerald coos

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sttoru · 10 months

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THE MORNING AFTER

༄ sypnosis. you wake up to your husband cooking breakfast, though it’s quickly left burning when your hubby decides to give you some ‘morning affection’.

༄ note. my first ever fic on this new account :< i forgot how to write after a while of not writing so bear with me, please.

༄ tags. husband!toji x wife!reader. female reader. very suggestive/nsfw i guess but no real action?. use of nicknames such as pretty, doll.

it was a peaceful saturday morning and the sun streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across your bedroom. you instantly notice the delicious aroma of breakfast in the air once you fully regained your consciousness.

“toji?” your husband’s name is always the first thing that leaves your lips in the early mornings and the last thing you utter before you go to bed.

sometimes his voice greets you back, at other times the deafening silence does instead. you turn your head towards his side of the bed and—as expected—the space was empty.

“ugh,” a groan escapes your lips as you reluctantly stand up to find out where the smell came from. realising that you were still pretty much naked from the night before, you lazily decide to just wrap a blanket around your body.

you follow the enticing smell that lingered throughout your entire apartment which was at its strongest once you arrived at the kitchen. to your great surprise, you find your husband standing by the stove, cooking breakfast.

toji was in only his boxers which left the rest of his body exposed to your view. his back was facing you, giving you a proper look at the multiple red scratch marks on his skin.

probably from the previous night.

“god.. damn.” the words slipped out of your mouth before you even realised. how could they not, when you’ve been greeted with such a mouth-watering view in the kitchen—excluding the actual food toji’s been cooking.

a low and almost groggy chuckle escaped your husband’s throat at your choice of words this morning.

toji didn’t turn around to face you, yet you knew him well enough to guess the expression he had; a smug one. one that beamed of confidence and cockiness.

“mornin’.” the dark haired man eventually spoke, flipping the gold brown pancake on the other side before turning around to greet you.

toji’s eyes immediately wandered all over your body. even though the blanket hid most of your skin, it most definitely did accentuate your figure.

“my eyes are up here, toji.” you chuckle softly, though that cheeky comment only gained a small knowing ‘mhm,’ from your husband. toji didn’t avert his eyes once. he was shameless; that much even he can admit.

“c’mere, pretty.” toji murmurs, his voice almost a low purr as he reaches out for you.

your husband wasted absolutely no time into putting his hands on your waist. he pressed his body against yours while placing his lips on the bare skin of your shoulders.

“look at you,” toji coos as his calloused hands rub up and down your sides ever so gently, “you’re even more irresistible when you’re all sleepy-eyed like this.”

these types of mornings were rare since toji usually leaves early to take care of another job. not that you were complaining about this— it was better than to wake up in an empty home where your only company was yourself.

“oh stop it, honey. i always look awful in the morning.”

that got you a gentle flick against your forehead. “tsk tsk, don’t ya say that about my favourite girl.” toji scolds you playfully while leaving soft kisses all over your shoulder.

toji could never get enough of this and he never wants to. your smell, your presence, your warmth, your body— you were made to be held like this. to be held and loved by him.

his emerald green eyes look down at the top of your head. even without seeing your face (since you never miss upon the opportunity of burying it against his chest whenever you hug), toji could tell that you were smiling.

“look at me, doll.” toji’s voice was hushed as he spoke.

you did as told and lifted your head up, looking up into toji’s eyes. his hand immediately found its way onto your cheek and his thumb gently rubbed over the skin.

“good girl.”

toji leaned in to press a deep kiss on your parted lips. it was a quick yet firm one— one that left you craving for more. your husband has always had that effect on you.

the two of you slightly pull back, however you were still close enough to feel your lips brush against one another with each small movement.

“c’mon. give me one more.” toji mutters under his breath. you hadn’t even had the chance to react to that request before you felt his lips crash against yours again.

his hands slowly moved across the blanket you had wrapped around your body, trying to find any gaps in the fabric to make their way beneath it.

“mm, cold.” you mumble against toji’s lips once his hands successfully found a way underneath the blanket.

toji only smirked in response and let his rough hands explore every inch of exposed skin he could touch beneath the barrier of fabric. his fingers teased you all over; going from slightly brushing against the swell of your breasts to playing with the plump flesh of your ass.

toji didn’t touch any of your sensitive spots. after all, he loves teasing you to the point that you beg him for it with that pretty voice of yours.

you swallow your own saliva, slightly pulling back from his lips with a flustered expression on your face. “h- honey,” any further words were interrupted by a quiet “shh,” from him.

“no need for words,” toji whispers against your lips before moving them away to leave small and ticklish kisses against your neck, “just focus on me, yeah?”

you could feel his tongue glide against a small spot on your skin before toji sucked on it slightly. he could feel you shiver in his arms from the feeling and that’s exactly the reaction he needed.

before your brain could register it, your husband picked you up effortlessly and placed you on the kitchen counter. he stood between your legs and his hands moved to hold onto your bare thighs.

toji pulled back a bit just to be able to see you sit there in front of him, caged between him and the kitchen wall. the way you bit your lip ever so slightly and the way the thin blanket barely covered anything of your body anymore—

god, you knew just how to drive him absolutely wild and he loved it.

“you knew damn well this’d happen,” toji whispers in a low tone. his sultry voice sent a shiver down your spine, “walkin’ in here with only a blanket covering your body, huh?”

a deep grunt left toji’s throat once he felt your fingertips run over the scratch marks on his back that you had left the night before. it was like you were silently teasing him as well.

toji let his lips wander all over the skin of your neck before going back to kiss your soft lips once again. this time he let his tongue mingle with yours, letting your salivas mix.

this went on for quite a while before your husband finally pulled back to catch his breath. your lips were covered in his saliva, causing them to glimmer underneath the sunlight seeping into the kitchen.

the sight was one that could get any man hard and your husband was no exception. you could see it in his half-lidded eyes; the obvious lust and desire.

it was also then that you snapped back to reality. the smell of something burning filled your nostrils. you cock your head to the right and see the pancakes burning on the pan.

“ah, crap.” you curse and try to reach out for the knobs to turn the stove off.

toji’s fingers quickly wrapped around your wrist and restrained you from doing so. he guided your hand back to its place on his shoulder.

“told ya to focus on me, doll.”

you look at the burnt pancake and then back to your husband, “b-but.. the food.”

toji chuckles at your innocent remark. in his opinion, that should be the last of your worries at the moment.

“that ain’t stoppin’ me from getting my breakfast,” he replies while he squeezes the flesh of your thighs gently with both hands,

“now. spread your legs f’me.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #toji smut #toji x you

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wettvagina · 4 months

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RIDE IT LIKE A RODEO [collegeau!eren yeagerxreader]

warnings: p in v , creampie , softdom!eren

"Erennn" your honeyed voice cooed, "Huh? Oh hi." you observed how the tall, brunette stiffened, his green emerald eyes boring holes into your own pupils, you walked up to him, your pink bag slung around one shoulder, you watched how Eren eyed you, stopping at the jot of skin which was exposed from your tight, bubble-gum pink spaghetti strapped top, which stopped right below your navel, paired with some black shorts.

"I was absent last class, mind sending me the notes?" you chirped, walking at his side as you both journeyed to your history class. "I-I know, but we had a free class." Eren informed you, a tint of blush forming on his face. "Oh, alright. You comin' to my party tonight?" you enquired with a calm smile, watching Eren's face from the corner of your eye.

Eren noticed how your figure had slowed into a halt, stopping alongside you, you grabbed at Eren's forearm, "Can you come, please? I wanna show you something." you say with a seductive smirk, you found it funny how his entire face turned red, even after you had fucked him so many times, you lost count. He always acted somewhat shy around you, you thought that when you first met him that he'd break out of this caged up persona he sported around you, but that was yet to come.

"I'll be there." he sighed, earning a small smile from you, "Oh and, don't bother bringing any condoms." you whisper to him, smiling before walking ahead of him, leaving him flushed and stationary.

Eren had came before the party even started, you were a bit worried about the party, wondering how anyone would even engage in the party if the host wasn't present. You texted Sasha, Connie and Jean, telling them to handle everything, of course you didn't want your party to flop just because you wanted some dick.

Hearing the boom of speakers downstairs, Sasha texted you, informing you that everything was ready and that they'd take over, you smiled to your phone before placing it on your side table.

"You're early." you say to Eren who looked around your room like if he hasn't been in it atleast six times already. "Sorry, I was just..eager to see you." Eren confesses, his deep sultry voice echoing in your head. Woah, this is different, usually he'd stammer out a mess of a sentence.

"Really?" you walk up to him, pressed your hands against his toned abs, sliding them down his waistband, grabbing at his fully erected cock, hidden in his sweatpants. "You weren't lyin'" you say with a smirk, you watch how his face contorted into a look of lust as you massaged his throbbing cock.

"So fuckin' hard, I want you to come inside me tonight." you whisper, dirty talking him, you pulled your hands out of his pants, draping them around his neck and pulling him into a sweet kiss, tasting the mint on his soft lips as he grabbed at the fat of your ass, fingers massaging your clothed clit from the back, causing you to moan into his mouth.

You parted your lips, giving Eren's tongue permission to explore your mouth, Eren groaned into your mouth, and you felt your panties dampening. "Wanna fuck you so bad." you mewl, "Yeah?" he asks with a smirk, "How bad?" he asks. With an incorporeal click, you feel the tension grow and the roles switch, and it just made you wetter.

"So fuckin' bad." you moaned, "Get on the bed." his firm voice instructed, you followed his directions, taking off your shirt as you strutted to your bed, leaving you in only your bra. You sat on the edge of your bed, Eren's crotch in your face, but you managed to look up at him, smelling a woft of his cologne.

His hand lowers to caress the side of your face, he looks down at you, as you look up at him, his eyes never leave yours as his large hands trace down to your shoulder, gripping it as a small smirk forms on his face. With a vehement push, your back meets your sheets and you watch as Eren crawls above you, knees digging into your mattress while his hand grips onto the sheets near the side of your face.

He leans in to kiss you, savouring your lips in a slow, sweet kiss. He feels your hands cradle his face, as you deepen the kiss, Eren feels his dick fully press onto the cloth of his pants. You immediately notice Eren's absence when he rolls over to the side, back leaning against the headboard of your bed, "Ride me, ma?" he asks, hand woven into yours.

You climb onto his lap, ass pressing against the bulge in his pants, and you hear him gasp before you connect your lips to his oncemore, your vacant hand reaches between your legs, rubbing at your clothed clit, causing you to moan into Eren's mouth.

Eren grips onto the fat of your ass, lips still moving on yours, he feels your hand slip beneath the wasitband of his sweats, grabbing his dick while nudging the fabric down. You push your panties to the side, lining his dick to your hole.

The reddened, meaty tip prods at your enterance before you slip it in, earning a loud groan from Eren as your pussy walls squeeze down on him, "S-So fuckin' tight." Eren says breathlessly, breaking out of the kiss, you immediately bounce on his lengthy cock, his breath hitches as the skin of your ass slaps against his pelvis, Eren wraps his hand around your back, burying his warm face into the crook of your neck as you ride him.

You hear him whisper curses into your ear as you grind on him, feeling your pussy clench around him, "Fuck, 'm gonna come." you mutter, "I-I might too." he mumbles into your ear, "Fuck!" you wail when you feel him thrust up into you.

"You like that?" he asks, "Y-Yeah, keep doing it." you immediately respond, he continues to jut his hips upwards into your welcoming pussy, hearing the creamy sounds of the essence of your arousal mixing with his pre come.

"S-Shit!" you curse when you feel his dick harden inside of you, and as Eren is coming he feels your pussy clamp down onto him, you cream all over his cock as he's coming inside of you, painting your walls white. You both pant as he rubs his large palms up and down your back.

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tojisun · 11 months

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hot to the touch

toji x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; clothed lap riding; begging; so much praises because praise kink goes hard; slight dacryphilia; soft dom toji; fingering; no actual penetration though sorry about that teehee // 1.6k words

: i was daydreaming this multiple times until i caved and wrote it hhshs hope you guys would like it <33; title from west coast - lana // shortest taglist: @whats-belay <3

you squeeze your legs close again, catching your bottom lip between your teeth, pretending that the lack of space between you and toji isn’t doing anything to you. you rub your thighs against each other, breath hitching when the action puts pressure at your throbbing heat.

rumbling groans reverberate from the space beside you and you startle, your heart leaping into your throat, lodging itself there. your shoulders tense, realizing that you have been caught, and slowly, as if it could stop the hammering of your heart, you turn to look at toji.

you catch his burning gaze – emerald eyes hooded with palpable desire – and you gasp, your lungs tightening.

bathed in the dim lights of the flickering television, with his hair creating shadows just above his sharp jaw, toji has never looked more dangerous.

he has never looked more hungry.

“c’mere,” toji murmurs, his voice echoing like a growl, his body twisting to reach for you before plucking you from your seat beside him and dropping you to his lap.

your chest meets his, and you stumble, untethered, your fists clenching at his shirt to balance yourself. it didn’t do much, not when toji caught you, his hands finding purchase on your hips.

your eyelashes flutter as you look at toji, studying the man under you. toji’s face is flushed, his eyes hazy. drunken.

“y’r so fucking horny f’r no reason, huh?” he asks, almost a little meanly.

toji sees the way your eyes glazed over, your fingers twitching from where they were curled at his shirt. his eyes zone in one the way your parted legs widen, your knees locking on either side of toji, soft skin going taut in tension.

he grins.

you whimper, breathless, feeling toji’s thumbs rub aimless circles on your sides. toji lifts himself a little bit, adjusting you two, before dropping you closer to the tent in his jeans. your breath hitches as you feel your clothed cunt meet toji’s hard-on.

“oh,” you mumble, startling at the contact.

toji dips his head low, his lips ghosting over your ear. “kept seeing the way you looked at me; the way you closed y’r legs every time i reached over. c’mon, there’s no need to be shy. rub y’rself on me.”

your brows furrow, your lips pursing. “but…” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “it won’t feel as good for you.”

toji pauses, his eyes going wide, before a booming laugh creeps from his throat. “oh darlin’,” he coos. “aren’t you a cutie?”

you pout, feeling lost, and toji just croons a little more.

“what?” you bite out.

“hush, you,” toji murmurs, his hands leaving your hips to caress your back, the action instantly relaxing you, and toji smiles, satisfied. “it’s not about giving me direct pleasure, kid.”

you tilt your head, confused. toji shakes his head at you, his eyes crinkling with so much fondness.

“the purpose of you rubbing y’rself on me is to make you feel good.” he pauses. “and it’s funny how you think i wouldn’t feel good seeing you using me for y’r pleasure.”

you choke, coughing a little as toji chuckles, having too much fun at seeing you flustered.

“see,” he says, cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin just under your eyes. “when you react so cutely, how can i not have fun?”

you hum, lips still jutted out, before you press forward to kiss his lips. you feel toji smile in the kiss, his hold going tight for a second, as he slots his lips with yours to deepen the kiss.

slowly, hesitantly, you roll your lips, your clothed core sliding against toji’s tented jeans. a purr slips from toji’s lips, his tongue swiping along yours, engulfing you whole.

your hands settle on toji’s stomach, your fingers sinking into the pudge that replaced defined abs, dimpling his skin even through his shirt. god, he’s so perfect under you like this.

you break the kiss, gasping for air, your chest heaving as the air around you two begin to rise, almost burning you alive. toji falls onto the cushions again, sharp eyes narrowed in barely-contained hunger staring back at you, his hands coming back to hold your hips.

your eyes are blown wide themselves, feeling yourself be engulfed with uncontrollable desire for toji, your body trembling and feverish.

“look at you,” toji murmurs, his voice wavering and so full of affection. so enamoured by you. “my pretty girl.”

you nod, not trusting your words, as you sink back to his lap, gliding yourself on him. sweat builds up in the back of your neck, and you push your hair away from your face, trying your best to maintain eye contact with toji.

“feels good?” toji asks, prompting more than pleasured huffs out of you.

“yeah,” you croak out, your eyes fluttering when the cold button of his jeans dug into your hardened clit, muted pleasure exploding between your legs.

you roll your hips that way again, chasing the same pleasure, getting desperate when you realized that it’s still not enough.

tears begin to pool in the corner of your eyes, frustration palpable with your every slide.

toji tuts, sitting up and his laxed hold on your hips gathering strength before you feel him taking charge, helping you as you rub yourself on him.

“i know it’s not enough, baby, but can you keep going?” he asks, dipping his head to ghost kisses on your shoulder. “f’r me?”

you whine, shaking your head, feeling so edged as another faint pleasure quickly peters out, your veins thrumming with need.

“please, toji,” you mumble, hiccuping, your hands clutching the back of his shirt. “need more!”

“of course you do,” toji replies, still so calm even when you feel his cock fully hardened under all the clothes between himself and your wet cunt. “i ruined you for anything else other than my cock, didn’t i, sweetheart?”

you mewl, nodding, ah-ah-ahs echoing in the space between the two of you as toji maneuvers you to ride him faster.

“but show me how good you are,” he continues, kissing your neck this time, his lips parting for him to sink his teeth into your skin.

you whine, your voice curling into itself. you clench your eyes shut, the tears finally falling and tickling your warm cheeks, feeling the way toji’s tongue runs at the ridges of the bite mark he left.

your panties are damp, sticking to your cunt, but not even your heightened arousal could tip you over the edge. this feels like torture, a prolonged teasing of what you could be riding. toji’s cock is so close, positioned at the perfect spot so that you could sink into it, but toji is resolute at making you cum like this.

you hate disappointing toji but you can’t do it.

“‘m sorry,” you begin to mumble, your lips sticking together and your words coming out jumbled. a hiccup is lodged in your throat and you pull away to look at toji, hoping that the sight of your teary eyes would sway him. “toji, ‘m sorry i really can’t.”

toji takes one look at you before he coos, flexing his arms to stop you from moving, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your tear-tracked cheeks.

“alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing soothing nothings on your hips. “you did so good f’r me. why won’t you let me take over now, okay?”

you nod, still trembling from being edged, before startling when toji tugs your panties to the side, his fingers running along your wet folds.

“shh,” he says, slowly thrusting two of them into your core.

“ah!” you cry, your back arching, your hands digging into toji’s clothed back.

he didn’t even do anything other than press them in but you already feel an explosion of euphoria, your arousal building at the feeling of finally being touched. stuffed.

“toji!” you squeal, your hips unconsciously moving again – a mimicry of your movement just minutes ago, urging toji to fuck his fingers into you.

“i know, darling, i know,” toji replies, his voice still a measured murmur, as he drives his fingers out, your walls constricting as if sucking them back in, before thrusting them into you again.

you squeak when you feel him curling them, stretching your plush walls and teasing your sensitive core with his gentle touch.

“this is better, huh?” he asks like you are not falling apart at his touch, throwing your head back, your throat exposed, as toji begins to fuck his fingers in and out of you.

you feel your climax building, this time more pronounced and less muted, your eyes going cross-eyed as toji quickens his pace, feeling your walls spasming in the telltale of your orgasm.

“toji!” you scream as you finally cum, your walls squeezing toji’s fingers, your hands fisting toji’s hair.

“there’s my good girl,” toji croons amidst your orgasm, your buzzing ears straining to hear him.

toji slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt, gentle as to not overstimulate you.

you blink your eyes open at the sudden silence, your vision still hazy as you look at toji. he’s studying his fingers, shiny and wet as they’ve been inside you, before he is moving to push them into his mouth.

“no!” you whimper, ashamed, but toji just sucks his fingers, his eyes coming to meet yours, before a satisfied purr rumbles from his throat.

when he pulls them out of his mouth, he says, “my turn to feel good now, baby.”

you shiver despite your exhaustion, watching with your teeth nibbling your bottom lip as toji lifts you from his lap to unbutton his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

“mouth or pussy?” toji asks.

you lick your lips, not even hesitating as you reply, “pussy, please.”

toji’s smile is wide and lewd.

“good girl,” he murmurs.

#suns.f #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro x fem reader #toji fushiguro #jjk #suns #i fr had fun writing this GAHLEEE wet n everything

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sarahscribbles · 4 months

Note

Kinks Loki has

Praise kink (receiving and giving)

IDK if this classifies as a kink-Bondage?? I think he would be into the soft kind of bondage

Breeding kink but he won't admit it...unless we coax him to

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐮𝐛!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕𝟓𝟐

𝐀𝐍: 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Loki whines desperately the second your warm lips leave his cock. You watch, amused, as his hips snap up in a hopeless attempt at chasing your mouth, and how they just as quickly fall when he realises it’s an impossible endeavor.

His strong arms are stretched out above him and restrained to the headboard by his own magic. Vibrant wisps of green encircle his wrists and pulse wildly with each tug, though they won’t go anywhere until you utter the word.

He knows this, yet he still strains and pulls like he has a hope of escaping. It’s endearing, really.

“How many times is that, my love?” you ask, stroking his shaking thigh with your fingertips. It’s a gesture meant to reassure as much as tease.

Your lover lies nude amongst the crumpled cream sheets, chest heaving, brow sweating, and hair fanned around him in a glorious mess of midnight curls. Your perfect, pretty prince.

“T…ten,” he replies, still panting heavily and subtly rolling his hips as bliss ebbs away from him once more.

As it has done for the past thirty minutes.

Your fingers continue to lightly stroke his thigh and he sighs softly at the sensation of being so openly adored. “Ten times you’ve given up your pleasure for me,” you coo, taking care to let a pause linger heavily in the air.

As expected, those big green eyes snap expectantly towards you and he seems to almost hold his breath in silent anticipation. There’s a “will she or won’t she?” etched into every line on his face, a wordless plea settled between those partly opened lips.

Tonight, you have no intention of disappointing him.

“Such a good boy,” you praise him, scooching along the bed so you can cup his face and brush some stray curls back into place. “How lucky am I that you’re mine?”

His eyes light up beneath you, shining like pretty emeralds at your adoration. “Yours,” he repeats back softly, and you watch the rosy pink hue that stains his cheeks and the way his broad chest puffs up with pride.

“Mhmm,” you murmur back, leaning in to nudge his nose with yours. “The prettiest prince in all the land is mine.”

A smile so soft it melts your heart curls across his lips and you can’t help but press your own firmly to his, moaning eagerly into his mouth and nipping at his bottom lip when you pull away.

He whines again and you catch the same vibrant pulsing of his restraints as he tries to pull you back in. “I’m not going anywhere, my darling,” you assure him, beginning to trail slow lazy kisses along his chest.

Loki arches into every press of your lips against his skin, breathing out your name like a desperate prayer to the gods. He curses when your tongue runs over a nipple, and then the other, and you feel the firm muscles of his stomach jump and ripple as you continue your descent.

“You know, I always wonder why I get such filthy looks when we step out together, but now I realise. It’s envy. They’re all envious that I have such a beautiful, gorgeous man in my bed.” You continue to lavish praise on him, hearing his deep inhale and feeling the twitch of his hips as your words roll over him.

“Please, darling,” Loki begs softly.

Looking up, you see those beautiful eyes trained on you, watching, waiting. You run a hand soothingly along his thigh again and finally take his cock back in your mouth.

His groan is deep and primal sends heat coursing between your own thighs, but your focus remains entirely on him. You worship him with your mouth, taking as much of his cock as you can until he’s a whimpering, whining mess above you.

He writhes in the sheets, tugging violently on his restraints and rolling his hips almost frantically into your mouth. You don’t pause for even a second, don’t slow or ease until you feel his entire body tense and he spills into your mouth.

You eagerly swallow every drop of him, listening to the melody of his broken gasps and moans until he’s totally, utterly spent.

He whimpers when you kiss the sensitive head of his cock, and half lidded eyes follow you as you crawl back along his body.

“There’s my good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Five minutes, and then we do it all again.”

Tonight, afterall, was all about him.

#loki #loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #sub!loki

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dollwrites · 7 months

Text

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, noncon, bondage + gagging, cumming untouched, voice kink, degradation but also some praise, male masturbation, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day four [ sampo koski + voice kink ]

“Oh my, I’ve not even touched you yet and you’re already so twitchy!”

it was embarrassing, to say the least. the way your body reacted to his relentless cooing and crooning. you hated it. in fact, you would’ve told him exactly where he could shove all those sugar-dripping syllables, had your panties not been stuffed in your mouth. you tried to work the fabric out a little at a time, but Sampo’s long digits had ensured that they were secure and deep in your cavern, forcing you to taste your own desire for that loathsome, loathsome man.

“Could it be that you’re imagining all of the not so nice things I can do to you, all tied up like this?” he teases, his emerald eyes sparkling with delight and glued to your exposed core. with your legs spread wide, ankles bound to a long, metal rod that kept them spread wide. there was no shielding your sex from his gaze, as unfortunate as that was. because you knew that he was watching every clench, every drip, every twitch. “You are, after all, completely and utterly at my mercy.” he flashes you a devilish smile.

what you return is a sharp glare, your brows knit together as you chewed incessantly on your own panties, hoping to saw through the lingerie with your teeth and be able to spit it out. because you knew, once you did, not only would you call him every low-down, dirty, rotten thing you could think of, but you knew of a catapult of spit that would have his name on it.

so far, however, no such luck. the cotton dries your mouth out, and what should’ve been sweats, were gurgled groans of faint protest.

“Hm? No?” Sampo asks with a Devil’s smirk, taking a step forward. his right hand juts forward and wraps his large fist around the metal spreader, pushing it upwards just a bit. it pulls your ass off the bed just enough to angle your unwilling yet needy cunt in his direction, and allowed the light to catch your sticky folds, your wetness glimmering against your own skin. “Then, why are you so wet? Because so far, all I’ve done is tied you up, spread you open, and told you…”

Sampo trails off, his eyes flickering with a sudden realization. the realization that makes his grin spread wider.

oh, no.

“Could it be that you enjoy the sound of my voice?” he stares at you, adoringly, with his toothy grin, and when you shake your head, he chortles, and runs his tongue around his lower lip, his gaze dropping back down to your pussy. “Are you certain? Because this pretty little cunt of yours is sparkling—“ your body jolts at his praise, your hole clenching and demanding to be filled. you clench your fists in frustration. Sampo saw the display, and elicited a delighted mewl. “Oho, so she likes praise, does she? To be called a pretty, little cunt? Soft, and warm. And we can’t forget tight, now can we?” he begins to giggle at how easily your body twitched and puckered at every word sang to your core. “A perfect hole like that, already milking like she’s supposed to, is meant to be fucked. But I have something much more fun, before we reach that point.”

you look up at him, hoping the fire in your eyes is enough to get your muffled grunting across.

Sampo seems to ignore your angry sounds, staring into your eyes as if he were a gentle lover, and he swoons. “I’m going to make you cum before I even lay a finger on you,” he says, matter of factly, leaning closer to you. the expanse of his chest was pressed against the bar, hoisting your ass higher into the air. “You’re going to listen to me get off, and you’re going to turn into a needy, dripping mess. Well, more so than you already are. Are you ready?”

“Nnnff!!”

it was the best you could do, shaking your head and thrashing wildly against your restraints, but you could tell in an instant that he hadn’t really been asking a serious question. it was another tease. because a moment later, he was fishing around in the open fly of his trousers, retrieving his cock and pulling it through the gap. you didn’t want to stare, but you noticed it was already starting to harden up in his grasp.

“Mm, I can’t help it.” Sampo murmured, breathy, as if he’d read your glance in an instance, spitting in his palm to lather his length in it. “When I see a pussy that pretty and needy start to picket up just for me, I start to get excited.” a low, rumbling sound bubbles in the back of his throat as he starts to stroke himself, his body close to yours, his stance wide. his cock was long and imposing, strong and leaving a subtle shadow on your belly as it hovers inches above you, his fist jacking back and forth. “Uhhh…” Sampo breathes out. the sound coupled with the slick smacking of his sticky fist kissing his base at a rapid-fire pace was almost too vulgar; your eyelids wanted to flutter. “That’s good.” he was stretching out his moans on purpose, teasing you with different variations of his taunting baritone. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about right now? Hm? What is making my cock so hard?” without waiting for an answer, Sampo leans against the bar, trying to get as close to your face as possible. for a moment, you feel a wave of his breath against the apples of your cheeks, and you turn away, but he whispers, his voice thick with lust. “I’m daydreaming about plowing your little pussy, cutie. Uh-huh, nnn.. I’m going to pound you out so good that you’ll forget your own name. Just thinking about how perfect you’ll look hanging off this big cock like a little fuckdoll…” Sampo moans loudly, and the sound sends need storming straight to your core.

“Just watching you stretch…”

another needy moan, and this time, your cunt trembles, your swollen clit throbbing.

“Feeling you milk me…”

your muscles tighten up. your toes curl.

“Ahh, the way you’ll look so cute with the shape of my cock bulging out of your little tummy!”

your eyes want to cross.

he sounded so needy, and yet so wicked. his moans were all laced with the specter of a whimper, as if he hadn’t gotten off in weeks, and sounded delightfully depraved. not to mention the images he was forcing into your mind, and the visage of him jerking off right above your wanton pussy.

“I bet just listening to me moan and groan has got your tummy all in knots. Hnn, do you feel tight and desperate?”

you didn’t want to, and you tried to stop yourself, but you nodded, letting out a strangled moan.

“Mhm,” Sampo purrs, his grin slightly strained as his pace picks up. his hips had also started moving on their own, matching the rhythm of his wrist, fucking his hand with reckless abandon. “That’s so cute… and so pathetic. Getting all worked up, right on the brink of cumming, just because you hear me moan in pleasure. You must be a truly naughty little thing if the sound of your rival jacking off, explaining how he’s going to turn you inside out, makes you this needy. You’re like a starved animal.”

Sampo seems to really love watching you writhe and whine, seeing your eyes start to roll back as he moans and grunts, because his swollen cock was twitching, too, now, and he was close to his own climax. “Fuck yes.” he hums, gripping the bar tighter with one hand, the other still pumping himself silly. “Close… close…” his pleasured voice now sounds strained, and with a weak gaze, you peer up at him to see his brows furrowed and his jaw tight. the chase for his high taking his toll on his composure. a red tint kisses his cheeks, and his broad chest heaves up and down. “Mmm… you like these sounds, hm? When I’m right on the edge, about to cum for you? About to cum all over you? Yes?” he chuckles, though it sounds as though it gets stuck in his throat with a soft gasp as he bites down on his lip, and allows himself to gargle on a long, euphoric growl. “I can see it all over your face, fuckdoll, that lust… go ahead, erupt for me! Push me over the edge!”

it was as if Sampo had conjured your orgasm out of thin air, and ripped it out of your body with so much force that it left you stunned and twitching. you’d released before you even fully processed that you were peaking, and were trembling and panting, trying to regain your wits when you heard Sampo stutter and moan, splattering his own release across your stomach with a happy sigh.

“Such a pretty sight,” he breathes out, and releases the spreader to allow your butt to hit the mattress again. you bounce slightly, before laying there, defeated, with his throbbing, dribbling cock looming over you. “All trembling and panting, leaking juices all over my bed. If you reacted so deliciously to my voice, I can’t wait to see how you’ll fare when I actually get to play with your greedy, little pussy.”

#sampo #sampo x reader #sampo x you #sampo smut #sampo koski #sampo koski x reader #sampo koski x you #sampo koski smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai x reader #honkai smut #honkai star rail

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inez-winchester-cameron · 4 months

Note

Rafe x reader Onlyfans couple with lots of dirty talk 🤭

cw: rafe x fem!reader, smut obviously, onlyfans, daddy kink, meanish!rafe (hes being sweet at first then he switches fast), praise, degradation, face/pussy slapping,

to be honest rafe had hated the idea when you had first pitched it to him. you two had just had sex and were snuggling in his bed when you quietly asked if he would be willing to listen to an idea without getting pissed off and at first the idea did piss him off. why should other people get to see your gorgeous body? you're his. but after some talking and reassurance, he agreed and you two started making videos.

your back is to rafe's chest as you warm his cock with your tight pussy. emerald green lace adorns your body and brings out your skin tone as the light shines on you two. in addition, a pretty emerald necklace hangs down your neck, the gem landing right between your breasts. rafe's cock is eight inches deep in your pussy, with the thong of the lace set pulled to the side.

"rafeee," you quietly whine when you hear the ripping noise as rafe pulls the cups of the bra down to under your tits.

"shhh," he coos, "y'know daddy will buy you more." rafe was never very careful with any of your sets, insisting that he can just buy you more, "now be a good girl nd let's give them something to watch, hm?"

rafe's fingers start squeezing and tugging at your tits, eliciting whines and moans from you. the camera rolls, capturing every expression that comes to your gorgeous face.

"rafe can i-"

a swift smack lands on your clit at this and you whimper loudly.

"is that my fucking name?"

"n-no daddy, m sorry daddy, m so sorry i-"

"no you're not, you're such a damn brat. on your knees."

"but daddy your cock is in me and i don't-"

another slap is left on your clit as you plead and beg, rafe's voice taking on a venomous tone, "get on your fucking knees before i grab you by the hair and make you."

you quickly lift yourself off of his cock, biting your lip to stop a whine from leaving your lips at the sudden emptiness. in less than ten seconds you're on your knees, looking up at rafe, face to face with his gorgeous cock.

after readjusting the camera to get everything in frame, rafe's hand finds its way to your hair and he's guiding you to his cock. you immediately take his heavy cock into your mouth, doing your best to lick every inch of him. you love the low groans that leave his lips when you suck his cock and this time is no exception.

with a tug to your hair, rafe groans out, "fuck, that's it, baby. knew you could be a good girl." rafe lets you take your time, too tired to fuck into your mouth after a long day, "that's it, slut, suck your daddy's cock. take good fuckin' care of me."

absent-mindedly, you move a hand down to your pussy, pawing at your cunt, turned on from the combination of rafe's dangerous eyes watching you, his hair falling into his face, the hands tugging at your hair, and the cock in your mouth.

"aww...daddy left you gaping, huh? you poor fucking thing." you whimper as rafe smacks your cheek, making you immediately pull your hand back. but it's too late, rafe is pissed again. he tugs you off his cock by your hair, pulling you up and throwing you onto the bed, "can't handle not having my cock in your cunt? oh i'll give it to you, whore, and you're gonna let all of the island know what a slut you are for me. and maybe if i'm feeling like it i'll send Topper the link to our only fans, think he'd enjoy seeing your slutty little cunt get stretched and destroyed."

#obx #outerbanks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron thirst #rafe cameron x reader

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dilatorywriting · 8 months

Note

Hello! May I request 94. With Rook?

I certainly wouldn't mind the smoot if you think it fits into what you write-

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt 94: "Don’t act innocent, you had me pinned underneath you 5 minutes ago."

🌶️ Warning for Mild Spice

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

“Just a bit of chase!” he says.

“The thrill of the hunt can be so fun!” he says.

Except now you’re covered in sweat and doubled over panting like you’re going to go into cardiac arrest. Because Rook’s idea of ‘oh, just a little run around, je promets!’ involved nothing less than a full fucking sprint through the wooded areas of the campus—over hill, and under hill, and godyou were so out of shape.

You gasped into your knees, bent over in anticipation of just, I don’t know. Death? Vomit? All of the above?

“Ah, don’t tell me you’ve given up already, mon cher!” the aforementioned demon cooed from somewhere in the trees. In the trees! Like a literal, freaking hunter of old, and not your coddling boyfriend smiling all pretty when he says ‘just a bit.’ Absolute bullshit. You wanted a refund. “We’ve only just begun!”

“It’s been—” you gasped, swiping a furious hand over your dripping brow, “—an hour! You fucking masochist!”

“A true predator knows best that a subtle, steady approach is always the most satisfying, mon petit lapin,” he hummed, voice echoing discordantly over your head. “And how could I not take my time, when the reward is bound to be so sweet, hmm?”

“What reward?” you snapped. “Me doing this at all is the reward!”

The blonde’s trilling laughter curled through the air like the tinkle of a windchime. Light, and airy, and pleasant. Which was deceptive. And entirely unfair.

“Ah, but mon favori. I doubt you could ever say no to a little death, hmm?” he cooed. And the continued, with an air of faux consideration. “A bit for you, and then perhaps a bit for me. And then a bit more for you—”

Fuck his poetry. It was going to be a big death. A literal death. With rigor mortis, and decay, and a bloating corpse if you didn’t have a chance to collapse into a puddle in the next five minutes. Normally Rook’s sweet sonnets and romantic ramblings were something you found quite endearing. But surely anyone would be pushed past their Cutesy Bullshit Tolerance after being chased like a bat out of hell for the past literal hour. You felt woozy, and wrong footed, and like maybe that muffin you’d snagged for breakfast might be in the process of making up its mind to come back up to say hello.

“You have to run, petit lapin,” that chittering voice called again. “That’s the whole point.”

“No!” you snapped, stomping your foot like a toddler. “I give up! I’m a dumb rabbit! A lame rabbit! A rabbit with no legs! Just—get me already!” you shouted into the leafy canopy.

Silence.

You glared up into the kaleidoscope of greens, eyes narrowed as you searched the shadows. Surely he was somewhere. Somewhere close. You just had to—

And then you were crashing forward with an inelegant screech—a familiar, gloved hand pressing into the skin at the back of your neck and the other twisting into your uniform jacket to push you down into the dirt. And then Rook was sitting astride your hips, looking down at you with a sharp, brilliant gleam in his emerald eyes.

“Ah, mon pauvre lapin perdu,” he sighed, all faux sympathy, and shifted to lean forward so that he could grin into your flushed face. “Whatever shall I do with you, hmm? Rolling over to show your belly so readily. Certainly that’s far from safe.”

There was a tight, warm, whoosh in your gut. A twisting thing that you knew far too well at this point. And it spelled nothing but bad things.

You raised your chin as best as you could, meeting that toothy smirk of his head on, and then—

Ah. Nope. That had been the muffin after all.

Your face went green and you rolled onto your side to barf chunks of banana-nut-nonsense all over the grass.

“Mon cher, how can you ever forgive me?” Rook wailed, dabbing a soft, silk cloth against your heated forehead, nearly in tears. “I have failed you so horribly! So completely! I deserve to be cast from your good graces! Cursed to errer seul! Mutilé par des chiens! Jeté en enfer! Forcé de se repentir pour toujours!—”

“Enough, please,” you whined, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’d rather you just, I don’t know, got me a glass of water.”

“Right away!” he chirped, shooting to his feet and darting out the door and down the hall. He was back hardly a moment later, depositing a clean cup into your hands and plunking a curling, purple straw into the center of it.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, leaning forward to take a sip.

“Anything at all for you, mon cher!”

This was almost worse somehow.

“Would you cut it out,” you sighed. “It’s fine. Really. Shit happens.”

He stared up at you from where he was kneeled on the floor at your side with the largest, most doleful eyes you’d ever seen. Like a kicked puppy dog had a sad, sad child with, like, an even more pathetic, more kicked, kitten. You jabbed at him with your foot.

“And stop that!”

“Stop what?” he asked, blinking those stupid, stupid green eyes at you.

“Acting all innocent!” you complained. “You literally had me pinned underneath you, like, five minutes ago!”

“I did, didn’t I?” he hummed, sounding almost pensive. He reached up to tap at his chin, like he was chewing over a thought. “And I wasn’t even able to keep my promise, was I?” he lamented, deflating.

“What promise?” you frowned.

“For a bit of mutual demise,” he sighed. “Une petite mort.”

You felt heat crawl up your cheekbones and all the way to the tips of your ears. Because this had been some whole, elaborate setup, hadn’t it? Something that you’d only agreed to because he’d seemed so, ah, enthusiastic. And then you’d gone and barfed up banana chunks and ruined the whole thing.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Rook’s head shot up and he reached out to snare your hands in his.

“Non, non, mon cher!” he gasped. “This was hardly your fault to speak of! It is I and my poor planning that ought to make recompence,” he said.

And then, a terribly acute sort of brilliance came over his face. Like a lightbulb went off in his brain. Those green eyes went sharp with focus. He seemed to roll the his words around on his tongue, as if deciding exactly how they ought to taste when he let them fall back out again.

“And recompense I shall make!” he chirped, determined and shifted so his chin was resting in your lap. He sent you a coy little grin that had shivers racing down your spine.

“I literally just threw up,” you complained.

“This will certainly help you feel better,” he offered.

“That’s not the point!” you squawked. “Shouldn’t I—I don’t know—at least brush my teeth or something first?”

“Forgive me, mon petit lapin,” he laughed against your thigh. “But last I checked, I don’t think your mouth has anything do with this. And besides,” he crooned, reaching up to press a firm hand against your shoulder and help ease you down to the mattress below. “That was from overexertion, I’m afraid. Not illness. And I can promise, mon cher, that this time, you won’t have to bother putting any work in at all~”

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt #My Writing #Writing Prompts

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