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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 3 days

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feeling veryyyy normal thinking about being offered as part of bounty to the ghoul because the bounty poster doesn’t end up having the caps they promised him. and they need to pay him somehow. they’ll offer him their lil captive vaultie as payment for the rest. 👉🏻👈🏻 will he accept?🫣

A Fair Trade

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,980

Warnings: smut (18+), p in v sex, oral (m receiving), creampie, sex as payment for debt, human trafficking typical of the Fallout universe.

Summary: The Ghoul always gets what's owed to him.

Notes: Oh, wow! My first submission-type ask! I'm genuinely super flattered and totally open to doing more. I initially ballparked that this would be around 2,500 words and it ended up almost 4,000 because I have no self control when it comes to this man. I will try to keep other submissions a little shorter, generally, to hopefully get them out quicker.

To the anon: This may have turned out...sweeter than you may have envisioned? Maybe that's not the word. Less rough? If so, my apologies! I hope you still enjoy.

Things had been...unfortunate for you since you had decided to leave your vault.

Looking for a taste of something new, chasing the feeling that the world had other things for you to experience, you had managed to make it to the nearest settlement of any import with only a few scrapes and bruises. But, regrettably, you lacked a true understanding of how cruel and selfish people on the surface could be, and you quickly ended up the captive of some random outpost runner.

Well, you'd been traded to the outpost runner. You still weren't quite sure how that had come about, even after weeks and weeks had passed, but, frankly, the scrawny, dirty man was a lot less scary than the guy who had initially captured you. He wasn't not scary by any means (no one up here really was, as far as you could tell); he still confiscated your things and locked you into the small room in the back that you were fairly confident was intended to be a closet every night, but he hadn't really done anything to hurt you so far. You were given a pillow, at least.

But you were growing increasingly uneasy with not knowing what his plans for you were. Worst case scenario, you guessed, he could kill and eat you like you'd heard some surface people did, but that didn't seem to be the case. Nevertheless, the way he eyeballed you, "accidentally" brushed against you with increasing frequency, made you uneasy. Maybe he'd bought you to be his wife, or whatever the Wasteland equivalent would be. You imagined that in the next few weeks he'd offer you more favorable sleeping accommodations...so long as you shared them with him.

Maybe you could accept, kill him in his sleep and flee. You really didn't treasure the idea of ending someone's life, but...you needed to get out of here, and soon.

The sound of the creaky, rusted front door hinges flexing drew your attention, distracting you from your bloody ruminations and the pile of scrap you'd been sorting through. The front office hadn't been loud, but the small murmur of voices instantly faded, a clatter of movement towards the door, followed by some very familiar sounding footfalls. He was back.

The tall, noseless, rad-ravaged man made his way in multiple times a month, sometimes even multiple times a week when the bounties were easy and the work was plentiful. You'd seen each other somewhat often the past few weeks, as your keeper had begun to allow you to clean and assist in the front of the office more and more. It was both better and worse; the days passed with less tedium and you got to see some of the interesting characters the desert produced. However, many of those characters sized you up with predatory eyes, as if they were estimating how many caps they could sell your flesh for in their heads. The ghoul had yet to give you that feeling, interestingly enough.

You'd heard whispers all over town about him, about all the things he'd apparently done, how he was supposedly hundreds of years old. You didn't believe that for a single second. After all, despite his fascinatingly gruesome appearance, he was just a man, wasn't he? A man with very advanced radiation sickness (and a rather unfriendly general disposition), but a man nonetheless.

Sometimes, you felt as if he was certainly looking at you the way a man would. You were unsure, frankly; social etiquette was so vastly different on the surface than it was at home. It sure seemed like he let his eyes linger on you, on your body. Perhaps he was simply curious about you, as you were about him; most people seemed afraid to even look his way, or too disgusted by his condition to even consider it.

"You wanna run that by me again?"

Your ears pricked up instantly at the tone in the ghoul's voice, your heckles raising as you sensed trouble. Tiptoeing towards the door to the front room, you stood as close as you dared, shoulder touching the rotting door frame as you listened in.

"I told you, we were robbed a few nights ago. I don't have the full payment for you right now. This is everything I've got."

You knew your keeper was lying, about the robbery, at least; the place was so small that if anyone had been in to steal anything, you'd have certainly known about it. Whether or not he really had the caps, you didn't know, but you supposed he didn't, figuring that he wouldn't take the risk of pissing off the ghoul if he did. You had overheard him discussing gambling on a few occasions.

"Well, you better find something to make me whole, quick." came the ghoul's acidic reply.

On some level, you understood his frustration. The work was done, the bounty delivered. Un-delivering it wouldn't make up for all the time he'd put in. But, you also knew his reputation for being unforgiving, and you felt a chill run up your spine as you began to fear that he would kill your keeper and you if he didn't find some sort of satisfaction soon.

"I don't have anything worth anything. I told you, this is all I have." the scrawny man shot back, trying to sound confident, tough.

However, based on the way his voice trembled and faltered, the uneasy way he cleared his throat, you suspected the ghoul knew he was lying, too, confirmed only a moment later by what you were certain was the sound of a gun thwish-ing out of its holster and cocking. Your heart flew up into your throat, hammering even harder when, a second later, the lighter sounds of the scrawny man's footsteps rapidly approached the door of the back office. Scrambling back towards the desk, you'd only closed about half the distance when the door flew open, the man grabbing at you almost blindly, his long, dirty nails digging into your exposed wrist as he dragged you, protesting, out behind the counter.

"Hey!" you hissed, trying your best to snatch your arm back out of his grip and failing, infuriatingly. You were momentarily blinded with outrage that he would offer your body to someone to cover his own debts, though you supposed that was just how people did things in this awful place. Your eyes, feeling like they could pop out of your head they were so wide, flew to the man on the other side of the counter, who was assessing you with a look you couldn't read.

"What about her?" the scrawny man asked, and that was the final straw. If things were going to get worse for you, you weren't just going to accept it with a smile. The fingers on your free hand curled into a fist, which you smashed into the side of his face, causing him to release your arm in shock. Almost instantly, he jerked towards you, but the Ghoul pointed the modified pistol in his hand further into his face, stopping him.

"Now, how're you gonna offer me merchandise and then try to damage it in front of me?" he said, speaking to the man, but not looking at him. He was still looking at you, an intrigued glint in his eyes. They were...pretty, actually. Warm and golden brown. Was he really thinking about taking the offer? You'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about what his body would be like underneath all the layers of clothing. However, the entire situation had your walls up high, your whole body trembling slightly.

The Ghoul stepped slowly around the counter towards you; the scrawny man shrunk away, the gun still pointed in his direction, while you held your ground, doing your best to keep your head held high as he stepped right into your bubble, your chests almost touching as he seemed to really size you up. After a moment of incredibly tense silence, his eyes moved to the door, then back to yours. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

"Alright. C'mon, Vaultie." he said simply, turning on one foot to make his way back to the other side of the counter. You hesitated, but soon moved to stand beside him, a surreal feeling washing over you.

"Hey! No fucking way, man! You can't just take her for keeps. She's worth way more caps than I owe you!"

The man was even more red-faced than usual, his tone downright indignant, but he didn't step out from behind the counter to follow.

"Ah, but, see, once we factor in the interest on my missed payment, hurt and suffering, on top of my 'you're a dumbshit' fee...I think it's a wash, personally." the Ghoul replied, leaning back over the counter into the man's dirt-speckled face. He clearly wasn't in a place of strength to negotiate, and his angry gaze moved to you again before he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"What the fuck ever." he grunted.

You felt your body relax noticeably as the bulk of the conflict seemed to pass. However, there was a small amount of unfinished business you wanted to address before you left this place. You crossed your arms, turning your narrowed eyes to your former keeper, feeling emboldened with the Ghoul standing at your back.

"Where's my bag you took from me?"

Soon, you were back in possession of your things, including your Pip Boy, which you fretted over as you and your new keeper set out the door and into the desert heat. As you walked, you flexed the sore fingers on your hand absentmindedly. Soon, you were pouring sweat, pausing briefly to peel the top half of your vault suit down to your waist, tying the sleeves around you hips. The Ghoul appraised you silently as you did, taking a hit off of an inhaler from his pocket before continuing on.

As grateful as you were to be away from the trading outpost, away from the scrawny man and his uneasy ways, you couldn't help but worry in the back of your mind, fret at the possibility that you were going somewhere worse. It was being too trusting that got you into your situation to begin with. You worried at your lip with your teeth as he began to direct you down the road, his hand flat and firm between your shoulders. You weren't sure if the gesture was intended to be one of comfort, or if he was simply ready to snatch you up by the back of your vault suit if you decided to try to run.

The two of you walked in complete silence in the direction of the setting sun for what felt like a hundred miles. In truth, your Pip Boy revealed that you'd only gone a single mile and some change when the sun fully dipped behind the horizon, granting some blessed relief from the sweltering heat. You kept on a while longer, until the stars began to appear; eventually, the man veered from the decrepit highway, steering you to a little alcove in the rocky hillside, barely big enough to be a coyote's den.

"Alright, we'll bed down here for the night. Gettin' too dark to keep walkin'." he said, dropping his bag on the ground in a little cloud of dust as he turned to survey the site suspiciously.

You stood waiting for him to direct you, your fingers wrapped tight around the straps of your backpack, watching as he checked around wordlessly. After a few minutes, you chose one of the flatter rocks around and sat against it, watching as he built a small fire, inhaling some of the rations that had been hid away in your bag. Eventually, the ghoul threw himself down on the other side of the flames, facing the highway, and did the same, tucking into something canned from his bag. Things were quiet for a while, but eventually he spoke to you again, his voice pulling you away from fidgeting with with your Pip-Boy.

"Y'know, you're insanely lucky he didn't sell that thing. Can get quite a bit for a functional one these days. Moron didn't know what he had." he said, still chewing.

You blinked at him, your eyes flitting between the gadget on your arm and him, unsure how to respond. Briefly, you felt a growing sense of apprehension, but he must've sensed it, as he rolled his eyes and sighed softly as he swallowed.

"I'm just sayin' you're lucky you still have it, kid. Don't piss your pants. Trust me, if I wanted that thing, I'd have taken it from you already." he said, tossing the now-empty can over his shoulder.

You nodded silently, willing the tension out of your spine as you watched him dig around inside the oiled leather saddle bag once more. He produced a silver flask and a canteen, taking long pulls off of one, then the other. He then took another drag off of the inhaler he'd been puffing as you walked. Eventually, he stood, gave his back a stretch, and shrugged the long, tattered duster from his shoulders, splaying it out quickly on the ground behind him before turning back to face you.

"Alright, darlin'. Get your little ass over here."

You felt yourself freeze almost completely, your head turning sharply towards him. He hadn't said anything about the initial deal for so long that you weren't sure he was actually interested.

"What? I accepted you in lieu of payment. That means you are the payment, sweetheart. And I do intend to collect." he said, plainly amused, sinking down to the ground, his back sliding against the red rock behind him. "Besides, I've seen the way you look at me. Don't pretend you're not curious."

Your cheeks instantly felt agonizingly hot; had you been that obvious in your interest in him? Every day, something new in this place made you feel so silly, so naive. But, at the same time...he wasn't wrong. He might be rough-looking overall, but he'd been kind to you so far, and he did have quite a nice build. Besides, it had been weeks since you'd felt sufficiently alone enough to masturbate. A tad awkwardly, you went to lift yourself to walk to him when he cut you off.

"Mmm. How about you crawl?"

You felt your face twist into a mask of indignant confusion, and he chuckled. Hesitating, you made measured eye contact with him over the flames, quickly realizing, as those mischievous eyes glinted back at you, that he was serious. You swallowed hard, pulling yourself slowly onto your hands and knees before crawling the half-circle around the small fire as quickly and as dignified as possible, though there felt like there was very little dignity in it anyway. You stopped at his feet, kneeling with your hands on your thighs and looking up at him, trying your hardest to not seem as nervous as you felt.

"Take your shirt off." he ordered, head tilted as he watched you quickly pull the grimy undershirt over your head, tossing it near your bag. The night air was cool on your bare breasts, your sensitive nipples quickly peaking into hard little nubs that stung slightly. You wanted to press your warm palms to them, soothe the ache, but you didn't want him to think you were trying to cover yourself, so you simply sat, staring again, waiting for further instructions.

He grinned at you, leaning forward into your space, his gloved fingers stroking along your jaw, sliding a single one under your chin to lift your eyes fully to his. They were just as pretty glinting in the dying firelight as they had been in the outpost office.

"Y'know, you take direction pretty well, Vaultie. I like that in a lady." he said, tone low and conspiratory.

Your entire face burned now, even your eyes feeling hot, but that fire spread its way down into your core, blooming between your thighs, and you shifted slightly to press them together harder.

Reaching down, he made quick work of the belt holding up his pants and his fly, tugging free a cock that was about as red as the rest of him, the bulbous head glistening with precum already in the yellow-orange glow of the fire. Your tongue darted out to swipe at your lower lip, and you crawled up his legs to look closer. The Ghoul seemed surprised, leaning back ever so slightly from you as you came near, giving you room to move close and wrap your hand around him, drawing out a long hiss from between his yellowed teeth.

"Right on it, eh?" he chuckled almost breathlessly. "I like that in a lady, too."

You shot him a bit of a chastising look as you began to work your hand up and down over him, your free fingers coming to play along the weeping slit of him, earning another groan. He was a pretty average length for his height, you thought, but thick and already almost completely hard. It didn't seem like it would take much work to get him the rest of the way there. Your musings were interrupted by the feeling of his leather glove brushing against the swell of your breast before encaging the whole thing in his palm, massaging almost reverently. You whimpered when he plucked at your other nipple, sending shocks down your spine and straight to your already throbbing clit.

"Let's see what that pretty mouth is good for, hmm?"

Embarrassingly, you immediately dropped your head, pushing your body flat so you were sort of lying between his spread legs, bringing your lips down to hover a few inches above his leaking cock head. Tongue darting out to lap up a little taste of the shiny slickness there, you hummed; he tasted different than you were expecting, sort of the same, but with an almost metallic edge. You ran your tongue in a full circle around his tip, clenching around nothing when he groaned throatily, his right hand sliding through the dirt beside him.

"Fuck." he spat out when you unhinged your jaw, allowing the first few inches of him to fill your mouth, wrapping your lips around the head and sucking hard as your left hand continued to work the base of him. More and more precum leaked from the slit as you tongued at it, the taste and the knowledge that you were arousing to him making you rub your thighs together shamelessly.

"Play with your pussy." he commanded, clearly struggling to keep his tone even. Beneath you, you could feel his hips rocking almost imperceptibly. He didn't need to tell you twice; you could already tell you'd soaked through your underwear as you wrestled your hand down into your pants, pushing the wet gusset aside to rub tight circles around your swollen bud, moaning around his cock at the feeling.

The sound seemed to really turn him on, one of his hands suddenly moving to fist into your hair, the slight pain at the roots making you throb. His other hand came to cup your jaw again, holding you in place as he fully fucked his hips up into your waiting mouth, cussing under his breath as you continued to push yourself closer to orgasm. He kept you like that for a few long minutes, your neck cramping slightly by the time his thumb reached down, wiping away some drool that was dribbling down your chin. Bleary eyed, you looked up at him pleadingly. His answer was a wicked chuckle, his grin less of a smile and more a predator bearing his teeth.

"Blowin' a ghoul turn you on that much, cutie? What would the other vaulties think?" he tutted, shaking his head. "I think it's time you get on my cock."

Blushing hard at his little taunt, you could feel his burning gaze as you pulled yourself back up into a sitting position, tugging your boots off and setting them aside before shimmying the suit the rest of the way off, along with your underwear. A shiver broke down your spine as a small breeze hit you, your fire pretty much nothing but glowing embers now. However, when you pulled yourself back onto his lap, sighing as you ground your wet slit against his erection, you found that he was pleasantly warm feeling, bringing your hands up to his chest so you could lean over just enough to reach between you and position his cock at your entrance.

Too afraid of injuring yourself to attempt to take him all in one move, you instead opted to sink down onto the head, wriggling your hips before pulling them back up, then sinking down again, gently bouncing yourself down onto him. The man beneath you was tense, his hands kneading at your breasts as he huffed and hissed his way inside you. By the time you'd worked yourself most of the way down onto him, his hands moved to your hips, gripping them deliciously tight as you bobbed up and down on his length. For as cocky as he'd been before, he was pretty clearly struggling to keep his cool now.

One of your hands moved up from his chest, leaving you unsteadily balancing on one hand as the other pinched your nipple the same way he had before, making you cry out like a wounded animal. He must've liked that, as well, as his hands immediately yanked you the rest of the way down onto him, your ass resting flush against his hips. You repeated the sound again, higher, more strangled as he sat so deep inside you, the fat tip of him strumming away at something amazing right behind your belly button. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but you could feel the way his body twitched and bucked beneath you, strung tight as a bow.

The Ghoul's hands were digging deep into the fat of your hips, so hard you knew you'd bruise, restricting your movement, forcing you to swivel and grind your hips against him, the angle putting delicious friction on your poor aching clit and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to clench around him rhythmically, and his hand quickly appeared on your clit in the dark, rubbing surprisingly deft stripes up and down the puffy flesh until you were suddenly gasping for air, trembling hard against his chest as he fucked up into your heat roughly, sloppily, the hand that wasn't on your clit slapping you hard on the ass. Suddenly, he let out a long, low groan, and you could feel the hot throbbing of him pumping his cum inside you, his hips stuttering as you let yourself slump halfway against him. There was a sudden metallic taste in your mouth. For several long moments, there were no sounds but your co-mingled harsh breaths and sound of the wind swirling the sand across the foothills.

After you'd finally caught your breath, you made a move to extract yourself from him. He promptly stopped you, flipping you onto your back, the smell of the duster's rich leather curling in around you as he kept grinding his hips into your overstimulated cunt. It drew an embarrassing squeal from you, hands flying to his chest once more before being rather playfully batted away.

"Oh, no, sweetheart. Nice as that was, your buddy owed me quite a bit of money. I think you'll be paying me back in installments." he growled in your ear, one hand moving around to give your ass a firm squeeze as you gave another clench around him. Your mind, foggy with sex, wandered to the Radaway still stashed in your bag.

It was going to be a long night.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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comfortless · 2 months

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HIYA SYL! I LOVE UR WORK WITH THE DEPTHS OF MY SOUL AND ALSO I HOPE YOURE HAVING A GOOD DAY (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

AHEM! I constantly have this idea of Hybrid!Konig discovering the scent of Hybrid!Reader on his territory, but due to it being so vast he can never catch her in person. All he has to go off of is scraps of food, her scent rubbed against stones and stumps, and prints that are MUCH smaller than his! Until on one faithful day, he catches the lil thing creeping around his personal space!

I just wanna add that I’d love to see you tweak this idea ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ (If you want!) like making it human!reader instead orrrr in a more human manner such as it being a cabin in woods and reader is stranded, maybe. ANYTHING, KEKEKE ID JUST EAT UP ANY OF YOUR AMAZING WORK

raaah thinking about a bear hybrid König because of the cute lil kaomoji.. he would be so big and soft… ;; reader gets to be a fox..! also thank you for your sweet words and the prompt, angel!! ^^ 💘 too many ideas… i should write more hybrid!Kö…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. reader & König are mostly human like last time! just with ears and tails. König is incredibly awkward in this (has 0 idea how to talk to a lady someone help him), possessive behaviors, very much… love? obsession? at first sight, fluff, implied sex.

The pretty thing in the grove does not know that she sits on the cusp between admired and threatened. She skitters through summer foliage like a dance, twists and winds and stretches to reach each fattened, ripe fruit hanging from vine or limb. The scent that lingers in this place fills most up with dread, their eyes wide as they look for places to hide or run, any place but here. She hardly seems bothered when she takes a plum into her mouth, it’s juice dripping down her chin as her tail curls over her bare stomach.

She laughs when the birds in their trees warn her of danger, bares her teeth at them and tells them all she’s far faster than some old bear, speaks off-key when she’s drunken on stolen fermented fruit and dazed on the rays of sunbeams shifting through the leaves.

He could rush out, take her by surprise and hook a claw into her throat before she would even have the mind to spare him a glance. It’s just that no part of him wants to, not now, not when he’s been made aware of the beautiful passerby that steals his food and leaves a pattern of uneven, dancing footprints in her wake. He had only had the thought once when he saw this earthly garden uprooted with only the foreign smell of rosemary and lilac left behind.

Watching her now, it’s all too different.

She leaves the pit of her plum at her side when she lies in the grass to rest, tail plumed up and over her middle like a blanket as her ears flick and rustle her hair. It’s not a tentative sleep: she’s soft, warm and utterly exhausted from her day of pilfering if the long, quiet breaths were much to go by.

Any other bearman would eat her whole and pick the bones from his teeth to leave as offerings for the birds, the buzzards with their wild eyes and ruffs of feathers about their necks. But… it’s only summer, what good would eating her do? He reasons it would hurt him more than it could ever hurt her, because then all would fall back to tedium and silence. There would be no more hushed laughter and dizzying prances, no more of a sight prettier than any view he’s seen prior.

He wants more of her than this— more than what he should ever have at all or more of her than even she could offer with honeyed words or soft touches.

So, he only watches her rest. In the gentle calm of daylight, she rolls against the grass in sleep, bares herself unknowingly when the sun warms her and her thighs are too warm to press against one another. And finally, he wills himself to turn away, to wander back to that dreary cabin that serves as a proper home, because as much as he wants, he does not deserve.

The days go on like this.

The haze of summer does not let up, and she’s made a home of a strawberry patch in a glade closer to the cabin than she’s ever been before. He watches her bask amongst the bushes, lying on her belly while the sun beats down against her hide, kisses over her shoulders with a yellowish glow that only makes her look as sweet as warmed honey, a bonfire, lovely as the fruit she steals.

Nothing changes in her even when he does bring himself to detach from the shade of the pine, force himself into the light for the birds and tiny humming bees to see. She tilts her head back, flicks her tail and smiles like she’s known he’s been there all along. Known the loneliness and tastes it on her teeth to spit it back out in refusal, but she hasn’t— not like he has, because she’s the one who speaks first.

“Are you going to eat me?,” she asks when she’s risen to her feet. His little fox does not hide herself from him; her tail sways lazily behind her, each dip and curve displayed so openly that he wonders if she sees him as a threat at all, or then, maybe the danger coaxes up an unseen heat within her.

He shakes his head stiffly, ears pressed back to his skull.

The world itself must have played some horrible joke upon him now, because all thoughts of what he wanted to say filter out into a plume of smoke. It’s maddening, how he wants to tell her he would like nothing more than to drag her back into his cabin and lick honey from her mouth, yet all that comes out is a brittle, “The strawberries are not ripe yet.”

She laughs at him, not cruel, but it still feels like teeth tearing into his throat. All hope isn’t lost, though, because even through her laughter her gaze is fond and sweet. Perhaps she’s seen him time and time again, too. It isn’t easy to hide when you’re as large and difficult to settle as König.

The fox beckons him closer with a curl of her fingers and a strawberry between her teeth. She drapes an arm over his neck to tug him down to her level and kisses him there, with the berry crushed between their mouths. Bitter as expected, but not a single complaint billows up in his mind.

This sweet fairy does not know what she’s done with that shared bite, how his mind goes doughy and sap sticky when the fruit dissipates between them and his mouth finds her own.

He wonders if she does this often, seduces larger beasts to toy with and steal from to continue her reckless romping through the forest, drift off further to the mountains and the sea, endlessly searching for the very thing he’s already found with her. It does not escape him how tightly he keeps her in his hold then, nails leaving indentations in her waist as he brings her as closely as he can, licks into her mouth until she shivers.

He would bring her flowers and honeycomb, carve little idols of her from every tree she loves if she would just—

“Will you be my mate?,” he asks, abrupt, face heating up to his very ears as he finally lets her go. A croak, a shameful one that leaves him wanting to scurry off like a rabbit, but she’s already heard it all and stares up at him with a look part doleful, part adoring. The poor thing doesn’t even know him, doesn’t know that he’s already contemplated clearing out the fox dens in the forest and chasing out the wolves to make sure that she was his alone.

If she tossed him into the river now he wouldn’t dare blame her, he would only take it out on the stupid salmon with their glistening tails, and maybe if he brought her back a treasure made of fish bone and scale he could change her mind.

But she only kisses him again, lingers right on his cheek like something a proper lover would do, before telling him that she’s grateful he’s never come to harm her, that he didn’t mind sharing his fruit on those too-hot days when she didn’t feel roused enough to hunt down the mice and the bunnies, and she even appreciated his kiss: something she tells him that had made her feel like nothing else in her life. All of the very things he’s only imagined her saying in that sweet voice she uses to whisper to the pretty flowers and the bright red cardinals tweeting back to her.

He’s never been sweet, but he believes it when she tells him that he is when they’re lying side by side in the cabin later. There’s a bruise on his shoulder the shape of her teeth and one to match of his own making on her thigh. He can’t keep himself from curling his hand around her there, thumb brushing over that purple mark he’s left as he buries his face into her shoulder and catches magnolia in her scent.

“I really like you,” she admits quietly as the night air begins to chill the sweat on their bodies, as she guides his hand up to press a kiss to his fingertips. As if she had no idea just how badly he longed to ruin anything else she’s ever said that to, set the forest ablaze and lie and laugh with her in the ash.

“I love you,” he says in turn, damning himself further as he always did to a somber oblivion. Only, this one doesn’t leave. Not even when his hand pries from her mouth to take hold of her breast and his teeth graze her skin. Her face is warm, eyes misty, like she’s just been given the most hearty helping of something delicious amidst pure famine.

She doesn’t laugh at his confession, doesn’t bat his face away from her nipple, only suggests that they bathe beneath the moon. He can not fault her for not reciting the words; this bout has only made him further intent on pulling her in to keep. He convinces himself that all it would take is time, or a rougher fuck, something. He’s never been too patient, either.

The fox curls into his lap as the water reaches them, head thrown back where she sits, impaled and ecstatic while his fingers drift to her hips, head pressed to her chest where he tells her that she has more than paid him back for what she’s stolen.

She didn’t need to lie or let him sully her out of pity anymore. Testing and prying in his own way, even as he whispers that confession to her again and again, against her clavicle and up to her neck with every languid roll of her hips.

The truth spills from her mouth like rain when she comes undone, a soft sentiment that pulls him below a warm tide, drowned out and washed away only by the words she speaks then and the way her body wraps so snug around him.

She tells him that she wishes to stay like this… for as long as she possibly can.

He carries her home like a princess from some storybook, lies her in his bed and pulls her close with a grip so tight that she whines about it being too hot— that his warmth is almost smothering, but still melts beneath him when his lips find her own again. Breaking away from her feels worse than those hangdog days he had only spent watching her from afar, longing for the things that she had only now allowed for him to feel.

But König swears to her then when her eyes lock to his and her tail begins that gentle swaying again, that no matter what she will be here forever. He’ll make sure of it.

#könig x reader #tw: hybrid

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izzyspussy · 9 months

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re: those fic ideas always going around about roy bidding on jamie at the next for the children gala

i like imagining sheryl is out for fucking blood this time. she lost jamie that year, then he wasn't there the next (two?) year(s), so now she's fucking determined. she's going to get him god damn it.

so sheryl bids like £6k or whatever, and then keeley as a sort of nostalgic thing bids £8k, and then sheryl bids £10k and there's no bex this year so it seems like maybe that's going to be that, but then roy bids. (he would have stayed out of it if keeley kept bidding, she is an acceptable winner.)

and roy. he's not lazy, obviously, but he hates tedium, he hates repeating himself, he hates attention except for what he wants attention for specifically lmao, and he's got plenty of money to burn. he has something to get done and he wants it done quickly and decisively. so instead of doing normal bids like a normal person, whatever sheryl bids he fucking doubles it.

so he bids £20k. she bids £25k. he bids £50k. she's getting frustrated, she's not into paying this much, but she's fucking determined!! she wants him!!! so she bids £51k. roy bids £102k. everyone's like.... bro omg.

jamie up on stage is like that's so much fucking money. hey, rebecca? hey? that's so much fucking money, actually. that's enough. call it. he gets it, he won. that's so much fucking money. (and like it's part genuine, that really is SO much fucking money, and jamie may be rich now but he grew up poor and that is a lot of fucking money!! but also it's a great excuse to wrap this up, to say okay roy won it's over! and get down.)

and rebecca - slightly shell shocked tbh, but also kind of reading how eager jamie is to get down - is like okay yeah he won that's it. a date with jamie tartt sold to roy kent for 102,000 fucking pounds. and she sends jamie on his way, and there's a lull between him and the next person because everyone is sort of stuck here.

because obviously, no one in this room knows why roy bid, nevermind why he would bid so fucking much. they don't know he didn't necessarily want to win so much as he wanted to make sure no one else did. they don't know he's been haunted by the joke he and keeley made back then ever since he figured out why it was so upsetting to jamie - even though, to be perfectly frank, jamie hasn't figured that out himself, and anyway it didn't make a lasting impression on him, like, it honestly was not that big of a deal in reality, but you know roy kent, any chance he gets to feel like a bad guy he's taking it. so to the outside point of view, roy wanted jamie so bad he was willing to spend £102k to get him. which is honestly a wild bid from anyone, nevermind a) a man and b) a man who could just ask jamie to hang out whenever he wants.

jamie goes right over to him as soon as he gets down from the stage, and he thanks him, and roy tells him he's just making up for last time, and jamie hardly even remembers what he's talking about but it's really fucking nice of him to even care, so he gives him a hug and he says thanks again, not just for this, and roy says he's been fucking honored, and jamie tears up and calls him a prick because they both know he knew that would happen if he said that, and roy does his sinister little laugh because he meant it but he did also do that on purpose, yeah.

and then jamie's like move i'm gay to whoever is sitting next to roy so he can take that seat, because roy just paid £102k (and made quite the grand gesture) so his date with jamie starts right now and goes for as long as roy fucking wants it to thank you very much.

#jack facts #ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #royjamie #hc

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bluemusickid · 2 months

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The Heiress

Pairing: Lucien Flores x Heiress Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't be silly wrap your willy), slight dub-con (if you squint), slight dom-sub dynamics, just in general smuttiness, read at your own risk.

A/N: The collective brainrot those clips have brought us as a fandom (thanks for that, Tony ;3), is INSANE. This is just a smalllll effort in keeping that alive till we get the full movie. I have to confess: this is just shameless PWP at this point lmaoooo (don't judge me, i'm just a girl after all). enjoy and please reblog if you liked it thankssss <3 <3

Note: By clicking read more, you consent to my terms and have heed all warning mentioned above.

(Photos/Gifs of P, credz: @a7estrellas, the dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics)

Dull.

That's what these parties were to you always. Dull. Throw in a bunch of old men in stiff suits holding onto champagne flutes like their lives depended on it. Even worse, they tried to sell themselves to you, as if their sad marketing convinced you. You still entertained them, owing to a lack of anything fun happening around those parts.

That is till you met him.

Lucien, he had introduced himself. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, a champagne flute in his hand as he was engaged in a conversation with Hermann Astor, owner of the art gallery that was hosting one of the many boring do's you simply HAD to attend.

Truth be told, you weren't really listening to him. The whole "I'm-a-man-of-culture-so-of-course-I-know-art" spiel was boring. So many men trying to dazzle you with their "expertise", but you couldn't care less. To your surprise though, Lucien didn't mansplain or explain the intricacies of art missed by many. He let Hermann drone on, only piping in when something piqued his interest. He only met your eyes a few times, his dark brown hues holding his secrets.

But you knew what he was thinking. It was quite obvious, isn't that what most men wanted in this room? A chance to talk to you, an heiress to a hefty inheritance, maybe a chance to woo you, wine and dine you and then pop a ring on your finger. Maybe get you pregnant. Secure the bag.

Atleast that's what you assumed he wanted, but he didn't seem like the type to talk you up. He was mostly interested in having a chat about your life, why you hung out at these places especially since you gave no fucks about fine arts, and so on. It was surprising, true, but maybe men changed up their tactics ever so often. So you played along, as you always did. Answering with as much truth as you could.

You found yourself on the balcony standing next to him, staring at the vast grounds with its fine cut grass and neatly trimmed hedges, the moon casting its glow upon it. Turning to him, you decided to cut to the chase. You were bored, and only a quick fuck could break the tedium. Running your hand along his arm, you pulled him to one of the bedrooms, pushing him against the door. Leaning towards him, you brought your lips close to his, waiting for his permission to continue. He leaned forward, as you latched your lips to his, guiding his arms to wrap around you, deepening the kiss as you pushed yourself further into him. That's odd, you thought. This actually felt nice.

His lips, while hesitant at first, tangled with yours, the heat warming your bones. He ever so slightly placed his hands on you, running them down your body down to your hips, squeezing gently as he rested them there; pulling you towards him and his growing erection.

Itching to taste him, you knelt down, licking his growing manhood over the fabric of his tight dress pants. With a growl, he pulled you up, gripping your shoulders as he turned you around and walked you over to the bed behind you. Pushing you down, he bent you over so your ass was up in the air as your face was smushed into the soft bedding eagerly waiting in anticipation.

You felt his hot breath as his lips trailed along your thighs, his tongue running over the divots and the stretch marks that adorned your skin. You squirmed, wishing he would turn his attention to the place you needed him the most. He seemed to have heard your unspoken wish, because the very next moment, his lips moved over your core, his tongue lightly ghosting over your wet folds, your swollen core. You panted, your hands grabbing the duvet with a force that you weren't even sure was possible.

Lucien started off slow, and then dove in, his tongue swirling over your swollen nub, as he gathered your wetness on his finger and pushed a digit inside; his tongue and his finger working in tandem. You groaned loudly, pushing your hips onto his tongue, not realising that they were moving of their own accord, ever-so-slightly undulating and moving in rhythm to his licks and thrusts. Through the haze of pure lust, you realised that you were meant to be in control of this entire situation. Reaching behind, you tangled your fingers into his soft brown curls, pulling him even closer to your nub as you fucked yourself on his tongue, moaning loudly as he groaned at your act of dominance; the vibrations shooting through your core, making their way through your body. He added another finger, doubling his efforts as he felt your legs shake, and your core tightening as you neared your peak.

You screamed into the duvet, muffling your cries as your orgasm took over. You would've collapsed into the mattress had Lucien not been holding on to you, resting his head on your back as he caught his breath as well. The both of you lay there, him spooning you, till your breathing returned to normal. Straightening your clothes, you both exited the room, not meeting each others' eyes, no words spoken to one another.

The rest of the evening went very well, your secret rendezvous leaving you satiated, yet hungry for more.

The second time you met him was at the Charity Ball held by your "good friend" Fiona Mayhew, who got on your nerves most of the time, but did a lot of good for underprivileged children/teens and their education; so you stuck around. At first, you didn't really wish to go to her stuffy ball; but RSVP'd yes, with the smallest hope that Lucien would be there.

He was, of course. Dressed in a well tailored, crisp tux, his messy brown curls slicked back and gelled down. You hated to admit it, but he looked downright edible. You pretended not to notice him at first, making small talk with the members of the small group he was entertaining. You mingled, the both of you catching each others gaze as you talked to the other guests, your eyes conveying what you couldn't bring yourself to say. You barely managed to pull your gaze away from him each time, silently berating yourself for giving him that much importance. It was all a game, all a ploy.

It was working, though. Because the next time he caught your gaze, his deep brown eyes darkened as he walked out of the gigantic ball room, making his way to the large area where the cars were parked. Making his way through the maze of luxury, vintage cars, he walked over to a cambrian grey Bentley, leaning against it as an invitation to join him. He smirked, watching your hips sway as you sashayed towards him, ready to beat him at his own game. He held the door open, his hand moving from the small of your back to rest on your behind, giving you a small smack as you made your way in. Tsking, you gave him a wolfish grin, as you slid the dropped sleeves of your gown from your shoulders, his eyes bulging at the sight of your gorgeous breasts being freed from their confines.

The car shook, almost too violently, as you bounced on his cock, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt him hit your front wall, over and over. You'd always thought of sex as a chore, something to get over with. But it felt different, with him; it felt as if your body and mind split, and was only concentrated on him and how he felt inside. Your core squeezed around him, as you pulled him deeper inside; fingernails digging into his meaty shoulder. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck as he thrust up into you, pulling you towards him to meet his sharp and pointed thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat, lips ghosting over his as your breaths mingled, all thoughts of speech banished. He kissed his way down your neck to your gorgeous globes, running the tip of his tongue around your swollen nipples. This action made you groan, running your fingers through his hair, completely mussing them up and ruining his do. You couldn't care less; with the way he was making you feel, you had half a mind to pull him to the ballroom and fuck him in front of everyone to show the reason for his and your disheveled states.

His thrusts began to speed up as he held you in place, your legs trembling and burning as you tried to hold yourself up, absorbing every bit of his amorous assault on you. Undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt, you yanked the shirt off his shoulder, biting down hard at the exposed skin. He growled loudly, thrusting up once, then twice as he emptied himself into you, painting your walls as you squeezed every drop from him, reaching your explosive end as well. The euphoria melted into your veins, swiftly coursing through the length of your body. But yet again, as he helped you straighten yourself up, no words were spoken.

Both of you made your way back to the ballroom, your clothes and hair slightly askew, and a bright red mark on Lucien's neck, that he didn't bother hiding for the rest of the night. You wouldn't be surprised if people found out that the two of had been together, let alone what the two of you were upto

You couldn't bring yourself to care, though.

And now here you were, months later. You hadn't seen Lucien for quite some time, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't like you were pining after him. On the contrary, you'd found quite a few men to keep yourself entertained.

You walked into Fiona's beach soiree, thanking divine providence that it wasn't a black tie affair. The fact that it was at her luxurious beach house, which was facing the vast ocean, just happened to be a silver lining. You made your way around the party, chatting with Fiona about her latest venture, the NGO she had established, the soiree a means to raise funds.

As the night progressed, you found yourself pleasantly buzzed as you sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to serve you. A familiar voice directed at you made you turn, only to see Lucien standing there, a flute of champagne in his hands, his signature smirk on his face. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, shifting your focus to the drink placed in front of you. He looked amazing, his messy curls softly styled, his beautiful neck adorned with gold chains and a thick ring on his finger. You had never seen him this casual, the Hawaiian shirt he had donned sitting loosely on him, leaving little to imagination.

Raising your glass at him in a silent toast, you smiled, taking a swig of the bubbly liquid. Delicious.

"You alone?" He drawled.

You gestured around, "Do you see anyone else here?"

"Touché." He took a swig of his drink, eyebrows raising as he savoured it. There was a small lull in the conversation but you didn't mind. It's not like the both of you talked when you were together.

"So. Long time no see."

"Yeah, kinda hard to see someone if they don't really show their face at events." you mused dryly.

He chuckled, nodding at the accusation. Taking your flute from your hand, he put the glasses on the counter, beckoning to the garden at the back of the house, "up for a smoke?"

"I don't smoke.", you said smugly, downing the glass in front of you.

He leaned towards you, bending down to whisper in your ear, "Who said anything about smoking?"

You should've known. It never ended in just talking, in fact, you don't think you've ever had a proper conversation with Lucien, barring that one time on the balcony, the night you met him. It was as if the bond between you was solely driven by the sheer lust and attraction you had for one another. Just the way you preferred it, and wanted it, truth be told.

As you both made your way outside, Lucien pinned you to the stone wall, locking his fingers with yours as he held your arms by your head, his lips brushing over yours. You wanted to ask him many things, probably talk about the both of you and your arrangement, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Atleast, not now.

You felt your insides flutter in anticipation, as he left kisses all over you: your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Pushing your dress up, he left open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, biting and sucking till he left marks, you were sure of it. Pulling your lace panties to the side, he began to eat you out with a ferocity that aroused you and scared you in equal parts. All you could do was hold on as he held your wet folds apart, his tongue running over your swollen nub. Briefly, he pulled back to look at your core; swearing under his breath as he saw how wet you were for him. He dove back in, pulling your lips apart with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue for all he was worth.

You had died and gone to heaven, you were sure of it. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as each swipe of Lucien's tongue made you forget all about your surroundings. Your leg was on his shoulder, your dress was basically falling off your body and you had nearly bitten off a finger trying to hold your screams in. If he weren't so good with his tongue and his fingers, you would have laughed at the way your body turned to putty near this man.

You were rudely pulled out of your thoughts by the feel of him pushing inside you, hitching your leg on his hip as he bottommed inside you. You gasped as he stayed there, letting you feel all of him as he feasted on your breasts, his thumbs and tongue working their magic. He began to move, his hand holding both your arms above your head, restricting your movements. Rutting into you with abandon, he snarled as he felt your pussy clench around him as he tightened his hold on your arms. Using them as leverage, he quickened his motion, anchoring your waist as he fucked into you wildly, using your body for his own pleasure.

"Fuck...take it. take it all." he grunted through gritted teeth, letting go of your arms as he held you steadily, his fingers making their way to your core, circling your swollen clit.

You heard yourself shriek as you came apart, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he reached his end as well, his warm spend coating your walls. Your core pulsed, nearly strangling his cock as the aftershocks died down. Suddenly feeling exhausted, you slid down the wall as he held you, gently rocking you till you came back to normal.

As you recovered from your explosive high, there was only one thought in your mind: you were truly and honestly screwed.

GAHHHH IDK HOW THIS TURNED OUT BUT OMFG i had suchhhh fun writing it!! Hope y'all enjoy! I don't do taglists anymore, just turn on blog notifs for @lexiscyberlibrary to be notified about any new fics!

Love ya!

-xoxo Lexi <3

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pedropascallme · 4 months

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I adore ur professor Haas series I was wondering if you could do one where he has a lot of work to do so he makes u cockwarm, but eventually gives into ur pleads 🙈🙈🙈🙈 thank you!!!!

Fatal Distraction

Pairing: professor!Damien x f!Reader

Summary: "Wearing an old Pokémon shirt you had found in his dresser, you found your way to his office and felt yourself blush at the sight; it almost made you laugh out loud, the fact that, even after he had ravished you the way he did time and time again, there was still something about the way his jaw tensed, how his hair fell over his eyes in a way that hid the top half of his glasses, the motion of his eyes as they scanned the papers he read, that made you go red with a sort of schoolgirl embarrassment. Part of you seemed to still be worried you’d get caught staring at your hot professor."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) implied age gap (Damien is his actual current age, reader is 20-22), student/teacher relationship, dom/sub dynamics, p in v sex, praise, dirty talk, very mild degradation (use of the word slut), spanking, thigh man Damien makes a brief appearance again, If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Guys you know how I love soft!dom Damien but this is...this might be full on dom Damien...and I apologize for nothing!

Maybe there was a scientific word for it, a phrase that explained why you derived so much pleasure from watching him squirm at the way you teased him before he gave in and took control. Schadenfreude didn’t begin to cover it, but you knew that’s what he would say if you told him about the inner workings of your mind.

To be fair, he had to put that German degree to use somehow.

You could hear Damien in his office from down the hall, papers flitting, followed by an audible sigh; giving assignments wasn’t fun, per se, but at least he knew his students would be able to learn something from them—even if they happened to cheat somehow, trying to circumvent the required readings or zoning out while he lectured new concepts in class, they still had to figure out a way to make it seem like they knew what they were talking about. But grading had to be the epitome of tedium. He’d figured that, at this point in his career, he would’ve figured out a way to make the time pass faster, find a method that made it less drawn out.

That still hadn’t happened, and he’d started to come to terms with the fact that it likely never would.

Your weekend liaisons at the home of your professor had become more frequent; your toothbrush sat next to his in the bathroom, you kept your skincare products stacked neatly in the corner of the bedroom you had laid claim to, and you had an assigned side of the bed (left, because it was closer to the phone charger). It didn’t bother you that he had to get up early to finish grading most days, given that you had him all to yourself for the rest of the day (and for most of the night,) but today you felt…devious.

It wasn’t your fault that you still had an ache between your legs; sure, part of it was enduring soreness from the previous night, a memory of the way he had caged you beneath him and coaxed orgasm after orgasm from you while his hips snapped desperately against you—but mostly it was simply because you were in his presence, surrounded by the scent of his body wash, and the smell of old books that seemed to linger in the air of the apartment, mingling to create something so perfectly Damien.

It was just him, that’s what did it for you. Him.

Wearing an old Pokémon shirt you had found in his dresser, you found your way to his office and felt yourself blush at the sight; it almost made you laugh out loud, the fact that, even after he had ravished you the way he did time and time again, there was still something about the way his jaw tensed, how his hair fell over his face to hide the top half of his glasses, the motion of his eyes as they scanned the papers he read, that made you go red with a sort of schoolgirl embarrassment. Part of you seemed to still be worried you’d get caught staring at your hot professor.

“Busy?” You came up behind him, dropping a hand over his chest and stooping down to where he sat to place soft kisses on his neck. You always appreciated when he wore his white undershirts around the house; his skin exposed to you, warm and welcoming, and the silhouette they created was magnificent.

“Yeah,” it came out a near-whine as he leaned back into you, raising his head to offer you more access to the flesh you were sucking on and creating the opportunity for you to trace a path down his collar bones with the hand not stabilizing you on his chest. “I feel like it's all just blurring together, though. I need to stop grading on minimal sleep.”

“Is this you kicking me out?” You quipped, and you felt one of his hands come up to root itself in your hair.

“Never,” he pulled you up for a brief kiss before he let out another sigh. “I’m sorry I’m so busy all the time—I know you say you don’t care, but—”

“I don’t care.” You cut him off, placing a kiss just under his ear, circling his pulse-point with your lips.

“I know! But…I don’t want you to get bored—or think I’m boring, or, or think that this is me pulling back, or something…”

Now you did laugh, letting the sound catch in his skin where your head rested. “You’re working yourself up, Professor,” you felt him breathe deep at the use of the title, “I know how interested you are in me.” You moved from your spot behind him, carefully placing yourself in front of him before straddling his lap, “And I’m just as interested in you. Promise.” You grabbed his hand, lowering it to your naked core and letting his fingers ghost the slick that still coated your lower half from your previous romp. You bent yourself forward to kiss his pulse point again, “I don’t think you’re boring in the slightest.”

Damien’s head fell back against the chair he sat on, trying desperately to keep his composure. “God, don’t do this to me now, baby,” his fingers moved to trace circles on your clit, and you couldn’t tell which experience was best—the way his stiffening, clothed cock felt under your weight, or the way his hands felt on your cunt, or the way he was so quickly falling victim to your teasing, practically squirming in his seat and incapable of tearing his gaze from you. “Never gonna finish grading…”

“I can go if you want,” you taunted, beginning to stand before his hands found your waist and pulled you back down to him, “I mean, if you aren’t interested…”

“You’re an incredibly persuasive distraction.” His jaw clenched and you knew he could feel how wet you were now, even through his sweatpants.

“I’ll go, since you want me to stop,” you tilted your head down at him, “let you finish all that work you have to do. I can take care of myself, you know.”

He inhaled sharply, and you watched his face turn from playful to stern; eyebrows creasing, and only a faint smirk on his lips. “You’re going to let me finish my work,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “but you’re not going anywhere.”

You didn’t anticipate his next move, too focused on how handsome he looked when the lust finally overtook his eyes; he worked quickly to pull his sweatpants down just enough to release his cock, then hoisted you higher, before letting you sink down onto him. He gritted his teeth when he felt himself against your entrance, the pleasure heightened by your startled moans of approval before you took him fully. He closed his eyes so as not to give away the intense satisfaction you were providing him—he couldn’t just reward you for purposely trying to sidetrack him from work that had a deadline.

You whimpered, arms wrapped around his neck, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him to do something that would give you some relief, and let you enjoy how full he made you feel.

“Don’t move—look at me, ok?—don’t move.” He caressed your cheek and a confusing mixture of disappointment and lust settled into your stomach: the perfect recipe for desire. “You wanna distract me so bad? I’m using you to the fullest extent, then.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words coming out thoughtful and calm, and you felt yourself clench around him; you were so desperate, fueled by his dominance. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” He raised an eyebrow and you nodded fervently.

“Yeah—yes, sir, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you.” You found solace in the crook of his neck, trying not to squirm despite the way your body screamed at you to move.

“My good girl.” He squeezed your thigh, rubbing circles on the flesh with his palm and kneading it occasionally. He picked up his grading where he left off.

You thought maybe you could get through this. You had brought it on yourself, in all fairness, and you did love the way he took control, but the more animalistic part of your brain was hungry, yearning for him to take control in a more depraved manner—the kind that made you see stars and scream his name into the bedsheets.

He leaned forward to pick something up from his desk, and your patience completely dissipated when you felt the muscles of his stomach tense against you and the tip of his cock nestle deeper into your dripping hole, brushing a spot inside of you that he just had to know would make you abandon your promise to be good.

You let out a shrill whine, your hands finding his shoulder blades and pulling him into you. “Please,” you pushed your face deeper into the skin of his neck, “Please, I need it.”

“Need what?” He settled properly back into his seat again, still focused on the assignment he had in his hand.

“I need it—you. Please? Fuck me, it hurts, I need you.” You begged, trying to squeeze your thighs around his waist in an attempt to supply yourself some friction.

“Thought you liked when it hurt?” Was all he said, deadpan, brushing off your appeals—though his cock throbbed at the way you clenched around him, and he’d be lying if he said he cared about the paper he was trying to grade.

His response only drew more whimpers; pleading moans fell from your lips as you tried to hold onto the shred of hope that if you remained good, stayed still, he would fuck you like you needed to be fucked. But that hope was enveloped quickly by the feeling of his hand moving up your thigh and over the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh gently before spanking you once.

“You think maybe you should apologize for distracting me?” He growled, “Apologize for acting so needy after you promised to be a good girl?” He spanked you again, harder this time, and you couldn’t help the way your hips lurched forward, or the way your breath caught in your throat when you cried out.

Damien straightened in his chair, looking up at you, like he was worshipping at the shrine of your body. When you looked down at him, he reached his hand up to brush his thumb over the upper part of your cheek, wiping the exasperated tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Think you should apologize for acting like a slut?” Again, his words came out so calm, so collected. Maybe that's what did it, the way he managed to stay domineering with such ease, or it could’ve been the fact that he had never called you that before, despite his moaned assent when you referred to yourself that way when he fucked you nice and rough. It might have just been the fact that he was presenting you with such a perfect window of opportunity, with his gaze locked in yours the way it was, after nearly an hour of wishing and waiting.

Whatever it was, your restraint had officially snapped, and you practically dove into him, finding his mouth with your own and pulling him into a messy kiss; drool threatened to spill over your lower lip, and your top teeth occasionally met his, but neither of you cared—you’d waited long enough.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to breathe between heated kisses, “I’m sorry for being a slut—I’m sorry, I won’t distract you again, sir, I’m sorry—” Before he cut you off with another kiss, his fingers weaving through your hair as he pulled your face as close as he could. His other arm wrapped around your waist, and he began to push his hips up into you with zero hesitation. You gasped against his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to let his tongue dip between your lips and lick into you.

“You’re so,” he kissed you again, “fucking,” then on your neck, “perfect,” and on your collar, bottom lip just barely grazing the old shirt you still had on. “Perfect girl—god, that’s it.” He stuttered when you bounced back onto him, finding a rhythm with each other and getting rid of the pent up need that coursed through the both of you. He reached a hand under your shirt and squeezed your breast, fingers circling your nipple before he rolled it in his thumb and index finger, quick to notice the way you pushed your chest into him and cried out for more, more, more.

He was unrelenting; even in a position where you had so much control, hands planted on his chest and body above him, he managed to flip the script and put you in your place, dominating you to the point where you were malleable and helpless.

“Feels so good, I—Damien!” You threw your head back at the feeling of his cock pushing your limits, the stretch of your cunt and the burn of your thighs rivaled by the way his deep thrusts pushed the head of his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah? Like that, baby?” He lifted you slightly, giving him more space to move his hips at the rough pace he had set and admire the way you bounced up and down. “Still hurting?” He goaded you, and all you could do was moan at his words and the way his hips snapped into you, too close to the edge to focus on anything but showing him how good he made you feel.

"If you wanna act like a slut, I'll treat you like one," he continued, obsessed with how your eyes rolled back in thrill at the degradation. "That's what you want, right? Just wanted to get fucked."

You fell forward against him. Quiet moans and whispered yeah, like thats and please, it feels so goods escaped up from your throat while he worked you to completion. Damien removed his hand from under your shirt, finding your clit and massaging shapes against it in time with his thrusts, unable to decide which view he liked more: the one where he got to watch you tremble against him, face flushed and lost in pleasure scrunched against him and occasionally meeting his gaze to plant a frenzied kiss wherever you could reach; or the one where he could see the way your cunt swallowed him, squeezing his shaft and coating him in your wet with every roll of his hips, his own fingers massaging your clit.

“Gonna—I’m—” you choked on your words, but he knew what you were saying, the feeling of the familiar flutter of your walls around his length telling him you were close.

“You can cum,” he assured, “show me how pretty you look when you cum for me, baby.” He pushed you down onto him, dragging your hips over his with his hands, letting you feel him as deep as you could, resuming his ministrations on your clit after you began to move on your own accord.

You came hard, all but collapsing onto him, practically boneless and unable to feel anything but pleasure, and affection for the man who had provided it.

Damien wasn’t far behind, his movements relaxing slightly. “Where do you want me, baby?” One arm curled around you, the other holding the back of your neck in an affectionate vice grip.

“Inside.” You whispered, and with a growl and a string of curses he quickly obliged, needing only the sound of your fucked-out voice in his ear to bring him to his high.

You stayed wrapped up together, sticky and sweaty, neither of you too eager to move, content to stay connected for as long as you could.

Damien wrapped you in a tight hug, mouth dropping to your ear to whisper to you. “You’re so perfect,” he cooed, “smart and beautiful and perfect. You know that?”

You raised your head from its resting place on his shoulder and greeted him with a sleepy grin, “I know." You toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, straightening them for him, “So are you.” You returned to his shoulder, squishing your cheek against him and leaving small kisses on his neck. “So perfect.” You whispered.

“I hope you know not to...y'know, what I say when we fuck, if I'm being...mean, or if I say something you don't like, or—" He blinked rapidly as he tried to find the right words, anxious that you would take his dirty talk to heart, that you would take it personally in all the wrong ways. "I think the world of you."

You giggled, and the sound made his shoulders relax.

“I know, Damien,” and you did know, without him having to explain his entire train of thought.

You knew how he felt about you. You knew because you felt the same way.

“Good.” He conceded, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry for distracting you. I know you’re busy.”

“Don’t be sorry. You make grading papers a lot less…monotonous.” He kissed your shoulder again. “I’m always happy to be distracted by you.”

“Good,” you echoed his earlier sentiment, “I’m always happy to distract you.”

"You wanna come distract me in the shower?" He squeezed your thigh.

"Yeah. I do."

#damien haas #damien haas fanfiction #damien haas smut #damien haas x reader #damien haas x you #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #smosh smut #smosh games #smosh pit #smosh squad #smoshblr

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entities-of-posts · 21 days

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I had a lot of grotesque dreams last night but I'll save you two of the stranger ones.

The first was that I was doing an assignment for my Biology class, but every time I answered one question, another question appeared and the assignment kept getting longer. I was doing it on the due date and it was so upsetting.

The second was that there were plants growing between my brother's teeth. I didn't believe him when he told me until I saw it, and then I freaked out.

I think they were stress dreams, if that affects any identification.

The second is the Corruption; for the first, it’s difficult to say… the urgency and neverending nature of it could be linked to the Hunt, or perhaps it could be said that you feel Buried under the ever-expanding task. Maybe the feeling of impending doom as the deadline approaches could even be the End… but hear me out now.

Some may call me a conspiracy theorist for this, but theories I have! Have you ever heard of the concept of the Dull?

The reasoning goes as such; humans love balance, love symmetry. The prevalence of inversion theory when it comes to the Fears prove this. And human imagination molds Them. But currently, one Entity is without a dance partner; the newest, still forming Extinction. There is an imbalance, a void waiting to be filled. And what would mirror the Terrible Change? The fear of nothing ever changing. Being stuck in this state of things, monotony, boredom, every day just the same as the last and the next and the next and the next forevermore. This is exhibit A.

Exhibit B: something happened in recent years. Something that left a large part of the world’s population stuck at home, the days bleeding into each other, getting cabin fever, going stir-crazy trying to escape the tedium. An event like this, on such a scale… couldn’t it be the perfect push for Something to start coalescing?

I call it the Dull, the Forever And Ever And Ever And Ever, the Broken Clock. Apathy and endless repetition, lifeless routine, rows and rows of identical greige-painted suburban homes. Always through the same motions with no end in sight. It will always be like this.

Consider it:)

#apologies for using this to springboard my Dull theory. it will happen again.#the corruption #the hunt #the buried #the end #the dull #oneiric studies

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Blessed Are The Meek 1

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I'm sure yall didn't expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You climb the steps in the grim glow of the wall sconce on the next floor. Your linen veil weighs heavy over your hair as you keep your head down, balancing the tray in your hands as you make the curved ascent. Your smock rustles with your steps down the long hallway, shadows leaning in the further you get in the groaning house.

The office door is open, as it is at six every night. The routine is fine-tuned and never a second out of rhythm. You enter and place the tray on the broad oak desk that serves as the centerpiece to the space.

You sift through the greyness and pull the chain on the lamp on the shelves set into the wall. The glass shade lights up with hues of amber and jade. You back up and smooth your hands over your apron. You retreat to the door but stop short as you're met by a dark figure.

You stare at Commander Shelby’s lapel. You don’t expect to see him. You rarely do. He haunts this place like a ghost. Some days you wonder if he is even still about. You’re only assured by the few bites taken from the meals you deliver like clockwork or the clothing left for wash and starching outside his door.

He takes a step back, his sole scuffing deafeningly in the silence. You do not hesitate. You take the cue. The rare moment of deference. You angle past him and down the hall. Your only farewell is the sharp snap of the door behind him.

You hurry down the stairs and back to the kitchen to begin your nightly duties. There isn’t much mess to clean up, not more than the dust of indolence. There hasn’t been much life to this place since the Commander’s wife passed. You linger, in limbo, awaiting but never receiving your dismissal.

You set to sweeping the already swept floorboards. Then you shine the cutlery. Dust the cobwebs that don’t exist, shake out the curtains but leave them extended across the windows. You cling to the heavy embroidered drapes as a memory comes.

The day of her burial, when you dared to let in the sunshine and the Commander hollered and yanked upon them until the rod fell down. Since that day, the anger simmered but did not boil over again, repressed by the stagnant air of grieving.

You wipe the surfaces, finding some end tables you missed. Such a big house to be occupied by so few. A sudden clatter shakes the stillness of the house and you jolt as you look up at the ceiling.

You tuck away the cloth and head back upstairs. It is late and you are worn out from the tedium of aimlessness. Perhaps, at least, you will have a real task to attend to.

You get to the top and go back down the hallway. The dishes, along with their contents, are scattered across the narrow rug. You near cautiously, a tremor flowing in your veins. The commander stands in the door of his office and glares as you approach. You bend to take the metal tray but he steps forward to kick it away.

You stand and fold your hands over your apron, chin bowed.

“Commander,” you address him flatly.

He doesn’t say anything. You sniff and go again to pick up the tray. He comes closer again but does not repeat the act. He stands in the midst of his mess as you tidy up around him. You put the dishes on the tray and take the cloth from your apron as you get to your knees and try to clean up the spilled food.

“You are a martha,” he growls, “you do not pity a commander.”

You don’t argue. You just utter, “yes. Commander,” and continue your duty.

“I could have you sent to The Colonies.”

“Yes, Commander,” you repeat as you continue your work.

He circles you and puts his shoe at the center of your back, stilling you as he leans just an ounce of strength into you. You clutch the cloth tight. You expected to be sent to another household, but The Colonies… perhaps this life is just as bad as a death sentence as it were.

“I always thought it rather amusing the chips you barren bitches wear on your shoulders. A sense of righteousness which would affront the lord himself,” he pushes until your arms are shaking, “how does it feel to have the chip knocked away? How does it feel to cower at the heels of the chosen?”

“Under his eye,” you whisper.

He exhales heavily and shoves off you, sending you to your stomach as he stamps his foot back to the floor. He twists his heel in the smear of potatoes across the rug as he spins and marches back into his office. He swings the door shut and casts you into darkness. For a moment, you do not move. You cannot.

Will you wake to The Eyes coming to take you to a colony?

#tommy shelby #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #peaky blinders #au #handmaid au #drabble #series #blessed are the meek

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nanaminokanojo · 3 months

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THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 88)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 88 next>>

A/N: Contains prose. CW: slight violence (hello sukuna) | angst

“Guards?”

You swallowed hard, pausing a step behind your father when your cousin’s unmistakable low mocking tone jolted you from your tedium. Your old man made good on his word to obtain all the necessary requirements you would need for your transfer to London. Everything was going according to his plan, you thought bitterly, merely sitting down through the whole process in livid resignation as the dean of the students’ affairs babbled about losing an asset to your department.

Or so your father thought.

Tension rose like thick fog between your cousin and the four men who came with you per your father’s orders. The latter eyed Sukuna as if he wasn’t of any consequence, but you saw his shoulders square up ever so slightly. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t put it past Sukuna to do anything outrageous, and he hired people to watch you at least until the whole process was done.

“Damn, old man. Isn’t this going over the top?” Sukuna spat, leering at your father. You just stood there, watching his fists clenching and unclenching. There was no mistake in his intentions. You grew up with him after all. He took after your aunt, and when he sets his mind on something, regardless of what stood in his way, there was no stopping him.

Just then, his eyes shifted to you. “Are you just gonna stand there?” he snapped just as Yuuji appeared behind him, flashing you an imploring look. “Y/N, come with us.”

You swallowed hard. “I –”

“Get in the car. We had a deal.”

“Don’t move a fuckin’ inch, brat!” Sukuna hissed. “You’re coming home with us.”

“Enough.” The older male merely nodded, conveying his silent command for his men to handle Sukuna should be dare do anything. However, even they hesitated when Kento came into view, getting in between your father and Sukuna. Close behind him were Choso, Suguru, and…

“Sukuna, walk away,” you vaguely heard Kento say.

“Come on, man.” Suguru.

Satoru.

Everything seemed to slow down to a snail’s pace, everything quieting down to a dull hum as the images around you warped into nothing but blurry, distorted colors. Your breath caught in your throat the moment those striking cerulean eyes met yours. And like a dried up gorge, your mind filled with every waking moment you’ve spent with him, every word he ever uttered to you, the sound of his laughter, his smiles… his tears.

You didn’t think you’d see him so soon, and your eyes threatened to fill with tears. It took everything in you to suppress them along with the feeling of your knees about to buckle. Or maybe it was that feeling of just wanting to walk towards him, so near yet so, so very far, and melt in his warmth. Tell him you’re sorry. Hold him. Let him hold you together. Come clean.

Satoru’s eyes remained fixed on you, communicating with you without words, every single word he wrote to you in his messages trickling into the forefront of your mind.

‘I really miss you…’

‘Give me reason to let go…to hate you.’

‘I don’t regret anything.’

‘I love you.’

“No!” Sukuna growled, snapping you out of your reverie and making you remember just why you can’t even talk to him; why you can’t even explain anything to him. Because everything would be a lie anyway. It was better for him to just let you go than hear you spout bullshit about why you even hurt him.

Stepping forward, you stepped towards Sukuna and Yuuji, flashing them a warning look. “Don’t do this.”

Kento inconspicuously jerked his head towards the waiting car just a few paces away.

Your father shrugged, his cold eyes finding Satoru. It didn’t escape your notice how he smirked at the latter’s direction and held you back, grabbing your arm and dragging you behind him. “I said get in the car, Y/N,” he stated again, voice deceptively calm.

“WHY?!”

You knew Sukuna’s question was directed to you, the anger and sadness in his tone slashing at you, but you kept your resolve strong and shook your head.

“You promised you would stay with us. Was that a fucking lie? You’re just gonna leave us?”

You shook your head. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” To your father, you said, “Let’s go.” You turned to walk towards the car.

However, he just had to talk. “You have nothing to do with this –”

It all happened so fast. None of your father’s hired security personnel were able to react fast enough. Yuuji was just a beat too late holding Sukuna back, and Kento wasn’t able to anticipate it either. You stood there, barely able to turn your head to their direction when you saw a flash of pink and black, one large fist speeding towards your father who flew backwards on the pavement, ending up on his bottom, his mouth busted. All that happened in a matter of seconds. Probably not even.

“Sukuna!” you heard several people call his name, but all you could think about was how he would do anything to protect the family while you stood on the opposite side of the spectrum, unable to do just that.

Before you knew it, tears were falling from your eyes as chuckles started to erupt from your throat, soft at first and then becoming more audible, enough for everyone around you to snap their heads towards where you stood. You covered your mouth at first, not really understanding why the hell you were laughing of all things. You just were.

“Y/N…” Suguru was about to walk towards you, but one of your father’s men held out an arm while you started laughing, unable to stop it despite how much tears were falling from your eyes.

“You think this is funny?” Sukuna, who is being held back in a headlock by both Yuuji and Kento, asked you scathingly while your father looked at you strangely, seemingly unable to recognize you. But when did he? He didn’t even seem to linger much on the thought as he was helped up, jabbing a finger at your cousin.

“I’ll make sure you’re locked up for –”

“No.” Through your hysteria, you stood in front of your father, glaring hard at him through clenched teeth. Your hands balled into fists beside you, so tight that you could feel your nails ripping your palms open as you swallowed your misplaced laughter for your next words: “You p-promised. You fucking promised!”

At that, your father seemed to calm down a bit, merely glancing at Sukuna before turning away and getting in the car. You just stood there, breathing so hard that you were seeing black spots in your vision.

And then you felt that familiar warmth seize you as long fingers gently wrapped around your upper arm, making you turn around, but before your eyes can meet those blue drowning pools that threatened to pull you into their owner’s arms where you wished to stay – with each and every nerve on your body firing with nothing but pain – you made him unhand you, prying off his hand from you before walking away and feeling your body turn freezing cold despite the burning sun above you.

Just then Sukuna spoke, making you pause.

“Coward.”

I know.

And then you boarded the car without sparing a single glance towards the people you knew cared deeply for you, the same ones you were hurting deeply with your decision to leave.

All because you fell in love.

You both did.

A/N: Gonna leave this update for you guys. I'll be doing the rest in the following days. Please enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading. It's getting long, but I don't want to make this half-assed or rushed. We'll get to the end soon enough. Again, thanks!

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp @justpuddinglol @mikkies @nyfwyeonjun @whats-humanity-lol @letthewindlead @whore-of-many-hot-men @localgaytrainwreck @pikibee @bloombb @mr-underhills-things @lysaray @chocoyanchan @poemzcheng @bookswillfindyouaway @dreamxiing @koutaroo @taelattecookie @kazuhasmaid @weebbuscuit @moonmalice @taengkatsu @reagan707 @lysaray

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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