#ta!reader

[soupdweller]

mermay day 2: ocean storm

[bessa-ta]

Bubbles and You

bf!Viktor (arcane) x reader

Summary - You decide to help Viktor relax from his stressful work at the lab with a warm bath, which leads to you two becoming intimate :)

Genre - smut, fluff, intimate, shower sex

Warnings - mdni!, unprotected sex, cockwarming. I have no idea if i should add anything else. Let me know if so.

Attention: Bessa's first post! + I'm not really fluent in english, if there are typos and mistakes just close your eyes ❤️

Midnight. Another day in which you patiently wait for your Viktor to come back home from the lab. But tonight you had something in mind - a way to spend some relaxing time together when he arrives.

It's been like that for the past 2-ish weeks where Viktor comes home really late at night, and it would be a lie if you said that you weren't pissed off by now with this routine. Spending your nights alone until late in the shared bed of your shared little cozy house, missing the presence of your loved one, isn't something that you or anyone else would wish for but sadly it's what you are put to deal with.

For the short time Viktor returns back home to have a meal, take a quick shower, and finally get some sleep for a few hours, you can see the stress he is put into. You knew he had a hard time with the new device he is working on, so you could never be mad at him. You are not this type of person, you respect his hard work and ambitions even if the lack of attention to you hurt you.

Today you had something in mind though - helping him relax with a warm bath together.

Time - 12:41AM. Viktor is finally on the front door, removing his shoes. You go running to him, giving him a tight hug and a peck on the lips.

"You are finally here." you say with a smile. He smiles back at you as he closes and locks the door behind him.

The night passed as usual until Viktor made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. You followed him there, starting to undress with him. He paused for a bit, processing your actions.

"Y/n what are you.. doing, my love?" he asked with confusion since you two have never showered nor bathed together. Why were you undressing together with him in the bathroom was a big mystery he couldn't solve right now, woah.

"Will take a bath, with you." a simple reply you striked him with, which made him look at you with wide open eyes. It's not like you haven't seen each other naked before. Oh, you did (even did the freaky, not once). But having such an intimate moment together as bathing? Haven't done it.

"Stop staring.. undress finally." you say as you were fully undressed now, but Viktor stayed as if he was frozen in time.

"Is there something wrong? You don't want to?"

"N-no, no, no, I'm undressing! Done!" and for a second he got completely naked too.

Man's heart beats fast like a rabit's. He got so excited but also shocked about the idea of bathing with you that at this point, he just waited for your commands of what to do.

You filled the bathtub with warm water, added the bubbles, and together stepped inside, you helping him. He hates bathtubs, and he never bathes because of his leg. He would difficultly step in and out of one, but with you beside him to help, it was alright.

You two sat comfortably there. Your back pressed against his chest, warm water with bubbles touching your bodies in the dark bathroom where you put a few candles to make the atmosphere more romantic. Your hand was drawing circles on Viktor's (good leg) thigh and he rested his head on your shoulder.

"I really enjoy this. Thank you..." he said quietly and leaned to leave a kiss on your shoulder. One, two, three more, and he went up kissing your neck, slowly and softly.

"You work really hard... I want to help you relax." you said and turned around to face him.

"You do it everyday already." His eyes sparkled from the light of the candles. He looked at you with a sotf smile on his face. "After all the hours in the lab, coming home to you always gives me peace. Sleeping in your arms makes me think about nothing but feel your warmth and care. I love this." he took your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a kiss. "I love you." he looked into your eyes again and pulled you into his lap.

You rested your hands on his shoulders while his rested on your waist, holding you there and kissed you softly. You kissed back, leaning in more into the kiss that your chest pressed against his now. The kiss grew hungrier, leaving you and Viktor breathless. He pulled away just to move down to your neck, leaving wet kisses and bites, marking you as his. You moaned and grabbed his hair, pulling it not to harshly. This made him suck on your neck harder, forming red to purple marks everywhere around it, down to your collarbones.

One of his hands reached up to grab your breast. He squeezed and played with it as his other hand still held you by the waist. Since you were sitting in his lap, you could feel his bare hardness against you. You felt so hot and worked up already that all you wanted was to take him in.

You raised yourself slightly on your knees, which surrounded him, and grabbed his shaft so you could position it on your entrance.

"Wait babe, a condom?" he stopped kising your chest to mention the miss of protection you needed to continue.

"Not this time." you were needy and couldn't wait any longer, he waited in front of your entrance damn it.

"Are you sur-" he couldn't finish his question because you were already positioning yourself down on him slowly, taking his length just perfectly. He moaned and rolled his eyes back to the sensation, grabbing your waist with both his hands and hips slightly bucking up to feel more you. Oh, you felt so heavenly, all wet and warm, just for him. He got dizzy, and he could see stars.

You started to move up and down, your hands still on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you felt him deep inside you. Viktor being a whimpering mess beneath you, moving his hips up because he wanted to cum so bad after not doing so for days.

You continued riding him but increasing your spreed by a little. The water in the bathtub moving restlessly with your rhythm.

Viktor could feel his climax approach, making him try to rut up into you desperately. You can feel your own approach too, so you didn't stop nor slow down your moves. Thankfully, the water surrounding you helped you not feel as tired as you would feel by now.

Viktor buried his face into your neck as his orgasm was about to hit. "Close.. so close, don't stop." he murmured breathlessly but a few seconds later now he was milking your insides. Hot seed filling you up, which triggers your orgasm too, and you two come together in sync.

You still feel him twitch inside you, and you lean to give him another sweet, tired kiss. "So good..." you whisper in between and pull away to rest your head on his shoulder.

Viktor hugged you tightly as you were still there with him buried inside you, kissing the top of your head. "That was so good, love, I agree." he smiled and closed his eyes. The water in the tub calming its movement too. You two could really relax now in each others embrace.

Hello guysss hope you liked some of my brainrot writings. It's the first one i ever post so please support me for more. If this one gets some positive attention i might post another one very soon. Feel free to request too! I'm open to write about your ideas too :)

Like and Follow me yeah 😎

[luvs4matt]

˖⋆࿐໋ ୨୧ AFTER . ꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫!𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 ꒱

SUMMARY ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ professor!matt edging ta!reader after class because she was teasing him during his lecture.

WARNINGS :: smut, fingering, clitoral stimulation, swearing, edging,

“you think you’re so funny huh?” his fingers were fucking you at a ruthless pace, the lewd sound of squelching came from between your legs “doin’ all that while i’m tryna work?” he growls “i think you just wanted this? little slut wanted this so fucking bad you needed to act out.”

you bite your lip, trying to hold back your moans so you don’t get caught. the harsh corner of the desk dug into your spine as you laid back onto the item. your walls flutter around his digits as be curls them, hitting your most sensitive spot.

“m—matt..” your voice broke as you spoke, struggling to stay quiet “m… m’so close” before you could finish your sentence, before you could ask him to cum, he removes his fingers from your hole.

you whine in protest “wait no! prof-“ the harsh slap he leaves on your ass echoes throughout the room “doll. shut the fuck up.” he grits his teeth “i don’t wanna hear a word come out of that mouth unless it is ‘yes sir’. do you understand me.”

you nod, but that wasn’t enough. he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him “say it. now.” your breathing was heavy, your orgasm slowly fading away as you managed to keep the intense eye contact “yes.. yes sir”

with zero warning, he plunges his fingers back into you, this time pressing his thumb to your clit. he lets go of your jaw and you throw your head back, bumping against the desk as you cover your mouth.

you squirm as pleasure overwhelms you, you could swear you felt it all the way in your face. he slaps your thigh, warning you to stop moving. his expression was cold, he was pissed. he was never this rough with you, but he couldn’t hold back after how badly you pissed him off today with your teasing.

“stay just like that dollie, hopefully you’ll shut the fuck up and finally listen to me? finally be a good girl like you’re supposed to be.”

​© luvs4matt

thank you @mattybsgroupie for helping me a bit with this 😭

[shotmrmiller]

johnny's got a teasing lilt to his voice as his eyes cut between the elegant silver-belled collar and the man holding it. the collar is pretty, sure. delicate, (faux) leather smooth to the touch, intricate buckles that gleam under the light. it's something someone would pick with care. But johnny's eye for detail is razor sharp and can't help but notice that it's not cat-sized.

"big one, aye?" he taps the delicate bell with the tip of his thumb, and it gives a quiet chime. ghost merely tilts his head, a slow, measured movement as he watches johnny inspect it. "if i'd known ye were big on pets, id've given ye a fish." his grin is wolfish, full of teeth, and it only deepens when he catches the slight twitch of ghost's mask, right where his mouth is.

ghost mutters, voice low and even. "could've used the quiet."

johnny's laugh is quick, bright, sharp as he shakes his head. "yer a man of surprises, simon." his amusement settles, and with a lazy shrug, he leans back. "well, i'm sure it'll look good on 'er."

ghost doesn't respond, the message is clear.

because of course it will.

[thewinchestah]

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

-

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over. 

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 

-

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 

-

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 

“Take my breath away, Alastor” 

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

-

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

[on1knee4marksmen]

The Peace he Finds in You

(Aka Wolverine sleep hcs/imagine)

---------------☆-----------------

Okay I have no idea why I always get the inspiration to write in the ass crack of dawn but here have this little imagine as a tiny side quest from something I'm working on :)

-☆-----☆-----☆-----☆-----☆-----☆-----☆-

I think Logan wouldn't be big on PDA when it comes to really any type of relationship. Hugs and kisses don't happen much in public (though he does love holding your hand).

But when you two are alone? And especially when it comes to sharing a bed?? He's a koala. You can't peel him off of you.

I feel like he's the type of person to really enjoy spending time together, and by together I mean just close to one another, even if you're doing different things. Just the quiet intimacy of sharing a space with you, of hearing your calm breaths, feeling your shoulder next to his or seeing your tiny smile whenever he looks towards you is so comforting, it's like the biggest luxury in the whole wide world for him to just be near you.

So there's just something magical about the night. About the time when the world goes to sleep, when Mother Nature's breaths even out into something lulling and oh so calming, when everything slows to a stop, except the tiny space of your shared bed and the slow beating of both your heart and his. It's like your pulses sync, like in this very moment you can't tell where his soul ends and yours begins. And God does he feel the need to have you close in moments like these. To have your body in his arms, to have your arms around him in return. To feel your soft exhales against his neck and to feel the warmth of your skin every time he breathes in. To be able to bury his face into your hair and nuzzle any inch of soft skin the tip of his nose can find, to hear your sleepy whines in protest, or tiny giggles in return. To hear anything you whisper to him, to be able to tell you anything, words meant only for you. To hold you tight and have you nuzzle into him, or to be held with care, with love and with longing. To feel like he matters and to make sure you know you matter.

It's in moments like these that the Wolverine really gets to feel peace. The only moments when he feels like a man and not a weapon. The only moments when he lets peace wash over him instead of guilt. The peace he finds in you.

[lisalamona]

Average Midnight Water Break (Poseidon)

Notes: Just a thought that somehow spiraled into whatever the hell this is

Something for you all to munch on while laylom gets finished

You woke up with the unbearable dryness of your throat scratching like sandpaper. You opened and closed your mouth in a futile attempt to summon even the faintest hint of moisture, but it was useless.

Rolling onto your side, you weighed your options. Was it really worth dragging yourself out of bed and into the freezing air just for a sip of water?

Your eyes fluttered open reluctantly, and you rubbed the sleep from them. The other half of the bed was empty, sheets messily tangled and pushed aside. Nothing unusual, just the normal chaos of a shared space. You didn’t mind.

What did catch your attention was the lack of sunlight bleeding through the curtains. It was early. Too early.

Your eyes drifted shut again. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten the memo that your body was crying out for hydration. Not that you minded. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

But the dryness worsened, your mouth a desert, your tongue rough and heavy. Your lips felt cracked, your throat raw. You groaned softly and sat up, the blankets slipping from your body and pooling around your waist. You stared at the wall, expression blank, mind empty, waiting for your vision to adjust to the dark.

Then, the tranquility shattered—an engine revving violently outside, operated by someone with no concept of decency or volume. You flinched.

Muttering under your breath, you inhaled sharply and braced yourself. With a final burst of determination, you tossed the covers aside and let your feet meet the icy floor. You shivered instantly.

Navigating your room with the muscle memory of countless nights before, you shuffled through the dark without bumping into a single thing. You could’ve done it blindfolded.

Reaching the hallway, you paused.

Pitch black.

Except two small green dots hovered at eye level, glowing faintly. Watching you.

You stared back, too tired to flinch. Too tired to care. It felt like a one sided staring contest, and you weren’t in the mood to lose.

Your eyes began to blur again. You reached up and rubbed them, slow and sluggish.

When you opened them, the dots were gone.

A chill prickled at your skin—subtle, but enough to unnerve you. Like something had been studying you, taking notes.

Still, you carried on with your noble, sleep deprived quest for hydration.

In the kitchen, the fridge light nearly blinded you. You squinted and leaned down to grab the water pitcher when—

“What are you doing?”

A gravelly voice whispered right against your ear.

You yelped, jerking back so fast you almost dropped the pitcher. “Jesus!” You gasped, clutching your chest. “Don’t do that!”

Poseidon tilted his head, utterly unbothered. “I just asked a question.”

“Yeah, well—questions hit different when you’re lurking in the dark like a serial killer.”

“I’m not lurking.”

“Yes, you are!” You glared at him. “Look, I get it. You don’t need sleep. I let you stay here, do whatever you want. But do you really need to stand there in the shadows like some predator waiting to pounce? Scared the hell outta me!”

“I apologize.” His grin stretched ear to ear, there was zero remorse, pure mischief.

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. It was way too early for an argument. “Fine, whatever.” You closed the fridge. “Just give me a warning next time.”

“I did warn you.” As you fumbled around blindly for a glass, he took one from the counter and placed it gently in your hand.

You stared at him. “That wasn’t a warning.”

“It’s not my fault your mortal brain can’t comprehend when it’s in danger.”

You raised a brow. “Danger?”

You drank deeply, letting the cold water wash over your parched tongue, cooling every inch of your burning throat. Relief flooded you.

“You know what I mean.” He muttered, eyes flicking to the glass as it tilted with every sip.

You noticed. “You want some too?”

He nodded once. You poured another glass and handed it to him.

“You know,” You said, setting the pitcher on the counter. “you can always get water yourself. You don’t have to wait around for me to offer.”

He didn’t answer. Just drank quietly, then set the glass beside the pitcher. You’ll take care of it in the morning.

Then, with a dramatic stretch, you opened your arms and made grabby hands. “Take me. I don’t wanna walk all the way back… And I’m cold.”

He squinted, confused. “What… What is this?” He mimicked you. “What are you doing?”

“This…” You wiggled your fingers. “is the universal signal for ‘please carry me like a tired princess.’”

Poseidon sighed but stepped forward and scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his warm chest.

You closed your eyes with a satisfied hum. “You’re so dramatic.” He muttered.

“And you’re my heater now.” You mumbled into his shoulder, already half asleep again.

[onlyfortaetae]

- STOLEN PANTIES

ᴀᴜ: ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴɢ sᴍᴜᴛ sᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ.

-> PAIRING: kim taehyung x female reader

-> GENRE: boyfriend au, smut

-> SUMMARY: your pink panties go missing and you find out what your boyfriend had been doing with it.

-> CW/TW: boyfriend!taehyung, masturbation(m), unprotected sex, creampies.

NOTE: don't like, don't read

(do not interact if you are a minor)

It was Saturday, and the air had the scent of fabric softener. The drone of the washing machine provided a steady rhythm to the morning, a comforting reminder that the weekend had arrived. For a brief moment, you felt the weight of the week's worries lifting off your shoulders, replaced by the anticipation of freshly laundered clothes. As you sorted through the pile of laundry, you noticed that your favourite pink panties were missing.

You searched through the tangle of shirts, socks, and underwear, feeling the softness of the fabric against your fingertips. The frustration grew with each unraveled knot of clothing that did not reveal the sought-after prize. You paused, frowning, and glanced around the room. Perhaps you had misplaced them while changing, or they had slipped out of your laundry basket and found refuge elsewhere.

With a sigh, you decided to retrace your steps, heading back to your room with the intention of conducting a more thorough search. The bed was unmade, a testament to your rushed morning routine, but you hoped that maybe you had left them there, a small beacon of pink among the sea of white sheets and pillowcases. You tossed aside the blankets and peered under the mattress, feeling the coolness of the floorboards against your knees. Nothing.

The scent of your perfume lingered in the air, reminding you of the moment you had discarded them. It was a faint hint of vanilla and musk, the same scent that had filled the room when you had returned home from a long day at work. You had been tired, but the comfort of your own bed had beckoned, and you had shed your clothes with a weary grace, allowing the panties to glide down your legs and puddle at your feet. Perhaps they had been kicked aside in your haste to crawl under the covers.

You knelt down and began to sift through the garments on the floor, feeling the softness of your clothes as they whispered against your skin. Each piece told a story of its own, a silent testament to your week's activities. The black skirt spoke of a professional meeting, the cotton t-shirt of a lazy afternoon lounging around the house, and the lacy bra of a night spent in anticipation of something more. But amidst the cacophony of fabric, your eyes remained trained on the prize: the pink panties that had somehow vanished into the fabric of your existence.

As you moved to the living room, you recalled the previous evening. Your boyfriend, Tae, had come over, bringing with him a bottle of your favorite wine and a hopeful smile. He had helped you unwind, his strong hands massaging your shoulders as you recounted the trials of your week. The memory of his touch was still warm against your skin, and you wondered if he had seen your panties when he had carried your laundry to the basket. The thought of his eyes lingering on them, a secret shared only between the two of you, sent a shiver down your spine.

You called out Tae's name, the sound echoing through the empty house. His laughter from the night before lingered in the air, a phantom memory that only served to amplify the silence of his absence. You checked the kitchen, the dining room, and even peeked into the shower, half expecting to find him lounging beneath the stream of hot water, the pink fabric held up as a teasing flag of conquest. But the house was as quiet as it had been when you first awoke, the only reply to your calls the muffled thumping of the washing machine in the background.

Disappointed but not deterred, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You pulled out your phone and sent a quick text, your thumbs flying over the screen with the ease of muscle memory. "Tae, have you seen my pink panties anywhere? They seem to have gone missing." You hit send with a smirk, the playfulness of the message a stark contrast to the seriousness of your quest. As you waited for his reply, you couldn't help but wonder if he had any part in this curious disappearance. The thought made your cheeks flush and your heart race with a mix of frustration and excitement.

Minutes ticked by, the washing machine's cycle nearing its end, but no response from Tae. You decided to continue your search, feeling the coolness of the floorboards as you padded into the hallway, the softness of your bare feet a stark contrast to the firmness of your resolve. You called out his name once more, louder this time, hoping the echoes would coax him from his hiding place. But the only reply was the distant hum of the air conditioner, a constant companion in the silent dance of the weekend.

The door to Tae's room was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open with a gentle nudge, the wood groaning softly as if whispering secrets. The room was a mess of discarded clothes, tech gadgets, and the faint scent of his cologne. The bed looked untouched, the pillows still in their perfect place, the sheets pulled tight like a fresh canvas awaiting its artist. You felt a pang of disappointment—perhaps he had not been the culprit after all. But then again, Tae had always been good at hiding things.

You began to rummage through his dresser drawers, the sound of fabric shifting and metal on metal as you moved his neatly folded clothes aside. The feel of his shirts, still warm from his body, brought a smile to your face despite the gravity of your mission. The smell of his cologne grew stronger, mingling with the faint scent of your laundry detergent. You found nothing in his sock drawer, nor in the pocket of his jeans that you had thought might be a good hiding place.

Moving to the closet, you slid the door open with a gentle ease, revealing a wall of his clothes, all neatly hung, and a floor littered with shoes. You stepped over them, feeling the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet as you scanned the area. Your eyes fell on his laundry basket, a mix of his clothes and yours from when you had done his laundry the last time. With a sudden jolt of hope, you reached in and sifted through the pile.

Your hand brushed against something smooth and silky—could it be? You pulled out the fabric, your heart racing, only to find a pair of his boxer briefs. Disappointed, you tossed them aside and continued searching, pushing aside his t-shirts and pants. The scent of his clothes, a mix of his sweat and cologne, filled your nostrils, sending a wave of longing through you. Despite the frustration of your quest, you couldn't help but feel a warmth in your chest at the thought of his presence in your home.

As you turned to leave the room, a gust of cool air wafted in from the open window. It whispered through the curtains, carrying with it the scent of rain and the distant sound of children playing. It was then that you realized you had been so focused on the indoors that you had not considered the outdoors. A strange feeling nagged at the back of your mind, an inexplicable pull towards the open space beyond the walls. You decided to step outside, the mystery of your missing panties momentarily forgotten.

The porch was slick with the early morning dew, and the coolness of the wood sent a shiver up your spine as you padded out barefoot. The air was alive with the promise of rain, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze, their leaves rustling like secrets shared among old friends. You scanned the yard, the vivid greens and yellows of the plants stark against the grey clouds that loomed overhead. The pebbled walkway led to the clothesline where your laundry hung limply, the pink panties nowhere to be seen.

As your eyes wandered to the driveway, they tuned into something unexpected—Tae's car. It sat there, parked haphazardly as if he had arrived in a hurry. Your heart skipped a beat, and you approached the vehicle, the mystery of his whereabouts deepening. The windows were tinted, but as you leaned closer, you could make out his silhouette through the glass. He was inside, his movements frantic and erratic.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the handle and pulled the door open. The sight that greeted you was shocking, to say the least. Tae sat in the driver's seat, his pants around his ankles, and your pink panties stretched around his erection as he stroked himself. The moment your eyes met his, he froze, his cheeks flushing a deep red, but he made no move to cover himself or stop what he was doing.

"I found them," he said, his voice low and raspy with need. The grin on his face was unmistakable—a blend of mischief and pure, unfiltered lust. His eyes remained locked on yours, as if challenging you to be the first to look away. The fabric of your panties was drenched with his arousal, and as he resumed his strokes, the material clung to his skin, revealing every contour and vein of his cock.

You felt a warmth spread through your own body, a delicious heat that started in your core and radiated outwards. "Tae," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your eyes trailed down to his hand, watching as he pumped himself, his movements growing more urgent. The sight was intoxicating, and you found yourself swaying slightly, your body responding to the rhythm of his strokes.

"I was looking for those," you said, still standing in the doorway, the cool morning air playing across your skin. Your tone was even, but the slightest tremble betrayed your excitement. Tae's eyes remained on you, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn't speak, but the way his hand tightened around your panties was all the response you needed.

With a sly smirk, Tae leaned back in his seat, his hand still working your panties over his swollen member. The rain began to patter against the windshield, each drop a silent beat in the symphony of desire that hung in the air. "They seemed to fit me quite nicely," he said, his voice thick with want. The fabric of your underwear was stretched taut, the pink a stark contrast against his tanned skin.

You stepped closer, the rain kissing your legs and soaking into the fabric of your shirt, clinging to your skin like a second skin. The chill of the water sent a thrill up your spine, mingling with the heat that had taken root in your belly. "You know you're not allowed to touch with my things without permission," you admonished, but the playfulness in your tone belied any real anger. The scent of the rain and the heady aroma of arousal filled the car, creating a potent cocktail that intoxicated both of you.

Tae's eyes never left yours as he continued to stroke, the fabric of your panties gliding over his cock with a wet, needy sound. His hand moved in a blur, the tension in his arm speaking louder than words ever could. "But you left them out, begging to be found," he argued, his voice strained. The way his muscles tensed and released with each stroke was mesmerizing, a silent confession of his desire. You felt your own panties growing damp as you watched, your breath coming in short gasps.

With a flicker of decision, you stepped into the car, the warmth of your body enveloping him. You slammed the door shut, cutting off the world outside. The rain grew heavier, the drumming on the roof a primal beat that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heart. "Well, since you found them," you murmured, sliding onto his lap, "I guess you should return them to their rightful owner." You straddled him, your knees pressing into the leather seat, your soaked shirt clinging to your breasts.

Tae's eyes widened with surprise, and he paused his stroking for a brief second before his hands found your hips, urging you closer. You felt the heat of his cock, the wet fabric of your panties sticking to your skin as you ground against him. He groaned, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, making your toes curl. The rain outside grew into a crescendo, a backdrop to the intimate dance playing out in the confined space of the car.

The fabric of your panties clung to him like a second skin, a vivid testament to his illicit indulgence. The rain's rhythm grew more insistent, each droplet a silent applause for your shared secret. You reached down, your fingers tracing the line where Tae's cock met the softness of your underwear, the contrast of the wet fabric and his hot, hard flesh sending a jolt through your body. The world outside was a blur of water and color, the only reality the two of you in that tiny, steamy sanctuary.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid the drenched panties down his shaft, watching as his cock emerged, glistening with pre-cum and rainwater. He was so hard, so ready for you, the veins standing out in stark relief against the velvet smoothness of his skin. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of desire that made your head spin. The scent of him filled your nostrils, a potent blend of sweat, lust, and your own arousal.

You leaned in, your breath hot against his ear. "You're going to return these to me now," you murmured, your voice a seductive purr that sent shivers down his spine. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. You took his hand, guiding it to your own panties, which were soaked with need. He stroked the fabric, the wetness of it a silent confession of your own desire.

With a growl, Tae pulled you closer, his cock pressing against your slick folds. You could feel the heat of him, the promise of what was to come, and it made you whimper with need. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, the tip of it nudging insistently against your clit. You raised your hips, guiding him home, feeling the stretch and burn as he filled you completely. The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by your gasps of pleasure, the slickness of your bodies the only music in the car.

Your hips began to move in time with his, the friction of skin on skin creating sparks of pleasure that shot through you like lightning. The leather seat was cool and slick beneath your ass, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Each stroke was a symphony of sensation, the wetness of your panties mingling with his precum, creating a slickness that only amplified the intensity.

Tae's hand found your breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You arched your back, pressing into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. The rain hammered against the car, the sound a cacophony that matched the rhythm of your lovemaking.

The air was thick with the scent of sex, the windows fogging up as your bodies moved in perfect harmony. The taste of him was on your lips, the feel of him inside you a drug that you couldn't get enough of. Each thrust was a declaration of need, a silent vow of passion and lust that echoed through the car and into the soaking wet world outside.

The climax built slowly, a crescendo that grew with each stroke, each touch, each gasp. You could feel it coiling in the pit of your stomach, a tightness that grew and grew until it was all you could think about. Tae's grip on your hips tightened, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.

And then it hit you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave, stealing your breath and making your body convulse with pleasure. You threw your head back, crying out his name as you came, the sound of your ecstasy lost in the cacophony of the storm.

Tae followed suit, his body stiffening as he released his own pent-up need, the warmth of his seed filling you completely. The tension in his muscles eased as he slumped back into the seat, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding.

You leaned into him, your forehead pressed against his, the rain's tempo slowing to a gentle patter as the storm outside mirrored the one you had just weathered together. The fabric of your panties lay forgotten between you, a symbol of the barriers

[romanreignsbae]

Baby Daddy - J.U

A/N: just in favour of our very own main event jey uso winning the royal rumble!!! well deservedly! haters can suck his dick!!

warnings: smut & fluff (hope y’all enjoy!)

————

Another weekly exchange took place at your home per usual. Every Tuesday Josh would come and pick up your son Elijah until Wednesday evening. Due to his hectic road life, he really only got a day a week to spend time with his son. Josh took every single moment he got with his son, and savoured it. The problems you two had could never come in to say that Josh wasn’t an amazing dad.

Your son Elijah, was the best thing that ever happened to the both of you. You and Josh were high school sweethearts. You never once thought you would get pregnant with his child..at least not anytime soon. But in your last year of college, with a simple week of morning sickness, emotional breakdowns, and crazy cravings, you found out you would now be eating for two. And from there on out it was history.

Josh was ecstatic he was gonna be a father. From a young age he’s always dreamed of being an amazing father. He was even more happier when he found out the two of you would be expecting a boy. He was already picturing throwing around a football with his son, and teaching him all about his samoan family lineage. And even you were ecstatic.

You delivered a healthy baby boy, whom was loved by all the family around him. However for you and Josh, your relationship only weakened from that moment on. Josh was in desperate need of a job, and because of his family background, he turned to wrestling. As much as wrestling was looked at as a glamorous job, it wasn’t all that it seemed. Josh was constantly on the road, and even when he was home, he would be on interview calls or hitting the gym. You on the other hand, were just as busy as Josh. The two of you were constantly on the go and never has time for each other. So you both decided it’d be better if you broke up.

Well, it was you who broke up with Josh. It took a lot of guts to do so, but it had to be done. It was for the better…it seemed. Josh could never take the words ‘broke up’ to his heart, so he used ‘on a break’. You thought it was a immature and delusional way to deny reality, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Dada!” Elijah squealed as Josh walked through the door of your home. “Hey buddy! My mini uce!” Josh spoke back with just as much excitement. Your 2 year old son, ran on wobbly legs towards his daddy. You smiled at the sight. Josh handled Elijah on one hip, while turning to you.

“What’s up Y/n..” he spoke while Elijah was grabbing at his face. “Hey Josh, how are you?” you spoke back nervously avoiding eye contact. The truth was you’d never gotten over Josh. The road broke you two apart, also breaking your heart at the same time. You love Josh with your whole heart to this moment. He was your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first time, and now the father of your child. When you broke up with him, you only broke your own heart too.

Now 2 years later after breaking up with him, you still want him more then ever. “I’m doing alright. Busy ya know. Well ima take Eli…i’ll see you tomorrow when I drop him off..” he told you while turning towards your door but not before grabbing Eli’s bags. “No! Mama! Come with us!” Elijah screamed out while kicking his feet all over the place.

Josh let Elijah down on the floor and he wobbled over to you. “Mama! Come with us to dada house! All of us!” he spoke on the verge of tears. “Baby..it’s dada’s time with you, i’ll see you tomorrow..” you spoke softly while caressing his little chubby cheek. “Please mama!” he cried out. He had never acted this way before.

“Baby..” you started speaking before getting cut off. “Y/n, I don’t mind if you come with us, you know it’s been a while” Josh cut you off. “Yay! See mama come with us!” Elijah then squealed. You thought about being with Josh for a long period of time, and it made you nervous yet excited. But for your baby, you would go.

“Okay, you guys wait in the car i’ll be there in a minute,” you spoke softly. After grabbing your bag and some stuff you would need, you made your way out of your home locking the door behind you. You made your way into Joshua’s car, sitting in the passenger seat.

The car ride to Josh’s house was about a hour away, including the busy traffic. Josh blasted music the whole way to his house, to avoid the awkward silence. Elijah was dosing off in the back, and you took small glances at Josh when you got the chance. You felt him staring too, which only added tension.

Without either of you speaking a word to each other the whole ride, you made you way inside Josh’s beautiful beach side mansion. “Wow Josh! This place is beautiful!” you spoke astonished. He smiled at you. “Thanks...coulda been yours too..” he mumbled the last part thinking you didn’t hear. You did hear, loud and clear, which only added to your regret of breaking up with Josh. You knew he missed you, and you knew he still wanted you. You just couldn’t bring yourself to admit the fact you were still in love with him.

The evening was spent with you, Josh, and Elijah playing board games together, sitting together eating dinner, and ended with watching ‘The Lion King’ all together on Josh’s massive L shaped couch.

“He’s asleep,” Josh spoke quietly. You looked down to your side to see Elijah fast asleep. “Yeah he is” you agreed. “Lemme go put him in bed, wait here.”

You waited for Josh, wanting to know why he wanted you to wait. You should be back home right now. ‘Aight..” Josh mumbled walking back into the living room, making his presence known.

He sat beside me on the couch and waited a minute before talking. “Y/n..ion even know where to start, there’s so much I have to admit to you..lemme start off by saying, I miss you, a lot.” he admitted.

You softly smiled. You were happy Josh admitted this so now you could get everything off your chest. “Josh, you don’t even know how much I regret breaking up with you back then..we were just in such a bad place and I was so scared that you’d find someone else while you were on the road, and truth is i’ve never stopped loving you..” you admitted.

He smiled at you showing off his pearly whites. “I love you too baby,” he leaned in and your lips met for a soft kiss. You felt him grab your hips and pull you on top of his lap. While sensually kissing he moved your hips on top of his in a circular motion, creating friction. You gasped in pleasure softly.

You could feel a tent beginning to grow under you, adding to your pleasure. Josh groaned out. You took charge and pulled back from the kiss. “Life your arms up,” you mumbled out of breath. Josh complied, and you took his shirt off.

“You sure?” Josh asked. You needed this desperately. After you broke up with Josh, you had no time to be with anyone sexually, and you missing him didn’t help the matter. “Yes, im positive.” you spoke back.

You felt Josh’s hands roaming your clothed body, and he began stripping you piece by piece. Your body shivered at the sudden contact with the cold air. You were now left in only your panties, as Josh was left in his boxers. He once again moved his head down towards mines and shared a passion full kiss. Our tongues fought for dominance in which he won.

He broke away from your lips and peppered kisses on your jaw, then moving to your neck. You were surprised when you felt him sucking extra hard on your sweet spot, even after these few years, he remembered where you were extra sensitive.

“J-josh please!” you squeaked out. He continued his assault on your neck, and you swore you could feel his lips curve into a smile. “What you want mama?” he mumbled. “You..”

He pulled back from your neck and peppered kisses down towards your chest. He grabbed one of your breasts and massaged it in his large hand.

He then lowered his head down and softly took your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it lightly. You let out a moan to the feeling of his mouth. He did the same with your other breast and peppered kisses down your stomach.

He continued his kisses down to your thighs, once in a while biting down softly causing you to squeal. He was purposely denying the spot your body craved him most. Josh always knew how to drive you insane before finally giving into what you wanted.

He slowly slid your panties off in one swift motion exposing your core to the cold air. Your body was now covered in goosebumps hence the chilliness of the room.

“Missed this pretty pussy..” he mumbled while running his finger through your folds. “Yeah, yeah whatever just-” you were cut off by his head suddenly being pushed between your thighs and his mouth hungrily devouring you. You moaned out in ecstasy. You had almost forgot how talented Josh’s mouth was matched with your lower set of lips.

He sucked hastily at your clit almost sending you over the edge. You began grinding your hips onto his face, causing him to pull away quickly. “Baby if you gon cum its gon be on this dick,” he spoke with deep chuckle. You whined at sudden loss of warmth from your lower region.

Josh chuckled at your neediness. As he took off his boxers revealing his hard length. You felt so touch deprived, as you moaned out into the chilly air of the room evoking a deep chuckle from him. “I gotchu baby, I gotchu..”

The tip of his dick slowly stretched you out as you almost practically screamed at the amazing sensation. Josh continued entering inside you at a steady pace allowing you to adjust to the now unfamiliar feeling. Your eyes were droopy as you looked up to see him with his mouth open as his eyes were also fluttering shut. “Damn baby, you always so tight for me, just for daddy..” he barely choked out.

Once he was fully inside you, he began thrusting into you at a very slow pace, prolonging the beautiful orgasm he knew you were on the verge of having. “P- please, daddy..please faster” you asked quietly barely being able to speak.

Without warning Josh began moving at a speed you could barely keep up with, causing you both to moan loudly with pleasure. “We gotta keep it down baby..we don’t want Eli wakin up” he spoke while not once slowing his pace.

The familiar feeling began brewing inside your lower belly, tingling all around signalling you were close. “I’m almost- i’m gonna” you choked out on the verge of tears. You forgot how intense sex was with Josh.

“I know baby, I know..” he mumbled while moving his hand down to playing with your clit sending you straight over the edge. “Fuck Josh!” you wailed as he held you down with his arm as you convulsed.

He continued chasing his own nut at a severe pace, which was slightly overestimating you. Before you could get a word out you felt his warm speed paint the walls of your now swole pussy.

He moved off you, lying down on the couch beside you gathering you in his arms before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you baby, and I want us to be a family this time, for real.”

“Mmm yeah me too, love you Josh..” you whispered as sleep overcame your body, while you slept in the arms of the man you have always and always will love.

[arcanefeelings]

(continuation of this)

thinking about ta!nanami again...

the second you laid eyes on him, you knew you were done for. he looked perfect. too perfect.

because the moment you first see ta!nanami, you know you want to ruin that perfect image of him, pull that stupid, godforsaken tie of his loose, and pluck those delicate silver wire rimmed glasses off his face.

and finally, finally, after nearly a month of your fantasizing, you catch him one evening in the library, papers scattered over a table in the corner, those broad shoulders hunched over as he scribbles on the papers he's marking.

you linger behind a shelf, pretending to browse the books, but your eyes are stuck on ta!nanami. not for the first time, your gaze lingers on those thick, corded forearms of his, fully exposed thanks to the way the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. your gaze follows him as he pushes his glasses up with those slender fingers still gripping the red pen and you wonder how they'd feel buried deep in your cunt.

his fingers were long, thick. they would surely reach the spots you struggled to with your own. as if realizing the direction of your thoughts, you avert your gaze back to the books on the shelf, cheeks warm. it wasn't the first time, but it had never happened outside the four walls of your dorm.

but as hard as you tried to focus on the books on the shelf, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

would he bend you over that table he was working at? hold you down by the back of your neck and thrust his fingers into your squelching, dripping pussy?

would he lean over you, whispering filthy praises into your ear till your knees buckled - your g-spot hit consistently one too many times? would he make sure your legs stayed open for him by standing between them, keeping your dripping cunt accessible to his fingers?

would he - no. you shut your eyes, shaking the thoughts away and hurry past him to another aisle of books, forcing yourself to forget the warm musk of his cologne that wafts into your nose when you pass his table.

the days pass, and when you see him next, you're receiving your previous assignment back. as you sit at your desk, reading through the crit, your eyes linger on a note in the margin, gaze flicking up. he's already looking at you.

you can't help the way your breath hitches in your throat, swallowing subconsciously as you see the way his pupils flare, before nodding your way politely, as if to acknowledge you read his remarks. your eyes shift back to your paper, heart skipping a beat at the neat cursive.

"good points, come to meet me after hours for further discussion."

[ficandkaboodle]

The Stroke of Midnight (Copia x Fem!Reader) - NSFW

A/N: Veteran smut-writers, y'all deserve a hillside of marigolds and picnics complete with pasta and endless breadsticks 🫡 (Seriously, though, thank you to all who've put up with me on this beast. It put me on life-support just long enough to finish it in time! Y'all deserve the pasta picnic and some cookie boxes with dope-ass cookies) It’s my first attempt at non-blurb smut so you’ve been warned… Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 5897. Shoot dang, almost made it to 5900! CW: Reader and Copia are buzzed so expect many, many references to alcohol and its consumption. And you know what happens when Copia gets buzzed . . .👀 So on that note . . . MDNI for sexy times while intoxicated!

Shady business and unfeasible expectations be damned (or perhaps blessed): the Satanic Church knew how to throw an actually good New Years Eve party. Of course, it would've been given enough if it relied solely on the expectation that alcohol flowed like water. But no: They went the extra mile and actually included food. Not dinky little cocktail wienies and room temperature hors d'oeuvres –  honest to Beelzebub food!

Now that was a commitment to making sure everyone in the congregation was having a good time, in your opinion. Everywhere you looked, there was some form of excitement: Siblings dancing; Clergy members opening party crackers while drunkenly cackling at the curse of glitter they'd inflicted on each other; ghouls challenging each other to shot-downing competitions; and everything in-between.

In short, it was a beautiful bacchanalia with which to welcome another year of spreading the Old One's word.

The only thing that could make it actual perfection, though? Perhaps if your boyfriend of a month and a half were actually by your side. Or, at the very least, within eye shot!

You weren't entirely shocked that he'd disappeared. Being Frater Imperator, it was only an expectation that he might get pulled away for some ass-kissing from residential and visiting eminences alike. But it had been almost half an hour, and your own friends had wandered off to makeout or have other types of fun with their own significant others at this point.

Far be it from you to consider yourself clingy – you liked your independence. But . . . Okay, maybe some sappy part of you still lingered inside, coloring your thoughts and expectations. Specifically, they were colored with the same black and pink of Copia's lips.

Part of you wondered what cheesy holiday romcom you were trying to replicate, holding out for something as cliche as a kiss on New Years. You’d even gotten dolled up in a cutesy mini dress like one you’d probably see in such a sappy flick!

But then again, Lilith and Eve sinned so that man could be born and kiss the way that he did. Deadline aside, getting one at anytime tonight would be the perfect assurance that you were truly entering a brand new era of your life.

So . . . It was probably understandable that you may have looked a little pouty to the sober-enough onlooker. Your eyes scanned the crowd, taking a sip of the cocktail you'd been nursing in order to pacify yourself. By now, you were starting to realize a burning hum in your ears and cheeks as the alcohol began to seep into your blood.

You were beginning to contemplate giving in and venturing to the snack table for some garlic-dipped pita chips (you'd been staring longingly at them since you first arrived, only holding off because of the coveted Kiss), when –

There! Finally! You knew that jacket! It's hard not to, considering it was a glittery gold. It caught so much light that it was frankly a wonder how you hadn't found his gilded disco ball ass sooner. Especially given how . . . awkward his movements are. Uneven, always moving too far left, then too far right before barely uprighting and –

Oh. Oh no.

At one point, he stumbled to a wobbly stop, head cocking and eyes squinting before flying open wide.

A smile grew on Copia’s face as his arms flew up in front of him, hollering out a notably slurred, "There she iiiisssss! Amore mio, la mia vita, la mia mela – " He paused to make a singular yet violent hiccup. "Mela alla cannelaaaaa!!"

You met him halfway in his path towards you, worried that he might collapse on the marble floor if you didn't at least try to catch him. Copia wasn't an especially heavy person but in his drunken state, he seemed to disregard the courtesy of not foisting his entire self onto you. Instead, he was far too focused on hugging you close, mushing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Ahhh, topina. I -hic- missed you!" Your nose wrinkled as a waft of a powerful alcohol flowed down to your nose. You had a bit of a buzz going yourself but at least you had a cute little cocktail to thank for it. Judging by your burning olefactories, Copia was on some of the harder stuff.

"I – ugh – I missed you, too," you responded carefully. It was an awkward act to try and balance the remainder of your drink while also getting Copia to balance flat on his own two feet but you somehow managed. Call that a New Year’s Eve Miracle. "Geez, what happened to you?"

You may as well have told a corny little joke with how he giggled.

"Some Clergy members gave me some shots of rum from Ja -hic-maica! Coconuts!" You couldn't tell what he was laughing at now: The fun time he was having, or the look of horror on your face. Harder stuff indeed.

Now you had an important decision to make: Either you found a seat, prayed that he sat still long enough for you to build up a plate of fried and greasy foods for him to sober up on; or you played the part of the boring old partner and marched him to his chambers for an early evening (well, as early as 11:18pm could be considered).

You heard a sigh slither into the middle of your thoughts as Copia's arms wrapped around you once more, nudging you back into him. The threat of him putting his weight back on you was enough for you to come to a quick decision: Sober him up just enough to where he could take ten steps without the threat of collapse, then take him to bed. With how he was standing, there was just no way you were going to be able to make your way to the other side of the Great Hall, never mind the other side of the building.

You felt confident with your choice just by the journey to a free chair and table alone.

"Okay, oookay," you grunted as you tried to angle his rump into the seat. Copia let out a disappointed sound too young for someone of his age as you gently de-tangled yourself from his embrace. Inconveniences aside, you had to fight back the desire to coo at how adorable he was being. Copia was always affectionate with you, but it appeared that alcohol added a whole different layer to that.

"Don't worry, Caro " you softly assured. "I'm just going to get you a little something to nosh on, okay? I'll be right back. But only if you stay put, alright? If you leave – even if it's just to go find me – I won't be able to find you. So can you be a good boy and do that for me? Stay put?"

When you saw his expression collapse into a somber pout, you wondered if perhaps he found your tone patronizing. Judging by the sulky "fine" he uttered, however, it was apparent that he was more upset by the fact you couldn't be fused at the hip forever.

You could work with that. It wouldn't be long anyway. Even when you returned with a flimsy red paper plate covered in tortilla chips, a scoop of veggie lo mein, and two egg rolls, you could tell that the look of joy on his face was only meant for you. He would've disregarded the little spread entirely and latched himself back on you if you didn't take the time to place both it and a cup of water before him with the gentle instruction that he tuck in.

"Carefully," you were sure to add. A tipsy gait was bad enough; if he ate himself sick, you'd be even further out of your depth than you were already beginning to feel.

To your relief, he listened, proceeding to nibble on an egg roll's crunchy wrapping. Good. Now all you had to do was sit and wait for his system to clear up a bit. Your back and feet cried with relief as you plopped yourself down on the seat next to him – your first and only real mistake of the evening.

In hindsight, you would compare it to being like a living lava lamp. Maybe there was some science to it or whatever, but you were becoming increasingly unable to apply logic. All you knew was that the longer you sat, the warmer your face began to feel and the more bubbly your brain seemed to become. The flare of alcohol was rising inside of you like a hot river, flowing upwards, into your chest, into your cheeks, and into your brain. You could practically feel your sensibilities flickering like a lightbulb threatening to go out.

Crap. Curse that cute cocktail, it had betrayed you after all! Your eyes fluttered as though that would do literally anything for you besides make you look frazzled.

"Wha’s the matter, Schricchio?" Copia sounded only slightly less slurred, though the fact that he was able to pin your shift in demeanor after only an egg roll and a half stood as a good sign. All the more reason for you to remain firm and stand your ground against the liquid possession threatening to take over your senses.

Copia needed you to be the sober one here, even if he didn't really know it. You shook your head and nudged your cocktail further away from the both of you.

"Bad aftertaste is starting to hit," you claimed. A part of you mourned that you would have to abandon it so soon. The dull pain was slightly remedied when Copia wordlessly offered you a bite from the remainder of his fried treat. It was nice to know that there were some things about Copia that not even alcohol could change.

"Are you mad at me?"

He sounded quiet. The sounds of the party grew softer and softer as you both walked further from the Great Hall. On occasion, you'd pass a couple making out or a Sister of Sin drunkenly sobbing over her phone while her equally sloshed friends warned her against texting "him" back.

Otherwise, though, most of the Abbey's residents and attendees were either back where the action was happening, or making some action happen in their rooms. Which was where you, as a Sibling yourself, would probably be heading to once you got Copia situated in his own quarters. As sweet on you as he was, your relationship was still new; you didn't feel it was right to impose and spend the night without his permission.

And even if you had it, you'd have to second guess if it was a situation where anyone was being taken advantage of. He seemed slightly better than he did nearly half an hour ago, no longer launching himself on top of you in an unsuccessful effort to fuse. Even his balance seemed somewhat improved. However, the rum was clearly still in his system, making his cheeks and nose run red and his sensitivities run tender.

That was probably why he sounded so nervous and shy when he'd asked you his strange question.

You knew he couldn't see the confusion on your face, not when he was trailing behind you, but you nonetheless wore it. "No? Why would you think that?"

You probably weren't convincing, given that you barely turned to glance back at him, but you needed to keep your purposeful stride going. Evidently, Copia had a better handle of his alcohol than you did, seeing as the bit of egg roll you'd eaten did virtually nothing for you.

If you broke the intense concentration it was taking for you to avoid wobbling, your barely concealed cover would be blown – and you'd probably faceplant and force a buzzed old man to drag you off somewhere to hide your shame. He’d probably throw out his back and then you’d both enter the new year with wounded bodies and wounded pride.

Copia worried his bottom lip. "For getting silly. And for making us leave the party early."

You nearly scoffed with amusement. Did he really think that that would be all it took to upset you? The poor dear, so darling and worried even when on the brink of being absolutely sauced.

You sighed, the fruity smell of your cocktail fluttering back at you. "Issa New Year's party, Co: Everyone is drunk."

Including me, you thought with guilt. You winced as you realized a bit of slur was beginning to drip into your speech but carried on. "But I dun really care about everyone; I care about you. And a little while ago, I was worried our dear Frater was going to get himself hurt, y'know?"

"I know . . ." he mumbled. The hushed tone of his voice implied a guilt of his own, and it hurt your heart to hear him like that.

You knew good and well that Copia's onstage persona was more confident and bombastic than who he really was offstage. But to see him question or be uncertain about something still tugged a saddening chord inside you. And the alcohol no doubt made it worse . . .

Fuck it. Your conviction to maintain speed was tossed out the nearest window as you slowed your pace until you were right alongside your glittery guy.

"Hey." You entwined your fingers with his, flesh meeting warm leather. At fifty-something years-old, Copia wore the expression of a young child experiencing the wonder of their crush talking to them. Even in your fizzling state, you adored it and hoped you'd remember it forever.

"I mean it."

You gave his hand an affirming squeeze. "I was worried about you, y'know?" The cocktail told you to lean in and burrow against his arm, and you found yourself obliging. The sequins of his coat weren't the most welcoming texture, but the fact that they were on him made them 100 times more bearable to you.

"I wan' take care of you . . . 'Cause you're mine." Welp. There went the goal of trying to bite back your slurring. But Copia didn't seem to mind. Far from it, if his response was anything to go by, in fact.

Returning the gentle squeeze, he sighed dreamily. "You're so nice . . ."

You lightly giggled either from the cocktail further encroaching your senses or from feeling your partner press a small kiss to your hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Frater."

You felt him nuzzle his nose against the spot a kiss had previously been place, then a flutter of a deep inhale and respective exhale. "'Smell nice, too . . ." You almost wanted to make a sarcastic comment about how sure, the residual smells of debauchery from the party definitely made for an intoxicating bouquet. But as his hand released yours, only to wander to your waist, you couldn't help but feel that might've actually been apt in this moment.

A gasp popped from your lips, followed by a light squeal of delight and ticklishness as he gave the tender flesh a teasing squeeze. Your reflexive wiggling only stopped when his other hand crept further up your back. As he drew your bodies closer, you couldn't help but notice how his personal heat felt . . . more intense. Even in the drafty halls of the old structure, Copia was more than enough to set your cheeks on fire.

Well, that, and the intoxication wafting from him.

The gleam of his left eye pierced through the darkness like the stare of a predator on prey. And even in the haze of euphoria, there was a steadiness in them that made sure to lock in on you and only you.

"You feel nice . . ." The low rumble of his voice made a shudder run through you.

Oh, yeah: That Jamaican rum was still there. And no amount of food or water was going to hold it back from taking control of your Copia. Like a devil lying in wait, it struck at the perfect time: A barely-lit corridor, no Siblings or Ghouls or Clergy patrolling, far enough away so that the sounds of the party were just barely above a loud whisper.

Even a more sober you wouldn't have stood a chance. Petrified with lust and intrigue, you were the perfect kill. The rough kiss he pressed to your lips came easily, and you could only welcome it with a heady moan.

The tastes of cocktails and hard rum mingled together between your tongues, overpowering any other taste including your own. In your increasingly buzzed state, you were beginning to understand why perhaps Copia bothered to drink more than one shot of rum: At least when coming from him, it tasted diabolically divine.

A soft whimper for more filled the space between your separated lips, then muffled and obliged when they wetly reunited once more.

Uncoordinated and stumbling footsteps echoed through the corridor as you felt Copia gently but insistingly ushering you backwards until your back found purchase against the wall of an alcove.

There was a stark juxtaposition in that moment, where the cold and uneven stone biting into your bare back urged you even closer against the burning, soft hold of your beloved. The contrast had a dizzying effect, and you weren't sure which temperature made your nipples pebble beneath your clothing more as you released a trembling sigh.

Your thighs twitched out of reflex but that was all the rum demon needed to secure yet another opportunity to take and take. A low, spicy, coconut-scented moan was coupled with gloved hands removing themselves from the curve of your waist and back before returning to your body – with one traveling upwards to your chest and its twin sloping downward to grip at the meat of your hip.

In the short time you'd been an official couple, Copia had made many things clear: That he was the sort to treasure the one he loved, and that he had a fondness for breasts of all shapes and sizes had been but a few of them. And given how he gently cupped yours, relishing in its weight and warmth against his palm, it was apparent that this held even through the haze of inebriation. Not even the ambitions of the rum could blind him to the want of cherishing your body.

If he'd only remained fondling you, you would have been plenty happy. Both parties were enjoying themselves as Copia's thumb glided back and forth over your nipple as though it had found a new toy to play with; and the bead itself seemed to crave his stimulation even through the material of your dress, bending to his touch and tickling your senses.

But with a hardening grip, you were reminded of where his other hand had gone. It pinned your hip as close to the wall as possible, not allowing for even the slightest wriggle away.

"Amore." A single word made uneven by laborious panting. But even then, you knew what he intended: He needed you to stay put, to not move an inch. All the easier for him to position his hips against yours.

Even though your dress made the contact somewhat awkward, Copia's reaction portrayed utter bliss. It was just enough for his hardening dick to become aware of even the slightest softness of your mound. That was all it took for his head to tilt back to release a sound that combined a whine of pleasure with a groan of hunger.

He gave the connection a tentative movement, pressing himself against a slot only the barrier of clothing prevented him from fully entering. The friction proved to be all he needed to give your warmth a few more, testing thrusts before giving way to more frequent, eager, and harder ones.

When his hardness finally found the tenderness of your awakening clit (as evidenced by the full-body jolt and hiccuped, "Oh!" you gave), he knew he'd finally found the angle he wanted.

In the nanoseconds between his hips pulling back and rushing forward, you found yourself just sober enough to remember something. You had never paid mind to because it appeared to just be rumors from ghouls and slander from the Ministry's former director.

But as Copia's hips began to dig into yours, accompanied by hot pants that fanned against your face, you had confirmation: The Frater, when just drunk enough, loved a good frottage.

You squeaked with warm delight as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, forcing your abdomens closer as your lower bodies began to meld together in one humping blur. He, of course, accepted the embrace, shakily endearing you as "Schricchina" as your cute little noises continued.

What probably had once housed something as insignificant as a potted plant was quickly becoming the world’s smallest shrine to lust. The liturgy came in the form of whimpers and moans, your prayers coming from slurred utterings of "please"s and "fuck"s and garbled Italian he had yet to teach you the meanings of.

When it wasn't being attacked with sloppy, tonguing kisses, your mouth hung open, puffing out small pants and tiny "oh"s. You didn't care how you must have looked as drool threatened to fall from your lips; all you cared about was getting Copia to nudge at your swelling clit again and again and again and so on until you grew tired. (Which, of course, would be never.)

The glittery sequins of his jacket bit into your fingers as they gripped against his back and shoulders, but you felt none of it. Nor did you feel the grit of the alcove wall against your back as Copia's feverish movements caused your body to rock against it.

If it wasn't the feel of his hands squeezing and playing with you; his mouth nipping and sucking and licking at whatever flesh he could reach; or the enthusiastic thrust of his dick searching for your wet warmth, then you weren't physically or mentally able to pay it any mind.

Copia himself didn't seem to know what to do with himself; caught in a stupor of his own desires, he wanted to do it all, taste it all, and feel it all. His forehead would press against the junction of your neck, only for him to raise almost immediately so that he could carve his teeth there before applying wet suckles there to salve the reddening spot. His hands would leave their positions, only to instantly regret it and miss the bounce of your breast and the twitching of your hips with every thrust he gave.

He was delirious in a concoction of his own drunkenness, lust, and greed, and he only wanted it more. Unfortunately, this current position, with how your dress lay over your thighs, wasn't going to cut it! A growl rumbled from deep within his heaving chest as he roughly gripped your thigh before hoisting it up to rest against his hip. Your body would have slipped from the position if not for his own thick thigh coming up to seat half your jiggling ass against.

The change in positioning was awkward only for the amount of time it took for him to assure you were situated into place. Otherwise? The blast of pleasure was immediate. With your thighs now properly spread, so, too, did your lips, causing your wetness an easier escape to be collected by your panties. Every thrust against them smeared your slick and created a sticky sound that only seemed to spur Copia on once he realized it lay beneath the rustling of your clothing and your collective noises.

Gritting his teeth did nothing to sharpen the oozing, rasping purrs of "Yes"s. The mantra almost sounded as though he were even thanking you; for what, you were in no headspace to determine. All you knew (or cared to know) was that the feelings were mutual.

"A-Amore," he managed to wantonly string together. "A-are you cl-close? You gonna cum with me?"

His voice had gone husky by now, but even the roughened edges couldn’t take away from how pleading he sounded. The effect it had on you was almost shameful as you could feel your walls clenching, grasping desperately for a dick that wasn’t even inside it yet. A moan, the loudest you’d uttered yet, burst forward from your awaiting lips.

"Yes, yes, yes! Please! Right there, Co, right there –!!" All you could do was murmur mindlessly, begging, pleading for him to just. Keep. Going. There! And ever the dutiful lover, your Frater was more than happy to oblige.

Through eyes fluttering through wave after wave of sensation, you could make out how your lover’s expression began to tighten. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth wore into his kiss-swollen lip. It was as though he were concentrating. And judging by the increase in tempo and form, he very well may have been.

Thrusts that had been straight forward until now began to curve and rotate, not at all unlike the effortless hip movements he would perform during his frontman days. The devilish thrusts that just watching footage of would send your pussy salivating and craving him. Feeling them on you, experiencing how direct they were, how thoroughly they hit all the sweet spots on such a small target –

You could've broken into sobs with how good the friction felt. How every streak of his cock left a trail of blissful fire lapping at your needy little clit. Your hips would trail after his own, desperately trying to mimic his movements and catch each rut his body applied to yours.

Your breaths pitched higher and higher as words melted into incoherent, single syllable sounds. If any more direction for what you needed to get off were required, you would have to fight to give them form. It was perhaps by sheer luck (or the interference of Asmodeus himself) that all Copia needed was to listen to your whimpers, your screeches that only vaguely resembled cries for more, and note how your hands struggled to commit to one place to know precisely what his good girl needed.

You'd long since stopped caring who all heard you – all that mattered was that you came, even if it was only on Copia's clothed cock. And you would have only been able to hear the sounds of your dry humping session, if not for the collective sounds of the Abbey raising in unison.

It rippled from back where the party was at, came from behind muffled doors, was cried out into the night from the rooftops outside:

"TWENTY . . . NINETEEN . . . EIGHTEEN . . . SEVENTEEN . . ."

The numbers were sharp and sobering. The countdown! The New Year!

"C-Copia," you gulped. You tried to reorient your grasp on the man but the continued rolling of his hips made doing so difficult. Your body continued to bounce, threatening your semblance of mind. Worse still, your body continued to gobble up every sensation and threatened to render you no better than a dumb animal once more.

"Copia, the countdown – " You could feel your thighs beginning to quiver, your stomach beginning to do that telltale clench. Your clit popped demandingly as your petals fluttered in their mess. Without thinking, your hand flew to the back of Copia’s head and snagged at the hair.

The shriek this man made! Not only that, but the hold he had on you: Your tugging had clearly registered to his poor brain that this was a demand – he had to go all out. N o w.

". . . ELEVEN . . . TEN! NINE!"

"C-Cara, amore mio, tesoro mio," he practically choked before his words dissolved into a puddle of Italian and English and a third language you couldn't place. The final time he regained any semblance of coherency, it was only to demand one thing:

"Cum."

It was not rugged in any sense. It was husky, rickety. Desperate. For you and only you.

The leg that had been hoisted instinctively curled around Copia’s tensing backside in an effort to pull him in close and keep him in place. His hips stilled in a frozen thrust, tiny quakes shaking between the both of you in the spot you connected most. A white-hot flood overtook his senses, robbing him of the ability to even utter of moan of completion.

But for you, you still experienced everything in one overwhelming blanket: Stars and fireworks unlike those you'd ever seen on New Years flooded your vision. The final rut of his cock striking against your tender nub was all you could feel shocking your entire body, tingling your fingers and toes to the point of numbness. All you could smell was Copia's cologne mingling with the perfume you'd no doubt mostly sweat away. All you could taste was, yet again, the addicting taste you and Copia had created, as his tongue once again swirled into your mouth with an animalistic groan.

And all you heard was a cluttered chorus:

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

The whistling and booming of fireworks roared into the night as distant sounds of cheers and party horns and pots banging pans went off.

They weren't even the first thing you noticed as the waves of your orgasm began to ebb. In fact, even as the familiar sounds and smells of the new year began to wisp into the hallway from windows and passageways alike, all that filled your senses was . . . Copia.

The feel of his warm body slouching against yours, the impact of his orgasm rattling him weary. It was welcoming compared to the sloshed mess he’d been earlier; he hovered as much as himself above you as possible, as though putting his full weight on you in such a state might break you. You noted how his aftershocks caused his hips to reflexively twitch, as though even while overstimulated, his cock still longed to be with you. He grunted softly, quietly every time. The cute little noises and reactions tickled your own sensitive arousal, making your aftershocks vibrate your shivering thighs.

Perhaps egg rolls and party foods weren't what was necessary to sober either party up; perhaps a good old orgasm was exactly what you both needed.

The unfortunate cost, however, was that you now realized the position you both were in. Thank Satan nobody had been in the hallway at any given time. Otherwise, they would've been treated to the image of their dear old Frater Imperator madly humping away in an alcove, cumming at the stroke of midnight, then separating from a fierce tonguing while leaving a strand of spit between both his lips and the lips of his lover.

. . . Wait.

You gulped down some air, trying to even out your still heaving breast. You'd gotten your New Year's Kiss! Sure, it wasn’t the cute, romantic Hallmark movie-style you’d always imagined. But clearly your imagination sucked because this was legions better than anything you could have ever concocted! The absurdity of it all managed to make it through the still evaporating fuzz of your mind. You couldn't help but giggle breathlessly, causing your tired old man to look at you nervously.

"W-what? Is – Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his sobering up giving way to nerves and insecurity.

You tried to catch your breath to form the right words, but Copia couldn't help but babble on even through burning lungs.

"I'm so sorry! I – I was being stupid and horny and – "

"H-happy," you paused to gulp, "new year. Amore mio."

You inhaled just enough to soothe your lungs before leaning in for a kiss. It had much less tongue than most of the ones you'd shared this evening, but it was filled with passion regardless.

You didn't see how his eyes widened with shock, given that your own drooped shut, but you could feel how he quickly got over it just in time to return it. He even trailed after your lips as they separated. You would have gladly met him halfway once more, but you really needed to breathe. Even if the once crisp air had since turned hot and stinking of alcohol and sweat. And faintly of slick.

. . . Y’all really needed to get out of this nook.

You grunted lightly as you moved your thigh down from its perch over Copia's own. While the position had been blissful in the moment, you knew you were probably going to need to sleep on a heating pad tonight. But even before that . . . you were going to need a shower. The slick in your panties was cooling fast in the chilly January air, creating an uncomfortable feeling that squished against your thighs with every movement. Really, a bath was more preferable for such a mess but the communal bathrooms offered no such option.

You winced as you realized how wobbly you now stood even with the wall of the alcove supporting you from falling backwards. That shower was going to be difficult . . .

"U-uh." Your eyes flew up to a now sheepish-looking Copia. The redness on his face and ears no longer came from the rum demon possessing him, but clearly from that cute, almost schoolboyish nature he tended to have whenever it concerned you.

". . . Yes?"

"W-well. If it's okay with you, I – The Imperator Suite!" He paused, realizing he'd probably been a bit too loud. "I mean. The Imperator Suite: It – there is a bathtub. It’s really nice. Gets the best water and. And seeing as we both –  Er, I made us both a mess, I think it's only fair if . . . If –  And only if you're okay with it – If you'd like to maybe clean up . . . with . . . me? And then we can relax and cuddle and . . . "

His voice trailed. He cringed. Eyes screwing shut and all. As though he hadn't just dry humped the bejesus out of you in a hallway where you could've easily been caught.

Damn this adorable man.

You hummed adoringly as you placed a hand to his warm cheek, prompting him to look at your post-orgasmic haze.

"I would really like that, Frater," you assured.

You could have collapsed right then and there was his gloved hand overtook your own in a loving hold before bringing it to his lips for its own kiss.

No, really. You absolutely could have: The final wisps of sexual adrenaline had begun to give dissipate, leaving the full aches and pains of grinding at such an awkward angle (and with your back pressed against a stone wall, no less) to truly kick in. Copia, too, for all that limber hip action was worth, began to feel a dull soreness heat up in the bones.

It was going to be a long trek to the Imperator Suite, you both realized.

But between the hisses of discomfort from wet undergarments, the quiet "ouch"s, and assurances of how he had a stash of Tylenol back in his nightstand drawer, you were still glad for the experience.

Hand in hand, you weren't hobbling into the new year alone.

[generalkenobee]

Would you do Spock headcannons?

Sooooo

•Spock is very reserved in public first of all

•And he won't do anything inappropriate outside of the bedroom, he doesn't want to risk anyone else seeing you in such a vulnerable position

•hand slut, kiss his fingers, hold his hands, run your finger tips up his wrists

•sometimes he likes to be the small spoon and have your hands rest on his chest/belly

•you know how friends will look at each other across the room to communicate? Yeah Spock definitely does that with you, like when Chekov does something stupid he's all like 😑😒

•when it's bed time and you're both laying together, sometimes you'll whisper in his ear about your day and talk to him untill he falls asleep (sensitive ears)

•calling him pet names for the first time? "Baby, honey, sweetheart, my special boy" he is flabbergasted. The affection that you show is something completely foreign and new, it's such a drastic difference from Sarek

•everyone else assumes he's a big strong Vulcan that doesn't need comfort or to be held but you see right through it

•hes talked to you about his mother and how horrible he feels for not giving her the affection she needs as a human when he was younger

•Spock cannot dirty talk you, he does moan and groan, especially when he's getting close. You'd run your hands through his jet black hair, saying how good it all feels and he can't respond. Instead he will give you a kiss on your cheek and grunt in your ear

•big fan of you saying his name "oh Spock.." he's literally spilling inside you the very next second

•very mature (if that makes sense) during sex. He's quiet and reserved and he's the same when you're intimate

•i think that Spock is so gentle but also deliberate during sex because he knows how much stronger and bigger Vulcans are than humans

•one time you called him "my favorite Vulcan" and I just think that made him feel a certain typa way yk?

•you have yelled at Leonard before for calling him a "green blooded hobgoblin" you pointed your finger on his chest and yelled about how it "wasn't funny" and that "you don't know what it's like to be another species" and that made Spock very happy

•the first time he says he loves you was after a very long talk

"I feel as though you would be happier with a human. Someone who can show you as much affection and love as you would need" Spock would say with his hands folded neatly in his lap, not looking at you.

"Spock. I love you so so sooo much, everything about you. You're smart, a talented harp player, handsome, strong, methodical..I love your ears..and your eyes, and your lips and hands...I want to be with you forever! I love you." You had said I love you before but he had never said it back.

"I love you as well."

•he likes to hold your hand when you're alone, your hand is always on his. Always

[apatheticrater]

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐓𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Wanted to make this moodboard since I plan on releasing another drabble for this AU tomorrow 🫀

[luvs4matt]

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ───── fully introducing . . . TA!READER

˖⋆࿐໋ paired best with professor!matt

𝑻𝑨!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹 — 22. professors assistant. “doll”. pretty girl. smart. jewelry. books. male students love her. submissive. pink. sneaky. single. matt is her guilty pleasure. madison beer. good girl. loves love but also despises it. serious about her job. baby blue. true religion. clean. iced coffee. vanilla. victoria secret. cigarettes.

​© luvs4matt

[on1knee4marksmen]

Logan x teen reader (Platonic!!)

hcs (I almost cried while writing this I love him)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . \|/ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Okay I know nobody cares bc these are catered to a specific audience, but HEAR ME OUT:

\|/ Logan with yet another teenager he magically adopted (without knowing it at first ofc)

\|/ Logan, who'd at first try to act tough around you, but two danger room sessions in and he's nodding along to your skills, actually impressed with your improvement (even if there's still a lot of room for more)

\|/ Logan, who finds himself enjoying tiny conversations with this polite and kind of shy teen that, as he later finds out, is shy only in the first couple of weeks knowing them

\|/ Logan, who, two weeks in, is throwing banter back and forth with his trainee. Who finds himself genuinely smiling, like he hasn't in a while.

\|/ Logan, who, after some time, warms up to this kid so much that it's to the point where jokes about his height don't result in a scoff or a threat, but a stifled snicker and a joke right back instead

\|/ Logan, who is usually very awkward and almost uncomfortable around upset and crying people, but the moment it's you, he finds it so natural to sit down next to you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder and ask what's wrong. Tell you it's going to be alright and pat your back. Ask if you want a soda, maybe even to try a bit of beer from his bottle, if it would make you focus on something other than whatever's bothering you.

\|/ Logan, who calls you bub, kid, kiddo, half-pint even darlin' when he teases, but also Logan, who almost says "my daughter/son/kid" when talking to Ororo about your considerable improvements in training

\|/ And Logan, who, after that one conversation, can't stop thinking about it. Logan, who can't deny the warmth and pride it brings him to just see you having a good time with your friends, hear you laughing with Jubilee at some stupid prank idea, have your presence around him.

\|/ Logan, who doesn't dare say anything of it, even if he thinks you feel like that too. Who's too scared to lose you - bad things happen to the people he loves, the last thing he wants is you getting hurt.

\|/ Logan, who doesn't dare say anything of it... until you come home hurt from your first ever mission. Logan, who then rushes to your side and, without even thinking, holds you close, as tight as he can. Who later helps you get to the Medical wing, murmuring soft reassurances, even if his voice slightly shakes and his hands grip you so tight, you think your costume might rip.

\|/ Logan, who doesn't leave your side even for a second while you recover. Logan, whose heart almost breaks when he sees the tears in your eyes, when you reach up towards him and tell him he's always been a father to you. That you were so scared he'd be disappointed.

\|/ Logan, who finally lets go of all doubts or guilt holding him back and carefully cradles your face and holds your hand, who tells you he's never been more proud of you, as he leans in to place a soft, almost delicate kiss on your forehead. Whose hand then moves to gently stroke your head or pet your hair, as he fights back tears of his own

\|/ Logan, who promises himself he'd never let you get hurt ever again. Because, even if it's not blood trying you together, you're still his kid. And he's still your pa.

[snurtsnurtcreations]

The Ghost in the Moors

Johnny Mactavish x Simon Riley x Reader

Hey y'all, enjoy my most recent, incredibly persistent brainworm that's resulted in this word vomit. Heavily heavily inspired off the vibes of The Secret Garden and Jane Eyre

Warning: I wrote a sad ending for this one. Major character death y’all, so watch out.

The distinguishable gentleman Mactavish has at long last taken a wife. His heart is not truly in the marriage, but that is perfectly understandable for a man of his standing in high society. (He’s never been so listless before his dearest friend, Simon Riley, died- but those are just the whispers of his staff). He is not cruel or particularly dismissive of his wife, but… it is clear he does not care much for you either.

Not minding much, you take on the duties of the estate admirably. The staff all respect you greatly, and you find fulfillment in many a task surrounding the care of the grounds. Regrettably, however, you do end up falling in love with your husband from the glimpses of him that you get interacting with the staff, with animals, with children… You’d wanted to avoid catching feelings for him when you knew from the get-go that this was a marriage of convenience, but there is a true goodness in him and a charm just past the deep gloom that settles on his countenance.

The thing is though, the Mactavish estate holds a secret. Late at night one might hear a haunting howling. On the dreariest of days, when the fog lies thick and curling over the moors, you’d swear there was a dark presence wandering the grounds. And no one dared enter the abandoned walled-off garden. There is great evil brewing there, the staff would say. It was never particularly dangerous before that one night that… oh, well, they really shouldn’t say.

You start trying to investigate into this mystery. How could it be that there is a whole garden, a plot of considerable size, that no one had access to? What is it that all the staff are nervously tipping-toeing around saying? And why are all past accounts of an energetic and joyous Johnny so false in the face of the cold, impassive character in the present day?

One stormy day, they take in a group of people passing by to provide them some refuge until the storm passes. One of them, an old woman, confidently claims there is a ghost in their midst. The crack of lightning and thunder immediately following her statement does not lend itself well to the doubt of such a statement. Neither does the nervous silence of the staff. Johnny, however, is adamant that such talk is nonsense.

Later, you take the old woman aside, and ask more about what led her to such a conclusion earlier. The old lady just pats your hand and cheerfully says, “Because I am a witch, dearie- I have a sensitivity to these sorts of things.”

You decide far be it from you to question an old lady, but ultimately you do not take much stock in her words. (Though, you make note in your mind, you may not believe it to be true, but you certainly don’t believe it entirely false either…)

You spend your days occupied with the goings-on of the estate, but occasionally you go for a walk around the grounds, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by rolling hills and nothing but moorland and some sheep in the distance.

A horse comes galloping down the road, and the rider brings it to a full stop as he nears you, the horse rearing it’s head at the suddenness, it’s hooves clipping against the ground anxiously. It’s Johnny. He seems surprised to see you.

“What are ya doing all the way out here, my lady?”

“Simply out for a stroll, my lord.” You answer, confused.

“Is that where you’ve been disappearing for hours? You’ve got all the staff on edge.”

“My apologies, my lord, I hadn’t meant to-“

“Just let them know when you go out next, is all.” And that concludes the conversation. His expression hardly changes as he gallops back out to whatever business he must attend to.

His back and forth attitude confuses you. Just this morning you saw him jump up from the breakfast table to go see to an injured lamb on his property, but now here with you he is cold and impassive.

Still you make attempts to connect with him, and dutifully continue doing your countess tasks.

When one day you ask Johnny on an evening stroll about the garden, what starts as an innocent question becomes a full blown argument as he gets increasingly more upset and angry at you. You cannot for the life of you understand what is making him so irritated about it- you just wanted to know more about this garden!

“Fine! You wish to know about the garden? Let me show you the garden.” He snarls in his fit of rage and grabs you by the wrist. You stumble after him as he stomps to the walled garden, brushes aside the vines to reveal a door and lock that you would otherwise have never known was there. He pulls a key off a chain around his neck and slams the lock open, yanking you into the garden.

The thing is, the sun is setting, the sky darkening rapidly- likely due to the dark clouds brewing on the horizon, inching closer and closer with the strong winds. You are entirely uneasy. The last thing you’d wanted was to see this garden in such conditions, with Johnny in such a rage. For the first time in your stay here, Johnny’s made you truly afraid as he guides you deeper into the garden. You softly plead for him to stop, to slow down, but your pleas seem to fall on deaf ears.

The garden is so large it’s practically a forest of its own. The plants are so overgrown, the bushes towering over you may as well be walls, and the vines and roots taking over the ground seem to make it their mission to trip you up. Already you have lost sight of where the door was.

“Here. Here is the god damned garden.” He says as he tugs you even deeper into the foliage. Your foot snags on a root, and this time you fall to the ground. Your fall causes him to pause a few steps ahead, and you wonder if it might have pulled him out of his episode. But then he turns to you with a manic grief-stricken glint in his eyes, spreading his arms out demonstrably. “Is this what you wanted to see so badly? The ruined remains of whatever good I’d had?” Johnny roars.

You can only stare up at him, teary-eyed and confused. He opens his mouth to say more, but the wind makes a whisper noise akin to what you’d swear sounded like someone saying “Johnny…”. Both your heads snap towards the sound. You see nothing but the swaying branches, but Johnny’s sharp inhale has you turning back to him. His face is pale as you have never seen it before, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“No, no…” He whispers. Never had you seen such deep terror in anyone’s face. Just as you are about to ask what is the matter, he turns and sprints away as though he had all the hounds of hell on his tail.

“Johnny!” You shout in alarm, but by the time you have risen to your feet, he is already out of sight. You run in the same direction he took, but it is difficult to navigate the garden, especially now that the sun is gone and darkness coats everything. Branches slap painfully against your face whilst your hands are busy hiking up your skirts, so you drop one side to shield your head. “Johnny!” You shout again, with a growing panic as you realize you don’t know where he went or where you should go to exit the garden.

Nothing answers back except the howling of the wind.

You come to a complete stop. You cannot even hear any sound of Johnny’s movements. Looking around provides you with no clues for where to go. Your breath hitches, but you bite down your panic and steel your nerves.

“Alright,” you mumble to yourself, “alright, no need to panic. I must simply find one of the walls and follow it until I reach the door.” With your newfound inkling of bravery, you set off in one direction, attempting to keep as straight a line as you can with the bushes and trees in the way. A nearby owl taking off nearly makes you jump in fright, but you push onward. Just as you reach a wall, setting a hand on the stone bricks with triumph, the first drop of rains hits your nose.

Your spirits take a swan dive as the heavens open up a torrent of downpour. You try to hurry along the wall, but it is difficult to do when there are huge swathes of overgrown plants that you must find a way to step around, then find the wall again. It is only when it starts to rain so hard that you can’t keep your head up without droplets obscuring your vision that you decide to perhaps wait it out a little. You find the largest tree within your limited line of sight and hug yourself close near its trunk. Underneath the canopy of the tree, the rainfall is lessened, allowing you to see just how hard it is raining outside the cover of the leaves. You let yourself sink down to the ground when shivers start to wrack your form and the rain shows no signs of easing up.

You sniffle miserably. If you let a few tears loose, well, who would be any the wiser whether the droplet down your cheek originates from the sky or your eye?

“I’m so stupid.” You murmur despondently, “Never should have brought it up in the first place.”

But you still when it feels as though a hand is wiping your tears. You turn to the source and see- nothing. And yet the warmth along your cheeks is undeniable. Some unseen hand slides down your hair and settles a warm, warm palm against the back of your neck. Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes searching for someone who is not there.

“Don’t give up…” A voice whispers, “Take care of him.”

You blink the tears from your eyes, wiping the remaining wetness off your cheeks.

“Alright.” You take a steadying breath, “I- I will.” And your voice carries true conviction, because truth be told, you would have kept taking care of Johnny either way, for your love for him runs deep, even though today has not been the first time you’d thought perhaps it shouldn’t run so deep.

An approving hum, and then a feeling akin to being embraced. You allow the warmth to seep into your skin, to chase your doubts away, your hands hovering in uncertainty.

“Who… who are you?” You whisper. The warmth pulls away.

“Only a ghost.” Is all the answer you get. Then there is a distinct emptiness in the air, and you feel as though whatever presence was here has left now, yet you still ask,

“But what is your name?”

No answer.

You rise and look around. The rain is not as heavy as it was before. You set back off to follow the wall, when you hear an anxious voice calling your name from somewhere within the walls of the garden.

“I’m here!” You answer. Soon Johnny emerges through the foliage, looking entirely guilty, but relieved to have found you. He hurriedly wraps a cloak around you.

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I- I never should have brought you here, let alone have had the impudence to leave you in the dark unaccompanied- I am truly- truly sorry.” He stumbles over his words, worried eyes examining your form.

“It’s… it’s alright, my lord” You let him wrap your hand round his elbow and lead you out of the gardens. Despite the darkness and overgrowth, it seems he knows exactly where he’s going. “You looked terrified when you fled- what was it that sent you away in such a hurry?”

“Perhaps that old woman was right.” He says in a hushed tone, like a confession, “For a moment, I could have sworn I’d… seen a ghost.”

As you approach the door to the garden, you think it could very well be true- in the corner of your eye you catch sight of the large ghostly form of a scarred man, fading in and out of reality.

Following that day, you keep your promise to the ghost, caring for Johnny in whatever ways you can, making sure everything in the estate runs smoothly, having food be brought up to him when he misses his lunches, being a comforting presence in the evenings in the library when the fire runs low and it is obvious he is restless with the silence of the house.

He has even begun speaking to you a little about his past, which you’d like to think is because he’s warming up to you, but rationally you reason it is more likely because he still feels guilty for his actions that day. Sometimes he speaks of his old friends, men he had served in the military with when the war had been ongoing. Once he’d confessed that the garden was a gift to his old love. You hadn’t pried, but you could tell this old love of his was still enduring to this day, his face struck with grief as he spoke of it. He’d soon excused himself to retire for the night, as though suddenly remembering it’s you he was speaking to.

During one peaceful evening, you had gently asked permission to restore the garden. He had seemed uneasy with the idea, but then schooled his expression to appear nonchalant, and shrugged you off with a “sure, why not?”. His reaction had almost made you take back the offer, but then your mind flashed back to the ghost, and you felt in your bones that it would be better in the long run to set the garden back to it’s former glory, in honor of whoever it had been initially made for.

It became your personal little pet project. You did not include the staff in this effort, your gut warning you against it, as though the inclusion of others would somehow desanctify the garden. So bit by bit every day, you would go in and weed and trim and do what you could on your lonesome. Many evenings you’d be found in the library reading up on gardening books, and often you’d question the local farmers on plant caretaking - you would have asked the gardener of your estate, but it turns out you didn’t have one. The staff had told you Johnny had never bothered replacing the previous gardener. When you’d asked what happened to the previous one, they all fell silent.

There were days you knew you were not alone in the garden as you tended to the plants and cleared pathways. Somehow you could always tell when the ghost would come to join you, unseen though he was. Sometimes his eyes digging into the back of your neck, other times his hands brushing some plants away to reveal your misplaced trowel.

Eventually, perhaps once it became clear to him that this isn’t some passing fad but a permanent routine for you, he begins conversing with you. Just small quips at first, a ‘that one’s a weed’ here, a ‘don’t trip’ there. You always respond with a thank you, and try valiantly not to pry with all your burning questions. As time goes on he speaks more. He has a habit of telling you silly jokes (ones a proper lady probably ought not to laugh at) that have you giggling while you’re weeding. Oftentimes he starts talking about a specific plant and how best to care for it. You listen closely, enraptured by his vast knowledge, and even start bringing a journal to write down notes. (Sometimes he huffs out a laugh when you write something down with wide eyes, though you’re uncertain whether that was actually a laugh or just a gust of wind sweeping over your hair). On especially foggy days, you can nearly see him fully- which you’d think would be counter-intuitive, but it is almost as though the fog lends him form. It does not last long though, only a flicker and then he is a disembodied voice once more.

Every once in a while, you hear Johnny approaching the garden door while you are inside. The ghost always falls silent when it happens, and it feels as though all three of you are holding your breath. But always Johnny pauses by the door, stands for but a minute, and retreats back. The ghost becomes much more reserved after Johnny leaves, not joking any more nor speaking as much. It takes a few day’s time before he opens up again.

Sometimes, though rarely, you admit to the ghost how deeply in love you are with Johnny. He answers with a knowing chuckle, saying “He’s easy to love.” The ghost will let you wax on poetic about little moments that made the yearning in your heart pulse like a blooming bruise. How he handled a tough situation with the servants, treating them fairly and compassionately. How he scaled up a tree in town to get a farmer’s cat down, effortlessly climbing up the branches and gently cradling the cat. The way he looked at you over dinner with those piercing eyes of his, how the light catches in them so handsomely. The ghost only sighs wistfully, as if he shared your yearning all the same.

“But I know he dislikes me.” You confess, “He still longs for his old love, the one he built this garden for, and resents me for taking the place of his beloved. I feel he wishes he had never met me, let alone married me.”

“Don’t say such things,” The ghost answered sternly, “Though he is swallowed by grief, he still cares deeply for you.”

You didn’t believe him, but you let him have the last word, returning to your work.

When not gardening or taking care of the estate or watching out for Johnny, you start an even more private project- researching into who the previous gardener was. The servants’ hush when you had asked about a gardener piqued your curiosity- it felt like the first real clue to solving the estate’s mystery. You tried finding records of why he isn’t in the estate any longer, or even simply records of his employment, but there seemed to be no trace, not even a name. Either the records had been destroyed or Johnny kept them locked away- and the last thing you wanted was to send Johnny into a rage again for prying. (You may have forgiven him, but the mind does not forget so easily- just the mere thought of overstepping made you incredibly uncomfortable- and he never acted that way with anyone else, so, really, it’s you who was the problem. Perhaps his dislike of you is more than that, perhaps it is a hatred?)

You reach a disheartening stopping point in your research when you can find no more. That is, until Duke Price and Lord Garrick give your husband a visit. They are some of the old military friends Johnny’d spoken of previously. Entertaining your guests in the parlour, the topic of your work in the garden is brought up. A somber hush falls over the men. A true tragedy the gardener met his demise, they say, he was a good man. One of the best. They pour out a drink for their fallen friend. Johnny asks that you give them a moment of privacy, so you oblige. (Heavy-hearted though you may be).

You learn his name that day. Simon Riley.

Later, you are hesitant to bring it up in the garden, but… you are burning up with questions, and perhaps, perhaps this once, the ghost might answer.

“Do you know…” you begin hesitantly, but stop uncertainly. He hums for you to continue, so you gather together whatever scraps of bravery you have, “Did you know the previous gardener of this place? A Mr. Simon Riley?”

The air grows still, a tense silence falling over the area. Then,

“Of course I knew him.” The ghost says, his voice soft and sorrowful. An invisible hand tucks a hair behind your ear, “For he and I are one and the same.”

You take in a sharp inhale. Your hands twist the fabric of your skirts.

“May I call you by your name, then?” You ask quietly.

His answer is whisper-soft, a shuddering concession, “Yes.”

“Simon. Simon Riley…” You say it slowly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your tongue. And then his form fades into view like never before. Still slightly transparent, but now he is here, directly in front of you, and so close, so close you could reach out and cradle his face, and his eyes, oh his eyes, they are so full of longing and woe. “You are… beautiful…” You breathe.

He flinches, taken aback, eyes wide.

“You can… see me?” He asks, astonished. You can only nod in response.

He refuses to answer any more of your questions that day, and instead waits to see how long this bout of visibility lasts for. From that day forward, you can see him at all times, though some days greater than others. Some days he is barely an outline against the garden walls, and other days you can see him as clearly as if he were alive and real. Those days it is only your hand phasing straight through his body when you try to set a palm on his shoulder that breaks the illusion.

Since he will not answer your questions, you turn to other means, now armed with a name. You look through public records, and find a cemetery with his name, and then an obituary that stated he had died in a fire. You shudder at the thought of it, pained on his behalf. What a horrid way to go. But there are no further details on what caused the fire nor where it had happened. Was it on the battlefield? Was it in the grounds of the estate?You find no further details.

You return to gardening and your countess duties.

There finally comes the day that Johnny approaches the garden door and instead of leaving, creaks the door open. Your conversation with Simon had fallen silent the moment you heard Johnny’s steps once more, but when the door had opened, you and Simon exchanged a surprised, excited glance.

Johnny stood within the doorway, looking around with equal parts amazement and heartache, his eyes wide, his brow furrowed. It made you suddenly realize just how much progress you’d made after all this time. The garden looked nothing like when you’d first seen it on that dark night. The flower beds were thriving, the bushes cut back to a respectable size, the vines no longer encroaching plants and pathways but rather providing a delightful contrast to the other foliage. Deeper in the garden there were still pathways overgrown, but for now you had completed a commendable amount of work.

A couple steps in, and Johnny was turning his head this way and that to take it all in.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” You greeted him.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He parroted back. “You… really have been busy in here.”

“Yes, I’ve grown quite fond of the garden. I hope I have done it justice, though I have not seen it in its golden days.”

“You’ve done… remarkably well in restoring it.” Johnny murmurs. “It looks almost… like…” He trails off.

“Like…?” You echo. He shakes his head, as though breaking from a reverie.

“It looks almost identical.” He says, but you feel like that is not quite what he meant to say initially. While his attention is elsewhere, you exchange a look with Simon. Simon seems quite familiar with Johnny, and perhaps what Johny might have meant, shaking his head wryly.

That leads you to wonder why Johnny can’t seem to see Simon. If he saw the ghostly figure besides you, surely he would have said something? If it was Simon that had made him flee the garden that first evening here, would it not stand to reason that Johnny knows something about Simon’s demise, and is perhaps more qualified than you to be able to see his ghostly form?

But Johnny says nothing, and his eyes never stop on Simon as he glances around.

“It’s… good to see the place be put in order.” He says primly, then moves to leave, “I will see you at dinner, my lady.”

You say your goodbyes and watch as he makes a swift exit. You and Simon listen as his footsteps become more and more distant. Then you crumple in on yourself.

“Ohhh, he hates it, he hates what I’ve done to it.” You bemoan miserably. “I’ve besmirched the memory of his lover and now he despises me all the more.”

“What! Are you daft?” Simon exclaims, “That was him saying thank you, stilted though it may be.”

“Don’t lie to me, Simon, you saw him! You heard his tone! I am an imposter in this garden, in this household, and he will never accept my being here.”

Simon grips your shoulders, meeting your gaze seriously, and it is the first time you have ever seen him look so angry.

“Don’t you dare speak that way. You, you shining, quaking thing, you belong here most of all. He cares for you, I know it.”

“No you don’t, no you don’t. You don’t see us in the house, Simon, you don’t see our dinners- he barely speaks to me aside from polite conversation and those few times he’s had a drink and forgets that it is me he is speaking to. There are times he looks at me and I can tell, it isn’t me he is seeing, not really.”

No matter how much Simon swears up and down that you’re wrong, nothing he says can change your mind. You depart the garden that day with a heavy heart, feeling as though you had said far too much to Simon, added onto his already heavy burden with your own trifling sorrows.

Weeks go by and nothing really changes. The sun sets and rises, the skies continue to be plagued by grey clouds, the heather blooms purple over the moorland. You busy yourself with the garden and making preparations for your head maid to visit some family, which meant reworking certain schedules, and Johnny busies himself with the business and the farmers in the area.

Then one day you happen upon a tattered letter. It slips out of an old book you had reached for in the library. The book had looked worn and well-loved, so you had reached for it out of curiosity, when out dropped a lone letter.

You read over it once, twice, thrice… then sank into the window seat with a hand over your mouth and wept, eyes tracing the words over and over again.

It was a letter addressed to Simon, from Johnny. There was evidence of old tears on the paper. The shaky strokes of the pen were visible in every word- every word a confession of love and regrets. Every other word was an apology. Sorry for leaving Simon in that town alone, sorry for not getting to the burning building fast enough, sorry for not confessing his love properly while he was alive. An account of all the sweet moments the two had that he would miss forevermore, and a single final ‘I love you’ finishing off the letter.

The dots all connected in your mind then. The love they shared, the garden that was built, the yearning glances and longing sighs- the burning house, the deep regrets, the haunting, the listlessness. It was a vivid picture painted in your mind, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than for there to be some happy ending for them. Your heart ached for their love story cut short, burned with your love for them.

You tried to compose yourself and set the letter back into the book, but then your eye caught on the inscription on the cover page of the book.

‘To my dear Johnny, I may not be the best with words, but I would borrow from all the poets in the world if only to see your smile.’

You stifle the sudden sob that bubbles up your throat, and flip through a couple pages of the book- all of it lovingly annotated, certain phrases underlined, notes in the margins of some pages. You gently, ever so carefully, fold the book closed and set it back in its place on the shelf.

That night all you can do is weep for the two.

But surely there must be something you can do? Simon may be a ghost but he is still here- that has to count for something, right? But then might he disappear if his regrets are laid to rest? You’ve read somewhere that ghosts are only souls that have unfinished business in the world of the living… You do not know enough about the supernatural to say anything for certain.

So you track down the old woman who’d first said there’s a ghost in the estate. She said she is a witch, did she not? Surely she might have some solution, something that could help? When you reach her little cottage and tell her all that has happened, all you have learned, you are not quite as composed as you’d thought you would be, instead kneeling at her side and telling your tale like a beseeching child, with tears sliding down your cheeks. The old lady strokes your hair comfortingly.

“Oh, my child… there is little that can be done when one is dead.” She says regretfully, “There is a balance in life, you see? One cannot bring back a life without giving something back in return of equal measure.”

You glance up sharply, eyes wild.

“A life for a life, then? It is possible?” You ask. The old woman is taken aback.

“Well, yes, but…”

“I could turn in my life for Simon’s? They could be happy together again?”

“It is… possible. But, child, what of your happiness?” She asks earnestly. You pause, contemplate. Then shake your head, determined.

“I would be overjoyed to see them reunite. That is my happiness.”

And so the plan is hatched. The witch needs some items of import to make the spell work, which you are able to obtain with some sneaking around. The difficult part is the spell must be done where the ghost’s presence is tethered. You aren’t certain where that may be until she starts asking where you tend to see Simon most often and where is his form most sturdy and visible. Then it becomes obvious to you it must be in the garden, so the issue lies in sneaking her out to garden with everyone none-the-wiser.

In the few days leading up to the spell, you become more withdrawn. Simon catches on quickly to the change, but chooses to let you keep your secrets. To your surprise, Johnny also seems to notice a difference in you, and unlike Simon, he is persistent in trying to figure out what might be the matter. With each passing day it becomes more and more difficult to brush him off.

But soon the night of the ritual is upon you. You sneak out of the house in your silky gown with naught but a single candle, and meet the old woman near the entrance to the garden.

Simon is instantly upon you, questioning and inquisitive as the witch sets everything up.

“What… what is this?” His face is grim.

“I’m bringing you back, Simon.” You answer lightly. His eyes widen at the realization as the witch starts chanting, cutting your palm open.

“No. No, stop this immediately!” He reaches for you, to pull you away, or push you back, but his hands phase right through you. It is one of the nights his form is weakest, and you’d purposely chosen today for that reason. “Don’t you dare. I need you here- we need you!”

You only send him a soft, doleful smile, taking a vial from the witch’s basket.

Panic sets on his face as he realizes he cannot stop you. His ghostly form disappears entirely, and part of you is glad you will not have to see the pain in his eyes when you go.

Simon had gone to get the aid of the only one who’d be able to stop you. He used all his strength to appear before Johnny, who’d been at his desk, writing ‘neath the candlelight. Johnny startles and watches, mouth agape, as Simon shouts at him to save you, that you’re in the garden, about to die.

That gets Johnny up and sprinting down the stairs and out to the garden, his shirt billowing in the window, his hair askew. Simon is right behind him, though his form fades in and out of existence. They burst into the garden, footsteps skidding on the dirt.

They are too late.

Johnny grips Simon’s arm in his shock, chest heaving, and Simon’s frame is sturdy, solid, alive as he supports him. Your body is still and motionless on the ground, your face pale, lips parted, eyes open but unseeing. The moon illuminates the scene, an unwilling witness to the tragedy that has befallen.

Simon sinks to his knees while Johnny cradles your limp body. There is nothing they can do but weep.