#fuck that ruddy ass bitch

[zelreedsandwrites]

Oh my god, were none of you going to tell me it’s spelled RUIDUS?!!! I’ve so much fucking editing to do ;-;

. . . And I mean specifically in the thing I’m working on right now fuck me if I’m going through all my prior works for one damn letter when I’ve more important fluff to be working on

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Prompt: Last night, there was a huge party at Steve’s place. In the morning, after everyone else has gone home, Steve wakes you up with his mouth 🫦

Open your eyes. The house is empty; it’s just you and Steve, now. Red plastic cups are scattered around the living room; the ashtray in the corner is full. Pizza boxes lay open and mostly empty, with a few cold, neglected slices left behind…

Open your legs; Steve’s mouth is moving between them. The warm pressure of his tongue spreads your moist lips apart. Still foggy with sleep, Steve glazes his tongue over your cunt in sloppy, messy laps. You whimper and squeak, your back curving into an arch on instinct. He suckles your clit, tugging it between his lips in rhythm with your pulse. You reach for Steve’s hair to secure yourself, feeling as if you might lift off the ground and float, if he keeps nursing your clit this way.

Fingers clasp the chair behind you, your nails scratching loudly into the coarse fabric. Steve’s hands slide up your torso and close over the soft mounds of your breasts. He gropes you with a curious reverence, like he’s cupping your tits for the very first time. Steve growls wet and filthy into your cunt when he feels your nipples harden against his palms.

Your toes curl, thighs trembling over Steve’s shoulders. A gush of liquid expels onto his face, followed by another. He’s drunk on you, on the slick honey pouring from between your thighs, and the helpless cries your lips spill along with his name. Heels kick into his back, control lost, your puffy cunt burning up inside Steve’s mouth. He holds you between his lips steadfast, refusing to let go, like a dog clutching their favorite toy.

Slick sounds emanate from where your cunt and Steve’s mouth are attached. You rub yourself against his face, crying out in pleasure when your clit catches the tip of his nose. Steve lets you hump his face like a bitch in heat; it’s what he exists for, in this moment. All he can think about is how fucking lucky he is, to have your cunt in his mouth, that it’s his face you’re using to get yourself off on.

He sinks his tongue inside you as you rut over his lips. Steve’s mouthing something into your cunt, thick, syrupy words that neither of you care to understand. He’s babbling, flushed with sweat as your cum trickles down his neckline and into his shirt collar. You grind your sopping bush into Steve’s nose; he inhales as deeply as he can, pulling your scent into his lungs, never wanting the sweet musk of you to leave him.

You’re screaming, sobbing, as a second climax rockets through you. Spraying Steve again, he nuzzles hard into your cunt, sucking up every drop of cum he can find. Your slick coats his hair, his clothing; his entire face is covered in the evidence of your pleasure. You writhe under Steve’s mouth like something possessed, a body afflicted by powers beyond your control. A puddle of cum sloshes under your ass; it’s running down your thighs and saturating the cushion you’re seated on. Steve devours your release, gulping your slippery warmth as your clit throbs against his nose. He’s tongue-fucking your cunt, lazily scooping your juices into his mouth, and your whole body responds in a head-to-toe orgasm…

…Something stirs in the far corner, lurching you into post-nut clarity immediately. “Steve…Steve!” you whisper urgently, smacking his shoulder to get his attention. He looks first at your face, his own a glistening, sparkling image of beauty, followed by the corner you’re pointing at. When Steve sees what you’re seeing, a weird little knot forms in his stomach, and he doesn’t know if he feels more pissed off or embarrassed?

Because slithering out from under a pile of blankets in the corner of the room, Eddie Munson appears. His face is ruddy and apologetic, looking every bit the guilty little perv he is. You and Steve watch as Eddie slides the blankets off himself and stands, his mind obviously running circles trying to think of something to say. “I…uh…so this looks bad, I get it,” he stammers. “But the two of you were having-uh-a moment-.”

Eddie smiles weakly, trying to play off his nerves as Steve stares daggers through him. “-And n-not many people know this about me, but I’m actually a huge romantic-.” Eddie struggles to zip his pants, but his erection is in the way, rendering his efforts useless. “-and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin something so beautiful, you know? So I just kind of-um-.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to his crotch, his stiff, twitching cock dangling out of his pants. “Watched?” Steve finishes Eddie’s sentence for him. “You sat over there and watched like a fucking creep, is that it?”

Eddie points his thumb in the direction of the front door. “I’ll just-I’ll go now, okay?”

Steve nods, a tight-lipped frown on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Do that. Before I beat the shit out of you, freak.”

Eddie’s eyes meet yours for the first time, and you feel your cheeks go red. He stumbles quickly out of the room; you and Steve hear the front door close behind Eddie.

With a sigh of relief, Steve pulls you into his arms and lays your body under his on the floor.

Eddie did leave the house, but he isn’t gone. He’s made himself comfortable outside the living room window, where he’s able to finish in his hand while watching Steve finish inside you…

[i-turned-into-the-stone]

thoughts on overstimulating g!p yujin

you jerk her off furiously as you pound into her ass, despite her cumming once, shooting her load onto her own abs, you continue stroking her without stopping

You stare hungrily at Yujin's twitching girl cock after she shoots her first thick load across her tight abs. "Fuck, you came so hard baby," refusing to stop pounding her tight asshole. Your own thick cock plunges in and out, making her whole body shake.

"Oh god, p-please it's too much!" Yujin sobs, her cock still rock hard despite cumming moments ago. Tears stream down her flushed cheeks as her hips buck involuntarily. You grab her throbbing girlmeat in your fist and start furiously jerking her off.

"Nnghh! I can't...ah!" She cries out, overstimulated to the point of delirium as you work her swollen cockhead roughly. Her girl boner throbs and twitches in your rough grip, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

"You're gonna keep cumming for me, slut," you snarl, slamming inside her little pucker. Yujin screams, her cock erupting again, this time splattering her heaving tits with hot jizz. You don't let up for a second, still brutally stroking her and fucking her ass raw.

Yujin's girl cock throbs in your tight grip, swollen and slick with her own copious pre-cum. "P-Please...no more..." she begs breathlessly between sobs, her already tenuous grip on reality slipping. Her arms are tied taut to the bedframe above her head, legs splayed wide, leaving her utterly helpless and exposed.

You sneer down at the squirming mess before you, giving her engorged cock a rough squeeze. "Shut up you worthless cumdump, you're gonna take what I give you." Yujin cries out sharply as hot seed dribbles from her cockhead, splattering across her sweat-glazed chest.

"Oh fuck...I can't...I'm gonna...nnghhh!" Her words dissolve into a long, shrill moan as you jack her sensitive girlmeat, dragging whimpers and pants from her raw throat. The puffy tip glistens with steady pulses of pre-cum as you work her tortured cock relentlessly.

Her curvy frame trembles ceaselessly, tits swaying with each punishing thrust into her raw, gaping asshole. Yujin is drenched in sweat, toes curling as you push her steadily towards another shattering climax through sheer overstimulation. "That's it bitch, gimme another load!"

"Ah! I-I'm gonna cum again... oh god oh god..." Yujin's slurred pleas trail off into a desperate wail as you suddenly clamp two fingers around the base of her cock, choking off her orgasm cruelly. Her whole body seizes up, cock throbbing and weeping fat beads of pre-cum.

You lash her puffy cockhead with a vicious slap, splattering her leaking fuck-lube across her heaving tummy. Yujin's eyes roll back as a fresh wave of tears streams down her ruddy cheeks, gurgling sobs escaping her parted lips.

"No no no...p-please...lemme cum..." she manages between ragged gasps, bound limbs writhing weakly. You ignore her pitiful begging with a grin, instead wrenching her sloppy cock towards you and using it as a brutal handle to spear her raw hole even harder.

Each savage thrust punches a harsh cry from Yujin's kiss-swollen lips. Her flat tummy sinks inwards with each jarring stroke, unable to draw a proper breath as you abuse her tiny frame ruthlessly.

"Gughh...hah...c-can't...breathe..." she chokes out, mascara streaking her flushed face.

"You don't get to cum until I breed your nasty asshole, bitch," you snarl, wrapping your thumb across Yujin's gaping slit to seal off her orgasm entirely. She wails in frustrated desperation, cockhead rippling and leaking in your vise-like grip.

"N-Noooo...please let me cum!!" Yujin sobs, eyes rolling back deliriously as you ruthlessly rail her quivering hole with quick harsh jabs. She's so achingly engorged, body taut as a bowstring and constantly teetering on the edge of an unreachable climax.

Each time she nears that blissful peak, you cinch her cock, denying her sweet release. A choked, gurgling whine keens from her parted lips, tongue lolling out limply. Yujin's belly clenches and twitches, begging for respite from this endless, torturous pleasure.

"Stupid slut, this is what you get for teasing me with your hot tight ass and hiding that fat girlcock," you sneer, punctuating each vicious word with a brutal slam into her pummeled fuckhole. "Now you're gonna beg me to fill up your worthless cumtank!"

"Ohhh...hnnnghh!!!" Eyes squeezed shut, tears streak Yujin's flushed, contorted face as shuddering howls of need are ripped from her trembling frame. "I... I'll do anything!! Please...please oh god I need to cum so bad!"

Her hoarse, broken cries pitch higher with each harsh stroke into her throbbing depths, manic desperation clawing at the last scraps of her lucidity. "BREED ME!! FUCKING BREED MY SLUTTY ASSHOLE!!"

Yujin's screams are unhinged as she teeters on the precipice of orgasm denial hell. Her lithe body writhes in a frenzy against her bounds, back arching sharply off the bed as your brutally thick cock rails her to oblivion.

"YES! YESYESYESYES!!" The slut's shrill begging dissolves into a hoarse, rasping mantra, spit-slick lips mouthing the same desperate pleas over and over. Her drooling cock flexes wildly, painfully swollen and weeping pre-cum in fat spurts.

"FILL MY FUCKING HOLE!! BREED THIS WORTHLESS CUMDUMP!!" Yujin howls, sobbing incoherently as exquisite torture consumes her from the inside out. Every vein in her girlmeat throbs visibly, the inflamed head a deep purple hue.

Her tiny asshole clings to your ravaging cock in raw, quivering spasms, gripping you like a fleshy vice with each violent thrust. Yujin's belly hollows with each desperate attempt to inhale between her ragged, keening wails. This bitch is well and truly broken, cock and asshole yours to use and ruin as you please.

A low, guttural groan rumbles up from your chest as you unleash Yujin's cock at the peak of torment. Her swollen, ruddy shaft immediately erupts in a frantic series of throbbing pulses, fat ropes of backed-up seed splattering across her quivering abdominals.

"HRRRNNGHHH!!" Yujin throws her head back in a deafening, ragged shriek of pure relief and lingering anguish. Her entire body trembles and seizes with each fresh squirt painting her toned belly, tortured cock twitching nonstop in the throes of its agonizing half-release.

You growl as the clinging grip of her pulsating bowels attempts to milk you dry. Seizing those curvy hips in a bruising grasp, you bury yourself to the root in her spasming depths and erupt in a blinding torrent of heat.

Spurt after thick, virile ropes of jizz hose the helpless fuck-slut's battered ring and womb, breeding her so full you can see her flat tummy distend. Yujin's strained cries dissolve into a gurgling whimper, makeup streaked down her sweat-slick cheeks as her cock dribbles the dregs of its pent-up payload.

After thoroughly pumping Yujin's sloppy twat with steaming loads of seed, you immediately grip the girl's oversensitive cock in your fist once more. Her choked whine of complaint dissolves into a shrill keen as you start pumping her cock ruthlessly.

"W-Wait, no...hnnnghhh I can't...it's too much!!" Yujin wails in a hoarse, shredded voice, still twitching through the aftershocks of her excruciatingly drawn-out climax. Her swollen head throbs an angry purple between your merciless strokes.

But her mewling pleas fall on deaf ears as you savagely work her overstimulated shaft with a twisted sneer. "Shut up and take it like the worthless cumdump you are," you snarl, each vicious tug making the broken bitch's limbs jerk desperately against her bonds.

Fresh tears leak from Yujin's ruined makeup, snot and drool slicking her parted lips. "Ohhhfuckfuckfuck noooooo!!" she blubbers, howling in anguish as you show her no respite from this tortuous bliss. "S-Stop... Oh god please just make it stoppp!!"

Her wrecked hole spasms weakly around your spent girth, no doubt utterly raw and drooling thick ropes of pungent spooge from your brutal breeding session. And still you continue punishingly throttling the sobbing girl's girlmeat as her swollen red crown weeps and dribbles fresh spurts of viscous cum.

Yujin's ravaged body is wracked with shudders and gasping moans as you ruthlessly flog her abused cock. The swollen purple cockhead ripples obscenely between your jackhammering strokes, pre-cum and lube splattering her thighs and belly in fat ropes.

The battered slut's ragged cries pitch higher, turning into a choked, gurgling wail of unendurable bliss. Her back bows taut off the sweat-soaked sheets, nipples stiffened to hard pebbles as Yujin totters right on the knife's edge. Her vein-laced cock throbs violently in your punishing grip.

"Oh god...I...I can't...HNRRNGHHHHAAAAIIIEEEE!!!"

Yujin's debased howl cracks into a sputtering scream as she crashes over the precipice one final, shattering time. Her brutalized asshole cramps in frantic contractions, milking your spent cock as she detonates in a thick blast of hot, fresh cum.

The twitching id practically levitates off the bed, mouth frozen open in an agonized 'O', as each tormented climax explodes from her raw cockhead in harsh convulsions. Syrupy loads of backed-up spooge splatter across her tear-stained face and sinking abdomen, utterly drenching this fucked-stupid girl.

By the time Yujin's cock starts dribbling the dregs of her unholy release, her eyes have rolled back, leaving just the whites showing. Veiny forearms go limp against her binds, drained to complete exhaustion by her overstimulation ordeal. Her quivering ring gapes rawly around your softening cock, leaking a flood of seed from her freshly-bred fuckhole.

[bucknastysbabe]

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

[undercovercameron]

rise and shine

summary: a little early morning action after midsummers

notes: this timeline does not really exist because i find s2 rafe sexier + midsummer didn't happen then + in this one he doesn't snort coke or kill anybody so this is truly fictional. inspired by that ass (also there are probably hints to size kink and/or a size-coded reader and i happen to not be a small person but suspend ur imagination with me) theres also def some sort of taste kink these guys have going on but im disgusting so

tags: rafe cameron x female reader

word count: 2313 this is hella short and sweet these bitches are easy on the come up (pun intended)

A bird cawes to where it seems like it’s right next to your head, and you awake with a start, gasping. 

You open your eyes, blinking furiously, and reach a hand to rub at them. Ew. Your eyes are crusty, and it feels like a thousand rocks smacked into your head. Fuck. 

Sitting up slightly, you crack open an eyelid and peer around the room. It’s bright, lit by a window that someone had left open that lights the room in gold. 

It’s nice in here, you realize. Too nice. Dark wood covers the walls and the bed you’re in has an expensive headboard and lamps on the side tables. You see the dress you were wearing to Midsummers across the way, eyebrows furrowing in thought. 

A noise comes from your left, a groan. Something tightens around your torso, and you look down to see a big, tan arm slung across your waist. You fall to the pillow, turning on your side to face the owner of that arm. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when you see his face. 

It’s creased with sleep, a clear indent of the pillow beneath his head, and his hair is messy and in his face. His eyebrows are light, and his lips are pink and puffy. His face is relaxed, jaw sharp and cheeks slightly ruddy. He’s so sleepy, and he grunts again when you sink down back into the covers.

Rafe Cameron. You’re being spooned by Rafe Cameron, in nothing but a Kildare County summer gym shirt.

(It’s his.) 

You settle, now aware of your surroundings and last night. You guess you had a little too much champagne and too much of your sister’s weed at Midsummers last night. But you’re not exactly complaining— I mean, he is a beautiful man. A little out of your league, maybe, but you have a feeling that doesn’t matter anymore. You rest your head against the headboard briefly, closing your eyes, but jerk forward.

You bring a hand to the back of your head, wincing, and touch the bruise forming there. You must’ve knocked your head against this headboard hundreds of times last night, and evidence that Rafe Cameron had you in his bed and left you with a bruise right where you’d be pressed up against the headboard makes your cheeks flush. 

“Come back,” he murmurs, into his pillow, and his fingers tighten on your torso. You acede, sliding down to where you’re fully in his arm’s embrace and under the covers, and sigh contentedly. It’s cool in here, the morning ocean breeze filtering in through the same window that warns you it’s probably early morning. He hums when you turn to face him and bury your face in his pillow, submitting. 

You take another moment to look at his face. Pretty. You can’t help but move a hand to cup his jaw, rubbing your thumb along his chin. He moves his face, trying to get comfortable, and a hint of a smile pushes at your lips. 

His arm tightens, and then he’s turning to his other side and taking you with him. You squeak, being utterly manhandled, and resign to your position as a rag doll. You sling an arm around the curve of his waist and relax into the mattress. 

He blinks into consciousness, squinting in the sunlight, and blows a breath out of his lips. You cringe, smelling the alcohol and hors d’oeuvres. 

“That bad?” He mumbles, wiping at his mouth with a thumb, and you can’t help but giggle. 

“No,” you whisper, and push with your elbow to lay a kiss on his mouth. He makes a pleased sound, lips moving against yours, and settles onto his back. His arms cage you to him, and you press your hands to his abdomen to lift yourself into his lap. You sit comfortably, hunching down to kiss him, and his hands wander your back. They settle on your hips and just squeeze, and you pull away to get a look at him again. 

He’s shirtless, tan chest on display, and you see your own handiwork on his neck—bruising hickeys and bites into his previously unmarred skin. You’re sure you look the same. His legs shuffle under the covers, hips bucking, and you make a noise as he hikes you up his body. 

“Hi,” you whisper, face level with him, and push an arm under his pillow to resign yourself into his neck. He just hums again, enjoying your warm body on top of his. His eyes are closed, relaxed, and you stroke a hand through his messy hair. 

“Stop looking at me,” he grumbles, and you huff out a laugh. 

“Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“Mhm.”

He opens his eyes then, seeing the curve of your hips on his own and just a hint of your head where it’s buried into his collarbone. 

“C’mere,” he says, cupping your face in a warm palm, and brings your face up into his vision. Your eyes are closed, and he just admires you. They peek open when he feels your cheek in his palm, just testing the warmth, and you barely smile at him. “You’re sexy,” he says, voice hoarse and rumbling through his chest, and your back tingles.

Your eyes meet his blue ones, and then he’s rising with an arm pushed into the mattress and flipping you onto your back. You make a noise, and he dips to get his mouth on you to taste it. Your legs part, something holy in his mind, and he settles between them with a groan. You’re so warm. A hand pushes up the shirt, trying to touch your waist, and he bristles. 

“Where did your underwear go?” His voice is curious, probably with bad intentions, but you just shrug. 

“Dunno. Don’t need them,” you respond, quiet, and look up at him squarely. He just shakes his head, and kisses you again. 

“Damn right,” he mumbles against your lips. You make a pitiful sound in your throat, desperate, and he can’t help but laugh a little. His hands find your hips, shoving your shirt halfway up to your chest, and his mouth slides from your lips to your neck to the hem of his shirt. He rolls it back up, pressing a kiss to your newly exposed sternum. Your fingers find his hair when he kisses at your breast, just gentle, and finds your nipple in his mouth. You arch up into him, so responsive, and it makes his hips twitch. He licks at one, hand cupping the other, and your eyes fall closed in the feeling. So good.

He’s ready to go again, you notice, and your legs tighten on his torso. He moves to the other nipple, just brushing it with his teeth, and your hips buck. 

“So needy,” he mutters, lips caught on your skin, and you agree with a brief whine. It’s sort of humiliating, but you find you don’t really care. What’s so bad about him, anyways?

His hot mouth slides down your skin, kissing his way to your stomach, and two strong hands lift your thighs to brace his head. Your chest heaves at what’s coming. He glances up to your eyes once, eye contact locked, and kisses at the inside of your thigh. So light it feels ticklish, and your legs squeeze. 

But his eyes fall away, face disappearing between your legs, and then he’s licking into you.

You grip his hair between your fingers, already making sounds that light his insides on fire, and he hums into your pussy. His grip tightens on your thighs, keeping them spread for him, and he hikes one leg over his strong shoulder. You cant your hips for him at the perfect angle, seeing his mouth seal itself between your thighs. You breathe out a moan high in your throat, and his lips close over your clit, sucking harshly. 

“Rafe,” you sigh, eyes falling closed, and bathe in the feeling of his mouth. He just responds with a grunt, tongue pushing into you to taste all of you, and he gets a taste of something salty. Fuck. He must’ve cum inside of you last night. But that only spurs him on, seeking that taste again, and his hands curl around your thighs, pushing tight at your pelvis.

It’s delicious, the way he’s having you. Dirty from last night and burying his face between your legs. You jolt when he presses a kiss at your increasingly-sensitive clit, and he makes an appreciative sound. 

“Please,” you say, desperate, and his head bobs with the effort of needing you to cum into his mouth once again. He goes for it messily, pulling back to spit on you, and pushes his tongue back into you. His thumb moves to you and rubs at your clit as he sucks firmly at your folds, licking you until you’re arching your back and whimpering.

His hips push down into the bed, searching for some stimulation, and groans when your wetness only increases. You push onto your elbows, wanting to see, and nearly cum on the spot. There’s a wet ring around his mouth, evidence of your need, and you fall back into the pillows. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” he mutters quietly, and his thumb rubs quick circles. You try to buck your hips, trying to get both somehow closer and away from the sensation, but he pushes them back down and sucks. 

Your back arches again, and then you’re making a fucking embarrassing noise, thighs shaking, and cum onto his tongue. 

He laps it up greedily, tongue still moving as you ride through your orgasm, and chases you as you buck and shiver through it. Fuck, you taste so good.

He’s satisfied then, and pushes up to kiss you. You taste yourself, tangy and sweet, whining into his mouth, and he revels in your reaction. It makes his chest well with pride, getting you so warm so early in the morning. 

“Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh into his mouth, one hand snaking around his shoulder and the other entangled in his hair. It’s soft under your fingertips. 

He pulls away, mouth wet, and has another look at you. You’re bared for him, breasts naked and chest flushed. Your cheeks are pink, and your eyes are more awake than they’ve ever been. You look so beautiful. 

“You hungry?” He asks, muffled by another kiss, and you nod. He grunts, pushing up onto an arm and getting up from the bed.

You exhale in disappointment, sad that his warmth is leaving, and turn onto your side. But you like to watch him walk away, in that tight underwear that you recognize from last night. His broad frame disappears into the bathroom, and the sink turns on. You sigh, gathering your strength, and stumble into the bathroom after him. He’s brushing his teeth, and you mourn that you can’t taste yourself on him anymore. 

You press yourself into his back, admiring the way he looks in the mirror, and he ducks to spit the toothpaste into the sink. Your hand snakes around his waist, fingers moving with less than honorable intentions, and you press your hand to his crotch. He’s hard.

He rinses his mouth, eyes flicking up to you in the mirror, and your cool hand slips past the waistband of his underwear. You grip him firmly between your fingers, and he slams the faucet closed with a forced exhale on his lips. You take his dick out of his underwear, thumb brushing past the tip, and move your hand hesitantly against the shaft.

He straightens, shoulders back with his hands pressed to the counter, and you kiss at his shoulder blade, wrist moving steadily. He grunts, head hanging, and his hips twitch when you focus on the tip. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, looking at you through the mirror, and you mouth at his warm skin, wanting him to feel good. Your hand moves quickly, seeking his orgasm, and his head leans back, eyes rolling. You smile. He’s sort of slick, easy to move with, and you hum at the feeling. 

“So good to me, Rafe,” you mumble, hand twisting, and he swallows. “You taste so good.”

It’s still so early in the morning, nobody else in the house moving around, but you’ve got him shuddering with just your hand and your mouth pressed to his strong back. His hips jerk, and your hand moves up to just the pink head, and then he’s groaning openly and cumming into your hand.

You slow, just wanting him to have the taste of overstimulation he gave you, and he nearly collapses into the sink. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he says your name for the first time this morning, and you smile at his shoulder. Your hand pulls away, and you’re licking it before he can catch you.

He turns, catching you around the wrist, and guides your fingers into your mouth, watching the way you suck and clean them of his cum. It’s so erotic that he knows he’ll be hard again if you’re not careful. 

“Now we can have breakfast,” you whisper, licking your lips one last time, and lean in for a kiss. He dodges you first, evil, and your eyebrows furrow. But he just takes your neck in his hand and gets his mouth on you, making a satisfied noise. You hum, shoulders slumping, and wind your arms around his neck. 

“We could also just stay here,” he mumbles, and you pull away to just look at him. “I could have you again.” His voice is low, still kind of hoarse, and your legs squeeze together. He notices, smirking, and grabs a handful of your ass. 

“Not yet,” you reply, finger pressed against his lips. “I need some food in me.”

“You need a lot of things in you, honey,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

[v-ternus]

*that* SwissDew video

So ughhhhhhhh, yall saw that right?!?!? Anyways. It made me start thinking. And then my brain did some thinking with @iamthecomet And our combined thinking has now left me with 1.5k words of nasty.

explicit | princess dew | daddy swiss | handjob | forcedfem |dressing room quickie | breeding | idk what else |

Under the cut for your reading pleasure :)

The stage lights barely have a chance to dim before Swiss is herding Dew backstage, hand on his back, planted firmly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dew snarls as he’s accidentally shoved into the shoulder of an unsuspecting techie. Swiss swings his head back to mumble a half-assed apology, only to keep moving forward. He doesnt dignify the question with a response beyond plastering a shit-eating grin across his face.

The rest of the walk back to the dressing room goes by quickly and Dew is practically thrown in right as he turns the doorknob. He tries to find his balance but his boots catch on a part of the scrunched up carpet and it sends him to the floor. He falls hard, dropping all of his weight onto his knees. He’s sure they’ll be black and blue by the end of the night.

Swiss closes the door behind them and postures himself right in front of Dew. 

“Infront of everyone?” Dew grits through his question, jaw clenched at the disaster that Swiss could’ve caused.

Swiss brings a hand up to cradle Dew’s face and coos as he thumbs across his heated cheeks. “Dont pretend like you didnt like it bug.” Dew has no rebuttal. Because of course he liked it—

He liked the way Swiss’ hand splayed over his hip and waist in an attempt to hold him steady while his other hand gripped his cock. He liked when Swiss dug his fangs into his tense flesh.

He especially liked the way the fans cheered as he was gropped in front of them all.

He’s been hard since then, struggling to play his parts with each second that passed by. He almost missed his cues because he couldnt walk without his guitar rubbing against him.

Dew is pulled out of his head when Swiss drops himself down to his knees, loosely interlacing his legs with Dew’s. His free hands falls to the front of Dew’s uniform and palms at his crotch. Dew looks down and the sight makes him whine. Swiss’ hand covers up so much of his lap. Its as if they both thought the same, cause Dew swears he heard Swiss laugh. 

“Stop teasing bitch,” he tries to sound unamused, aggressive even. But he fails. His voice wavers as Swiss squeezes his throbbing cock particularly harder. 

“But its fun to watch you like this,” Swiss says as he kneads at Dew. They both know he could be meaner, mean enough to leave Dew achingly hard and alone, but thats not what Swiss wants right now.

He palms at Dew for a mere moment longer before he finally starts unlacing his pants. He works the garments down just enough for Dew’s cock to spring up towards his vest, the ruddy tip spreading his slick across the delicate velvet.

Swiss drags a finger along the short length, tracing along the vein that runs on the underside, stopping at the spot right under the head. He makes Dew hiss when he presses against down and watches as a bead of pre wells up at the tip.

“You’re an asshole.” Swiss chuckles again, loving the way Dew squirms and protests under his touch. “I know.”

He gives Dew no time to adjust— he just sends things from zero to a hundred. The teasing and feather light touches turn into a warm hand completely wrapping around his cock and slowly stroking from root to tip. The pleasure is a relief, and he makes sure to share his enjoyment. Breathy moans freely fall from his lips and they sound like music to Swiss' ears.

“You sound so pretty Dew.” Swiss sounds like he means every word.

“Fuck you.”

Swiss tightens his grip before tutting his disappointment. His eyes cast over Dew with a stern, cold look on his face. “That’s a bit rude isnt it?” Dew tries to ignore the game Swiss is playing at.

“But I think I'm feeling really generous right now princess,” 

“Dont call me that.” Anything but that, Dew thinks.

Swiss brings his free hand up to thumb at the base of one of Dew’s horns. Its nice, nice enough that a low purr rumbles through him. But whatever softness he was basking in goes up in flames as Swiss uses said horn to wrench his head back. His neck bends at an unnatural angle and he feels exposed. 

“Shh baby, Daddy knows what’s best, doesnt he?” Swiss’ voice drips thick, laced with poison that floods Dew’s bloodstream.

Swiss leans forward to rest his forehead against Dew’s.

A sinister smile creeps over Swiss’ face as he moves his grip to wrap around Dew’s dick and balls. Much to Dew's displeasure, he squeezes. Really squeezes. And hell it fucking hurts. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of Dew's eyes. He winces and tries to pull himself backwards, away from the pain. But all it does is tug against his already tender groin. 

“Here’s how this is going to work baby,” Dew breathes through the pain and focuses on the deep voice weaving into his hazy mind. He listens to the sounds of sin and depravity and it reminds him of all of their other nights spent like this– Swiss just taking him apart, putting him through the thick of it until he has proper streaks of tears working down his chiseled features. 

“You get to cum whenever you’re ready,” Dew’s breath hitches, sensing a trap. There’s gotta be a catch to this. Dew manages to make eye contact and he’s surprised by what stares back at him. The golden eyes trained on him have suddenly gone soft, donning a warmer, less threatening gaze. Had it been any other night, it would be endearing, but tonight, its nothing better than a threat.

“You just gotta fuck this cute little clit into my fist, how’s that sound Princess?” 

There it is.

Dew nods mindlessly. Says anything and agrees to it all, just to get the crushing grip away from his jewels.

“Yeah… whatever. Fuck, just let go.” Having finally gotten his answer, Swiss’ hand withdraws and returns with a kinder touch. This time, the hand moves to cup Dew’s balls. He rolls them gently, tugs at them just enough to make Dew groan before backing off again. 

“Are you ready princess?” There’s that fucking word again. Swiss doesn't wait for a response, he just sits up, and holds his fist right over Dew’s achingly red dick. Dew takes what's offered and rocks his hips up. The sound he lets out is embarrassing at best— a high, feminine moan that shoots from Swiss’ ears, straight down to his cock. He's now pressed up tight against the seam in his underwear.

Dew keeps rocking, chasing his release so that this can all just be over. The filthy wet noises he's making between them fill the otherwise hushed room.

He can't stop himself from listening to Swiss whisper how pretty he gets like this, or how he cant wait to get back to the hotel so he can dress him up in that lingerie set Aether had bought.

Swiss feels Dew's cock kick at the mere mention of Aether, he files that away for a later date.

“You want me to breed you nice and good after this Dewy? I’ll fill you with my kits, you’d be so full.”

“Shut up,” Dew groans. “Shut up and just let me finish.” His eyes screw up tight and he tries to think of anything else besides Swiss’ words, but it's a futile attempt. The words flash across his mind and echo in his ears. 

Swiss can feel how close he is, he can feel each twitch of Dew’s cock when his thrusts press him into Swiss’ hand just right. Dew starts to lose his pace, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated ad his breathing becomes more and more ragged.

Swiss watches his quickly pitiful moves and decides to help him out. He starts to jerk him off, doing his best to match the pace of his hips so that his fist bottoms out at the top of his thrusts.

“Are you close my love?” Swiss presses his lips against the side of his mate's face, breathes in his scent, warm and burnt, and presses a kiss to his temple. He hears a pleased hum and knows that this is his chance.

"Whenever you're ready Dewy." Dew tries to speak. He tries to find the words-- any words-- that could describe this moment. But his brain just wont seem to work. All he can do is pant and feel each decadent, wet glide of Swiss' hand over the swollen head of his cock.

"Close. -m close,"

“Go ahead and squirt all over daddy’s hand,” Swiss surprises even himself with how he was able to say the words.

Something inside Dew unravels. He surges forward, digs his claws into Swiss’ sides as he cums. They watch as milky ropes of his spend stripe over Swiss' hand.

Swiss works him through his orgasm, lightly stroking until his cock is drained of all he has to give. He only stops when Dew twitches from overstimulation.

Some of his cum drips down to the floor and Swiss groans in disappointment. There's always next time.

The multi ghoul leans forward and crashes his lips into Dew's. The kiss is lazy and there's no sense of urgency to go along with it. They just kneel in the middle of the room, and lap at whatever parts they can reach.

Swiss pulls back and catches an eyeful of Dew’s puffy red lips and the blissed out look across his face.

“You were so good for me princess.”

Dew feels his cock make a feeble attempt at filling out again– princess.

[poppy-metal]

aw poppy you got me thinking about eddie in dom drop :(( esp at the beginning of the relationship :(( having to reassure him that you wanted the things he did to you, holding him to your chest as you stroke his hair. telling him how much you love him and how he was so good to you, how good he made you feel :(((

i- yeah 🥺

cw under the cut: dom!drop. eddie being self depricating, reader reassuring him. sweet sweet aftercare. mentions of spanking.

think he might actually cry the first time you guys try impact play :( he feels....so bad, for getting hard. from hurting you. from leaving bruises on your ass. feels so shitty about it and he tries not to, rubs lotion on your sore cheeks and can't stop his eyes from watering at the little whine you let out.

he just...breaks. you hear him sniff and then his hands are running up your spine and hes hiding his face in your neck and whispering. "im sorry. im so fucking sorry."

you blink out of the haze you were in to turn over, ignoring the burn in your ass so you can wrap him up in your arms. take his face in your hands and look at him worriedly, "eddie, baby. why are you apologizing, what's wrong?" thumbs swiping away the tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

he shakes his head and kisses your wrist. his eyes so big and shiny and wet. "i hurt you. like." he takes a deep shuddering breath, "i left marks. you're gonna be in pain tomorrow- jesus, fuck-"

"eddie." you squeeze his cheeks, all your senses back and pinpointed on him. "you know i wanted this right? like im the one who asked for it?"

he nods once. "yeah, yeah i know that. but. shit. i got-" he swallows and you see his adams apple bob. "i got hard. during."

you would giggle if this wasn't a serious moment. oh, your eddie. your lovely eddie. you lean forward to kiss his nose. sweet and gentle. his lashes flutter at the motion, reverent, like hes soaking in the fact that you still want him.

"im glad you did." you tell him. you card your fingers through his hair and bring his head to your chest, laying on your back and trying not to wince. you don't want to remind him of your aching ass just right now. later. "i really am, eddie. i know this was my thing, but i wanted us to enjoy it together. and you were so good."

his breath hitches, blows out across your nipples. his hair tickles your chin. "really?"

you hum and kiss the top of his head. "really, really. you did everything right. told me the stoplight system. made sure i was okay throughout. made me cum at the end. if i wanted you to stop, i would have safeworded."

you wiggle a little, feeling the sheets on your bare skin. "and the pain....it was good. its still good. I like the fact that im gonna feel it tomorrow. reminds me of you being in control of me. makes me feel like yours. the marks are good too. i like everything about what we did, even the fact that it stings like a bitch. because it was you who did it."

he lifts his head. he looks more calm now. less self depriacting. his curls hang around his face in a halo, framing it. hes chewing his bottom lip, running his teeth over it. "you promise?" you feel his thumbs rubbing circles at your sides, just above the dips in your hips. "you really liked it?"

you smile at him, big and genuine. "i really, really liked it."

he smiles back, a little small and tentative. he leans down and kisses between the crevice of your chest. "would you hate me if i said i wanted to wait awhile before we do anything like that again?" he brings his nose to yours, brushing them, "i believe you and everything, and i- well i think its pretty obvious i enjoyed myself. i just. need to take a minute to wrap my head around that.. part of our dynamic. i wanna do it again when im more......secure about it. If that's okay."

you love him so fucking much your chest wants to burst with it.

you kiss him, sigh happily into his plush mouth when he kisses you back. "sure, eds." you tell him, "take as long as you need." you run your hands down his back, "im happy with anything we do."

he kisses your nose, your lips, your jaw, in quick succession, and then hes sitting up. "i hope you're happy with being spoiled rotten. like. annoyingly so." he pats your hip, "roll back over for me?"

you do, settling on your tummy and sighing when you feel his warm and gentle palms on your sensitive ass again, kneading the globes. you loooooove his habds. "oh, im sooooo mistreated." you say sarcastically, wiggling your butt. "being spoiled, my god, how awful."

you squeal when he pinches your waist. "okay, brat." he says, "m'starting to remember why it was so easy to spank you."

you giggle, hugging a pillow to your chest as eddie goes back to applying the cooling lotion to your enflamed flesh.

his voice is serious again when he says, "i think i like this part the best." he spreads the gel around until it soaks in nicely. "when we do it again....this will always be my favorite part. taking care of you." you feel him press a kiss at the base of your spine. "you're kinda the love of my life. or something."

you smile into the pillow. "me too. or something."

[inkyquince]

... Bailey has a blood kink. Huge fuckin blood kink. The worst.

Content warning. Big ole blood kink. Physical violence. Mentions of nonconsensual blood play and anal. Bailey jerks it to your beaten up face. Pearl necklace? More like... Bailey cums on your face.

So when Whitney busts your face open, and you retaliate in kind, Bailey is distracted. Standing there in Leighton's musty smelling office, as the man he used to punch in the gut and steal money from tells him that you are suspended from school for a week. That delightful red stain, slowly drying on your face holds his attention far more than Leighton ever could. It's starting to look cracked and dry, so it's gonna be a bitch to wash off, splattered along your mouth and still seeping from the split skin across your nose.

He should be pissed. He is pissed. This draws the kind of attention he's going to have to buy off. That and because of your dumbass, he has to be here.

So the moment you two get back, he's hauling you into his office. Bailey starts off good, fucking tearing you a new one but he struggles to keep his train of thought, until it drifts off completely.

Your split lip had started bleeding again.

The scarlet droplets rolled down your chin, hitting the collar of your pristine white school shirt.

It looked good.

You noticed his silence, of course. Blinking slowly, as if trying to figure out if he was giving your cue to get the fuck out of his office or not. You started to rise from the chair when Bailey suddenly stood up, stalking his way over to you until he towered over you, dark hair falling into his strangely bright eyes. Usually flat and dark, like a stone, now gleaming.

His hands, lax at his sides, slowly curl, the leather of his gloves straining, before his deft fingers slowly hook into his belt. His thumb slowly loosening the garment. You sat, frozen. You were familiar with this sight, countless belts unbuckled and zippers pulled down, hasty, desperate as you waited. Waited for them to slip out their cock and jam it into your mouth.

Just not from Bailey. Untouchable, unmovable Bailey.

Your expectations didn't stop him from slipping his fat, drooling cock out though. Swollen, almost painful looking, with precum forming at the slit.

Bailey wasn't going to put it in your mouth, even if it would be easy to drag it along your cut lip and shove it down that throat. Open you up in more ways than one, and enjoy the blood streaking along his cock as he fucked your face.

No. That would be too much. Giving you a proper taste of him would go against his own rules, especially towards his charges.

No, no. He just wanted to see his cum streaking your face, mingling with the blood. That's all he needed.

Bailey's own grip on his cock was punishing. Too tight, too rushed, almost violent as he stared down at you. Gaze full of silent accusations, blaming you for his own actions, for the blood running down from your lip and nose. Fuck. Looked so good. In his youth, there was nothing better than bloodying up a pretty face and then watching their tears slip down and dilute the red, all the while he has his cock down their throat. Sometimes up their unprepared ass, streaking his erection with dark blood.

He hasn't indulged in so long. So, so long.

You fucking bitch.

With anyone else, he'd take his time, enjoy himself. You, though? The little thorn, stuck under the nail of his thumb? He wasn't going to allow himself this, not in the way he wanted.

Just force you to watch him jerk his cock, roughly and punishing, as the head became ruddy and wet. Precum rolling down the skin. All the while staring at your beaten face.

He came too soon. Your tongue had darted out, the soft pink touching your cut up lip, red blooming across the wet glistenening tip. That's all it took. Bailey came all over your face, his full balls emptying just for you, decorating your skin in hot, white streaks. The slippery blood turned a dark pink as his cum merged with it. Maybe you were pretty in his eyes.

Bailey said nothing as he tucked his flaccid cock away. Just dragged his gloved hand through his strands with a sigh.

"Fuck off, would you?"

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2022: October 27th

Day 27: Forniphilia (Human Furniture) // Breath Play // Infidelity

Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Dom/sub tones, porn, masturbation, untouched ejaculation

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You smirk at the disgruntled frown that creases Whiskey’s brow. That cocksure grin that annoys you so much wiped off his face and there is a slight disbelief in his eyes, as if he couldn’t understand how things had turned out to not be in his favor. 

“A bet is a bet, Agent Whiskey.” You crow, making sure that this wounds his no-so-small ego and also calls into question his honor. Things that he is very brash in protecting. “And I believe that you lost.” 

“Fuck.” The curse is hissed under his breath, the scowl pulling down that perfectly trimmed mustache that you always wanted to take for a ride, but you wouldn’t deal with the insufferable ego that went along with it. 

Honestly, the only reason that Jack had made this bet with you is because he had been sure that he would be the one winning. That you would be the one that would be submitting to his whims. You have no doubt that he had planned out something that you would find less amusing than he would. However, you wouldn’t find out today. 

There is a small little giggle that escapes your lips and you can’t wait to see his reaction when he realizes what exactly you have planned for the brash agent. Completely meant to take him down a peg or five and serve him up a large slice of humble pie. 

“My place, seven o’clock.” You chirp, wiggling your fingers goodbye at him as you turn around to walk away. 

“Now hold on a damn minute.” Jack huffs, making you look back to find his hands on his hips as he looks towards Ginger as if this is all her fault. “There ain’t no way on God’s green earth that she completed more missions than I did. I’m the senior agent here.” 

You snort, shake your head and give a small shrug of your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you already ordered the barely there outfit you wanted me to wear while I was at your beck and call?” You know how Jack operates, he’s not exactly subtle with his leering and the comments that plenty of women around Statesman had heard. Even if he was a sexist jerk, he was fucking handsome and that might be the only reason he didn’t get slapped as often as he should. 

The huff and slightly ruddiness of his cheeks gives him away. Making you giggle again and tut. “Jack….poor Jack.” You coo condescending. “You forgot that you were injured for nearly three weeks during the timeframe you chose.” You remind him with a vicious grin. “Who do you think took on your cases? Surely not Tequila.” 

That’s exactly who he thought had taken on his cases. You wonder if he had just assumed or if the younger agent had embellished his own work over those weeks. It wouldn’t surprise you. 

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, realizing he had set himself up for failure and he has no one to blame but himself. 

“See you at seven.” You hum, grinning to yourself as you walk away, eager for later on tonight to see how Jack looks in your living room. 

****

“You want me to what?” His brows shoot up, his hat already off his head and he looks around as if he is trying to spot a camera or some of the other agents hiding away to see his reaction to your decision on how he would pay off his debt from the bet. 

“Strip down.” You repeat. “All of it, bare assed.” 

“Now hold on-”

“How much material was in the outfit you ordered Jack?” You demand, brow raised. You might have hacked into his emails and seen the outfit, knowing that it was completely sheer. It would have been better to be naked like you were demanding him to be. 

“There was-”

“Not fucking much.” You interrupt. “Now you can pay out your bet here, In the privacy of my home or we could make this happen at Statesman. And while you would have to wear something, I would make sure it was most embarrassing for you.” As you know he would as well. 

Dark brown eyes watch you for a long moment, gauging how serious you are before he huffs and starts to peel his jacket off. It’s honestly sad how quickly your cunt clenches just from the fact that he was submitting. Giving you control over this. 

“Now you want me just, kneel down?” His brow is scrunched, confused and you bite your lip to keep from smirking at the total bewilderment that is now on his face. You hadn’t missed the split second smirk on his face when he has assumed you had told him to strip down so you could fuck him. 

You motion to the empty space in front of your couch. “I’m missing a coffee table.” The one that is normally there is in your spare room, but that’s not the point. The point is for him to be your coffee table. 

“Yeah but-”

“Jack, you’re the one that said the bet could be anything we want it to be. If you don’t want to do this, let me know. You know the other option.” You smirk, knowing his ego wouldn’t let him tell the entire Statesman division that you were a better agent than he was. There was absolutely no way. 

Huffing, your challenge works - Jack starts ripping at the buttons on his deliciously tailored shirt. Revealing the golden skin beneath, sliding it off his shoulders and sighing as he starts to toe off his boots. “Let’s get this over with.”

****

That’s an interesting turn of events if you do say so yourself. You bite your lip, eyes firmly glued under the small pooch of Jack’s belly as his body is held ramrod straight. Hands and knees firm on the floor under him. That’s not the interesting part, the interesting part is that Jack’s cock is hard. 

Your tea cup and saucer in your hand, you hum as you set it down on his back as you sit down on the sofa. Humming to yourself as you notice that the impressive hard on that had been bobbing in the air beneath him has not gone away. The small dribble of liquid underneath him telling you that he’s really excited about this. 

He can’t talk to you, he can’t look at you and he can’t move. Those are the rules of your little prize tonight. His small little ass is cute, almost nonexistent as he acts as your coffee table. A sharp drop off instead of a rounded edge but you don’t mind it. It’s appealing even without the painted on jeans he wears and now you know why the front bulges so deliciously. The rumors are that Jack may suck at sex, but he is packing the right equipment. 

Grinning, you pull your feet up off the foot and prop them on your human coffee table. Hearing the small moan that he tries to hide, the bouncing of his cock even though he hasn’t moved. Wiggling your toes, you seemingly ignore him, reaching for your remote to turn on the tv. You have the perfect thing picked out for this moment. 

Jack inhales sharply, making the cup rattle as he hears the soft moans. You see the tension in his entire body as his eyes cut towards your tv, positioned just to where he can barely see the screen out of the corner of his eye. It’s your video. One you had from when you were seducing a target. A personal favorite for when you needed to rub one out and right now, you are feeling horny. 

Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding under your panties to start to slowly rub your clit. You won’t get naked in front of Jack, not yet. Your moan makes his cock twitch again, another dribble of cum hits the floor but you don’t comment on it. Feeling the muscles of his back ripple under your feet as you gently push them into his skin. Bracing them while your fingers work your cunt.

There’s always been a power dynamic between the two of you, a fight for control but you never expected Jack Daniels to be a submissive. Not the way that his body is giving away his excitement for this. If you were going to acknowledge your table, you would cup his cock and see if he moans. Instead you concentrate on making yourself cum, the rattling of the cup on his back very telling on how many muscles are moving even though he has strict instructions to keep still. 

He likes this. Really likes this if the way his entire body trembles every time you moan. HIs jaw locked and tight and his breathing less measured than it had been before. A quick glance at him tells you that the head of his cock is deeply flushed, almost purple with need. 

It makes your clit throb, the tension building in your belly as your toes start to curl. You’re close, so very close to cumming while Jack listens to you. Biting your lip, another few swipes of your fingers against your clit while you watch yourself fuck on screen and your cumming. Crying out softly and digging your toes into Jack’s back while your legs push against him. Feeling your entire body lock up, eyes closing when you hear Jack groan. 

Panting, you relax and open your eyes, looking down to find that Jack’s head is hanging between his shoulder blades. Ropes of cum are splattered on the floor and you hum at the sight. Jack had just cum, untouched by this scene. 

Lifting your feet off his back, you plant them on the floor and lean forward after you pull your hand out of your pants. “If you come back, I’m going to use you as my chair.” You whisper, making him moan softly, looking up at you with a strange mixture of shame and curiosity in his eyes. It was a surprise that Jack was submissive for sure, but somehow, you have a feeling that he will come back to be your chair. 

[jrueships]

JIMMY BUTLER/anyone lol

OMG JAMNY!!!!!!!!!1!1!1!!

' I wish I could have got it done for these guys because they definitely deserve it. '

Kyle checks his phone, not his professional one, his Personal phone. Jimmy doesn't have to give a forcible and feign glance of innocence that just so happens to be sent that way, at that time, to know.

A little intake of breath, a small noise that oozed all that domestic slop Butler despised, instead of an annoyed silence because Kyle was too focused on rolling his eyes at an email regarding some form of business, readying his middle finger banded by a ring to flip off the phone with no eyes. A little moment for DeMar DeRozan.

It's a brief wheeze which leaves the lungs as quick as it was reactively formed, but not brief enough to slip 22's painfully acute mind. He blames it on the Yoga sharpening his senses instead of the innate psychological gruel that continually sludged from one side of his inflammatory skull to another. DeMar didn't even make a big post about it, didn't spend hours carefully perfecting the photos he would apply enmasse, what their meaning would signify to others, and even when he did opt for that sort of show in the past, its existence would never survive his sporadic extinction of the gallery. It was probably some of the laziest shows of intimacy ever, just texting. Jimmy could securely bet half of his salary that no emojis were used and win. You have to be one drab son of a bitch to not use emojis like they were a second form of online oxygen, and DeMar was exactly that kind of black and white boring.

And yet, he continues to succeed in his menial half-assed attempts at taking Kyle's time. It's like the guy spends all his miserable life lounging on the couch in that sad little depressive fit of his, limply holding a phone's black screen in one hand and an iPad in another as it's tuned in to a live viewing of The Heat's interview from a reporter watching in the crowd. It's like he times the texts irritatingly perfect, doesn't sit and wait, LAYS and waits.. lounges. While Jimmy sweats under the spotlight, poked and prodded not by pens anymore, but stupid phones and stupid microphones and stupid cameras and stupid DeMar watching from the stupid phones and microphones and cameras.

It was so fucking stupid.

The fact that Lowry took a moment to smile that stupid ruddy grin of his that lured those that don't know into a false sense of cheer rather than sardonic ploy.. during the depressing last note of the season.. all because of -

During an INTERVIEW?

HIS interview?

Kyle's permanent annoyance leading to antics with the media were usually the highlights from a tiresome day, the rude and ruder pair amping up their airtime. But today, Jimmy wasn't in on the fun. He saw no reason to. It was

So

Fucking

Stupid.

They just lost the Finals.

They just lost the Finals and now Jimmy, their supposed follow by example leader who relied on the simple practice of consistent excellency, is locked in a private jet's disgustingly spacious bathroom.. battling his demons. No better than a girl on her period wondering why everyone was being so rude to her only to realize red looking down and all a sudden her feelings meant absolutely zip in the moment, nullified by the cons of her biology.

The only reason why (the only advantage that mattered in the moment) Kyle went with Jimmy was due to playoff professionalism. Unlike DeMar, Jimmy had the awe-inspiring ability to turn all emotions on outside appearance aloof, merely battling through the motions like an impersonal assassin only here for the buck of the bid. Unlike DeMar

Jimmy wasn't human.

Yet here he sits, reminded that he was.

Defeated.

The points he scored hang above him, more than a number. The points he scored chant and dance mind-gratingly within reach while the ones he truly desires are locked just a little too high above it. The points he scored become the back of a man.

"Was it worth it?"

A forest green 21 asks.

... "Fuck are you doing here, Holiday."

The jersey ripples the name like a white flag as the scapulas flex and extend the fabric across. Yet who was the one really defeated here.

His smaller adversary of innocent delight grins and almost floats, puffing out his angular cheeks and pushing atop the automatic hand dryer with his hands. Illogically, he perches on the spotless object and dangles his legs, careless to the scenario and the physics that follow.

"You think I WANNA be here, Jimmy? It reeks like toxic waste, and you've got the cover on as some sort of miserable makeshift porcelain throne, so even biological movements can't answer to that mystery!"

Jrue laughs, announcing every aha in the high giggle, kicking his feet along to the obnoxious rhythm. Jimmy jumped to feet to drown out the noise and the piss-poor 'jokes' the other valued so dearly to his person, shoving the cover of the toilet hard enough to lopside it on its way up.

"Get out."

Jrue just twirls a braid, bouncing his head a bit side to side, bandana tufts following as flouncy as a chickadee.

"You showed them playoff jimmy, but you didn't promise them Finals Jimmy, that's for sure."

Another ahaha chuckle at his own two-cent joke shoved in as cash for the ATM machine (which is stupid in and of itself for being called the ATM machine when the m literally stands for machine.). Jimmy rears his head, thrashes it with violent matches to whichever side of his lip curls first. He rushes forward, propelled by hatred and puppeted by scorn, sinks a heavy hand against the wall -- nearly missing Jrue's sweaty neck.

To Jimmy's snarl turned smile, he saw the Point Guard shake. Just a bit. His entire being subconsciously rocked by some warning to survival. That's right. That's the placate his point guards deserved to belong, waiting and admiring him and his sheer inhumane monstrosity -- cold and unfeeling.

Which is exactly why he's panting from exerted desperation right now, heart running ragged nervous over overtime and head ringing and-

he's just So unfeeling

he's wet at the eyes from it.

"The only way you can get them to love you is.. by acting like this? And you're sure you want that?"

Holiday shifts so his neck slopes and his jawline thinly shows, sleek in shadow. Although his face is angled, thanks to a slight lazy eye, he's still giving Jimmy that entirely unbothered lazy lidded look.

"Want this?"

Butler lowered his gaze, pushing them head-to-head ( and Butler Never backs down from a head-to-head. ) until Jrue's scalp hit the wall. Sliding from forehead to temple, fevered lips kept refreshed by revenge hiss close enough to waver the nerves inhabiting ear.

"You don't know Shit about what I want, Jrue."

The trembling he felt this time wasn't from fear, and the tiny nose fumbling out that throat wasn't some awarded whimper of servitude, but

ahaha. aha.

Jrue threw his head back and laughed, then laughed even harder after bashfully rubbing it with a little 'oop-' from it thumping against the wall. The hoods hanging dangerously half over whites thin upwards until obsolete, utterly aghast. Maybe even a tad indignant. Jimmy's nostrils flare, following the surprised rage from the rest of his beautiful features.

Jrue just laughs even more at sight.

"I know that was a bad game on your part, I know that! I know about to retire Lowry and surprisingly young Bam had to help way more than you ever did. I know you shouldn't have taken that shot. But I know you did, because you didn't want to, but they-"

The indent in the wall trails horizontal as he scrapes the rupture even farther to the left, spraying formidable losses off the side. Butler heaves, sighs, sobs, cries

his shoulders sag, swallowing the tension he didn't realize he was showering under only to throw it all back up again. A knock, the lower end of a painfully sad series, finally ruptures through the fog choking his psyche.

Jimmy rips the handle to full-force before splashing his face with the water, not caring that half of it fell out of the sink, soaking everything besides the target on necessary cooldown.

The door slides open like paper tearing, Bam's hand caught in the tilted motion. He barely has time to straighten a wrist as Jimmy shoves his way past.

Adebayo's mouth moves, but Lowry's beats him thanks to more experience.

"THE HELL WAS ALL THAT FOR, JIMMY??

You seriously wanna get fined after the Finals!?Fuck! Who you fighting in there anyways, shit?! What the Fuck is WRONG with you--"

Jimmy gives the smaller point guard, no longer his, perhaps never was, a look harsh enough to wilt the old blue orchid clenched in his hands -- too delicate to keep along with his luggage for the flight.

"Nothing any of you should know."

As Kyle continued to argue with a wall, Bam snuck a side-ways stare into the dark room Jimmy's been banging in. No Rachel Nichols..

No-

Nothing.

[wh0lemilk0vich]

Ooh ooh more of plumping up king egg!

🌊

I really do have to finish that idea I have, I don't know why it's so hard for me to finish stuff lol.

Anyway, here's something I think about a bunch, it kind of gets away from me at the end but I hope you like it, 🌊anon

CW: canon typical Targaryen sexual practices. Degradation kink. Canon alcohol use.

I still really like the idea of Alicent forcing Aegon to wear a corset to hide how he's been gaining weight. Commissions a court tailor to make them in secret.

Aegon absolutely useless and petulant about getting it on because he complains about how uncomfortable it is, how he feels like a forgotten vessel of dough left to rise until it's burst.

Usually little meek servants get him up, washed and dressed, but one day Alicent tells her second born to get his elder brother out of bed and decent for court and Aemond is more than happy to oblige.

He bursts into the room to see Aegon still passed out despite it nearly being noon, sleeping soundly twisted in the sheets, completely naked, ass bare and rounded in the open air like twin mounds of pudding.

The weight settled upon his brother making him shapely, bottom heavy, curvy and soft in a way that, faced away from him, Aemond could be forgiven for wanting eagerly to bed the plump, womanly figure in front of him. Indeed, the sight was enough to have the Dragonrider stirring in his small clothes.

Taking swift, long strides to Aegon's bed, he grabs and tears the white top linen away to revealing his brother's plush, pink shame. He gives a swift cracking smack to his fat, wobbling arse, earning him a pitiful, almost aroused yelp in return. With a grin, he grabs a fistful of the man's mussed, wavy platinum hair, pulling him up onto his hands and knees, presenting much like a bitch to be mounted.

"Maiden's cunt! How do you end up visibly fatter every time I see you, brother?" Aemond asks cruelly, appraising his sleep and wine addled brother like a feeding hog. With one of his large splayed hands, he hefts and wobbles the blubbery pot of Aegon's gut, testing its weight, feeling the man reflexively trying to suck in. His younger brother scoffs incredulously, giving him a none-too-soft pat to the diaphragm, forcing him to relax those buried muscles and letting the fat round out below him.

"You beast! Unhand me!" Aegon weakly protests, face screwed up as he flaps a dough-soft arm to a side table to scrabble for his goblet.

Almond's patience starts to wear thin.

"For fuck's sake. Allow me," he says as he fills his brother's goblet and pulls him up by the hair to his knees. "It would be a shame if you appeared sober at court for once. Can't have that," he said forcing the overfull cup of Dornish strongwine down his gullet.

Aegon splutters at first before overtaking his brother's pace on his own, throat bobbing as he gulped it down greedily, red rivulets dripping from the corners of his mouth, onto his perky tits and between his cleavage. He pants, grinning dopily, as the chalice was pulled away from his lips, clearly satisfied. His pink tongue poked out licking away the final drops from his ruddy stained lips.

Aemond takes his brother in again. He looks absolutely debauched, eyes glassy, hair a mess, chest heaving, and there, nestled between plush thighs in a soft mound of fat, below his quivering belly, Aegon's unimpressive, fat little cock stood to attention. It twitches when Aemond, roughly handles one of his breasts, tweaking and teasing the nipple. "If these teats grow any larger, I suspect I should be able to sheath my sword between them. Do you suppose that if I suckled hard enough, you might produce milk?"

Aemond can see the effect he's having on his brother, the prince. A miserable, pitiful, ungrateful excuse for a future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, aroused, panting, gagging to be used, hungry for more abuse. Suddenly annoyed, the younger brother roughly lets go of Aegon's hair, allowing him to crumple back onto the mattress with a whine. He rifles through his brother's wardrobe, certain there was no way half of the items would fit the man they were meant to, before coming upon the piece he was searching for.

"Come now. Enough of your indolence, Mother demands I cinch you into this ridiculous garment and make you presentable for court." This earns him a groan in response.

It takes some manhandling but eventually Aegon ends up in the loosened corset and sitting heavily in Aemond's lap. The latter is of two minds, embarrassed of and for his brother, and yet his own impressive manhood strains against his trousers wanting desperately to be buried between those full, jiggly cheeks.

With a deft movement, Aemond flips their positions, pinning Aegon over the edge of the bed, in such a position that, if he just took a moment to tug down his trousers, he could bury his aching hardness to the hilt in his brother's greedy cunt.

He takes hold of the corset laces and tugs hard, hearing Aegon gasp in pain. The sound eggs Aemond to continue, cinching row after row of laces, tighter and tighter, until Aegon was a whimpering groaning mess below him. He leaned down to whisper in the man's ear, pinning him underneath him, and teasingly rolling his hips to grind his clothed cock against his brother.

"If you want me to fuck you like the fat little whore you are. You're going to do everything in your power to burst these stays and put an end to this farce once and for all. The court and small folk deserve to see what pig their princeling has eaten himself into. And I'll make sure you never forget it, and love every second of it."

[funky-sea-cryptid]

chapter 2

introducing the one-eyed kid

once again, an irrelevant character put in for like... no reason???

anyways the chapter starts off following a seagull. a goddamn - nesbo has a problem with not focusing the action in this book. it introduces a bridge, though, that plays a part in this chapter and nothing else.

anyways swat is chasing the norse riders in their fucking. jeep that they got. it's full of antiphetamine, but the gang doesn't know that

olafson gets shot in the shoulder, from a car, while in a car???

angus said "we're gonna drive sooo recklessly"

anyways they get the car and it crashes into a statue of kenneth and they all fall off the bridge (not swat, the statue and the norse riders).

fatshaming a dead man.... really.

pov shift to some random ass norse riders

sweno and some of his posse roll up, and later two more show up. the guys go to check them out and surprise! its macbeth and duff

duff is 3 seconds from committing a murder

why on earth is duff an asshole and just genuinely a bad person? my man is supposed to be the anti-macbeth. if he improves himself as macbeth worsens, i'd accept this, but he literally doesn't he is still a shitty ass person like - nesbo you have NEVERRRR read the text critically you bitch

"ruddy porcelain" so... a redfaced- whitefaced man??? nesbo just say his face was flushed if he's drunk

duff and macbeth decide we're gonna commit a murder

duff says the gun feels "warm and soft, like a woman" and i

WHAT

[wearycopiedwizard]

I am not sure if I'm broken or similar unfinished, but I'm pretty sure im not supposed to work like this; it is like all my rationality goes out the window when I go outside at night alone and my fucking synapses start firing off about the beasts in the woodscoming to relieve my arteries of their ruddy syrup. Like jeez, I just want to grab a drink, and meanwhile my shitty ass ape brain is going like "you are being hunted" and my blasted endocrine system goes "well shit, guess we got to fly" and now I cant sleep because those bitches got themselves worked up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

An Officer and a Gentleman

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; oral, anal, cheating (sort of), name-calling.

This is dark!(silverfox)Lee Bodecker x (married)reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your after hours work gets in the way of your day job.

Note: I had the first half sitting around and finished it so here ya go. It takes place in the 70s so Lee is older and it was inspired by an article I read about the creation phone sex lines by a housewife in the 70s (which now of course I can’t flippin find). But anyway, here you go.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The sheriff sat down in his usual spot as you wiped your hands on the rag tucked into your apron. He set his hat on the table and tidied his greying hair. Even at his age, his locks were thick and looked soft. Strands of brown lined the shining silver and shone under the diner lights.

He came in at the same time every day, only an hour into your shift. You approached and flipped the cup on its saucer before you filled it. He took only sugar, no cream 

or milk. You smiled as you watched him read over the menu, he never ordered anything but the waffles.

“Good morning, sheriff,” you said as you held the carafe aloft. “Lookin’ to try something new?”

“‘Dols Leck’?” Lee Bodecker mispronounced the French words, “What’s that?”

“Dolce Leche,” you corrected, “It’s caramel.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his ruddy cheek and reached for his mug. He drank and held out the menu. “Waffles with strawberry.”

“Extra cream,” you finished for him. He nodded and had another gulp as you walked away.

You put in his ticket after you replaced the coffee pot on the burner. You checked on the few other customers along the counter and wiped down the empty tables. The bell rang and you went to grab the sheriff’s breakfast from the window. You set the plate down before him as he folded the newspaper and replaced it in the little holder at the end of the table.

“How’s Eugene?” He asked as he unwrapped his cutlery. “And the boy?”

“Gene’s still on nights.” You lamented and subconsciously touched your stomach. “Little Ezra’s almost a year now.”

Your boy was buxom and buoyant. You smiled as you thought of his round cheeks and warm brown eyes. You only wished his father was around more to take him off your hip as you cooked and cleaned in your spare hours after work. Eugene was asleep as much as he was at the factory. You saw each other in passing as you scraped for ends meet.

Ezra was with Eugene’s mother during the day. You’d pick him up and take him home to wait for your husband to wake. If you were lucky, you got a kiss before he grabbed his lunch pail and headed out for his twelve hours. You hadn’t gotten more than that since before Ezra came. Neither of you had the time or energy, though the want was there.

“And you sheriff? How are you doing these days?” You asked before you could get lost in your self-pity.

“Ah, you know. The same old. Patrol’s ain’t too exciting.” He cut into the stack and licked his lips. He was a man with a sweet tooth, a substitute for his former alcoholic habit.

“Well, you enjoy, sheriff, you know how to get my attention.” You left him and did a round of refills for those eating and greeted the new arrivals.

Lee was always alone when he came in. He never brought any of his cadets or officers, he just sat, read the newspaper, and ate his waffles. He wasn’t married and had no children. Nearly fifty years on his back but he seemed content on his own. You almost envied him as you struggled with your small family.

🚔

You laid Ezra down carefully in his crib. He was getting big. You tickled his forehead and watched him for a moment before you left the room. It was late. Eugene was gone and the phone would ring soon. You had to prepare yourself for your night time duties.

It started small. An idea found in the pages of one of those feminist magazines, the very ones your husband called good kindling. A woman lost her job, still hard-fought for the domestic sex, and found herself in a similar way as yourself. Money was always needed and harder to come about. So she started her own service for the lonely men. A phone line with illicit intentions.

You read about it in the late stages of your pregnancy and laughed at the idea. It was so stupid. So scandalous. But once you were back to work and Eugene was on the late shift, you grew lonely and your checkbook was harder to open.

You hand wrote the little cards after a visit to the phone company. Eugene didn’t know about the second line. The number redirected to your main line and was active for only three hours a night, after your husband was gone. It was registered as a commercial line so each incoming call was billed to the dialer and a percentage was refunded on your own invoice.

You left the number around town, certain not to be seen as you dropped the cards in the car shop and the bar. At least, you hoped you hadn’t been seen.

The first night had you addled and sleepless until your shift began at the diner. It was hard to keep up the sultry voice and the lies. Difficult to act like the whole thing didn’t make you cringe. The men called and said their dirty words as you encouraged them with moans and little prods. “Oh yes, baby.” or “Tell me more.” It felt like you were cheating on your husband but it kept his plate full and the house warm.

The phone didn’t ring right away that night. Later in the week, you got more calls but one or two was better than none. The real profit was keeping them on the line as long as you could, but there were times you had to end abruptly to see to your wailing child.

You were half-asleep when the first call came in. You fumbled with the receiver and batted away your fatigue with your lashes. You held in a yawn and your sleepiness added to the allure of your put-on voice.

“Hello, mister, what are you longing for tonight?” You laid back on your pillow and played with the spiral cord.

“Well, I…” You blinked and held the phone against your ear. He sounded familiar, as many of the men did, but his timbre made your ears prick sharply. “I don’t know. I never did nothing like this before.”

You squinted and thought. You knew him but you couldn’t place the twinge in your head.

“I can start for you, darling,” you offered. “Mmm, tell you what I would do to you?”

He cleared his throat and you heard movement. He was nervous. So many of the men sounded the same. Most of them were afraid of being caught by their wives or uncertain about their desires. At first, you had the same fears but had since grown indifferent. It was human nature, as natural as one’s instinct to quench their thirst for water.

“How do you like it, darling? You like it when a lady bends over? I like it like that. Or maybe you want to start with me on my back.”

He groaned and you heard the receiver scratch. He let out a strained breath and moved the phone to his other hand.

“I want to use your mouth.” He said at last. His voice was low and gristly. “I want to push your head down in my lap as I choke you with my cock.”

You stared at the ceiling as you reclined and hummed. “Oh yeah.”

“Shut up.” He snarled. “I don’t want to hear your voice, I just want your mouth on me until you can’t fucking breathe. I want to hear you struggle. I was your tears streaming down your face and salting the taste of me on my tongue. I want to hold you down and cum until it’s deep in your belly.”

You parted your lips and raised your brows. You were still focused on trying to recognize the voice. His tone made you quiver. He was more forceful than most men. A lot of them just talked about sucking on your tits or went straight to fucking.

“I’d love that, darling.” You lied and bent one leg over the other as you swayed your foot.

“I said shut up!” He hissed. “I want to hold you down with my hands around your neck. I want to fuck you until your screaming. I’ll fuck you until you bleed. Until you beg for me to cum again.”

His breath was furious and you heard something else. The phone was moving against his chin as he moaned and you were certain you could hear his hand somewhere else; lower. It set your cheeks on fire and you sat up. His voice, his breath, the sheer anger and lust laced in his rasps. Your throat tightened as if he was truly choking you.

“But I want to cum in your ass. I want to make it hurt. I want you to cry as I tear you apart from the inside.” He growled and coughed as his voice fizzled out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stroked himself furiously and the receiver dropped with a thump and you flinched. “Fucking bitch, yeah, you want my cock deep in your ass. Fucking whore.”

Your fingers hurt as you gripped the phone tightly and listened. His curses streamed steadily until the line clicked and died suddenly. You lowered the receiver and stairs at the little whole clustered together on the mouthpiece. You set it in the cradle and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

It was unlike any call you’d had. It was terrifying and made your blood curdle. You felt as if it had actually happened as your chest was heavy and your heart raced. You blew out a shaky breath and reached to silence the ringer. 

That was enough for the night.

🚔

The next day at the diner, you couldn’t stop yawning. You hadn’t slept much as the call replayed in your head over and over. The man’s voice was so clear in your mind and every time you started to drift off, he spoke in your ear. You dragged the rag over the top of the counter as Amelia spoke with the elderly couple in that corner.

The door chimed and you looked up. Sheriff Bodecker took off his hat as he entered and nodded at you. With the coffee pot in hand, you went to his table, already set for his arrival. You wished him a good morning and filled his cup. His voice was thick as he muttered his response and picked up the menu. He looked as tired as you felt.

“Strawberry, sheriff?” You prompted.

“Hmm,” he scratched his chin, stubbly from a missed shave. “This Dolsay Leckay. I’ll try that today.” He held out his menu. “I’m trying new things this week.”

You took the menu stiffly and nodded. “Waffles with dolce leche sauce. Right away, sheriff.” 

You turned and walked off to write out his ticket. You returned the coffee pot to its place and set down the menu as you took out your pad and pen. Your hand shook as you scribbled out the order. You stuck it in the window and leaned on the counter.

It couldn’t be him. You were crazy. You didn’t get enough sleep and you were wanting to hear that voice everywhere. Your reassurances were weak and only made you shiver as you righted yourself and continued wiping down the tables.

You angled yourself to look at the sheriff as he squinted down at the newspaper. He stuck his tongue out as he read to poke his top lip and tilted his head coyly. He cleared his throat and coughed as his order rang in the window. 

You went to grab the plate and struggled not to fumble it. It was him. The way he coughed, the gravelly scratch of his throat, the deep and firm undertone. You couldn’t deny it was him. You were stunned you hadn’t recognized him at once.

“There you are, sheriff,” you said as you set down his plate. “Enjoy.”

“I think I will,” he rubbed his hands together. “I’m starving this morning.”

“If you need anything,” you made your usual offer.

He looked at you and smiled. You noticed how his eyes strayed to your name tag and the buttons of your blue dress. He turned to his waffles and took out the knife and fork.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said as he ran the tines of the fork through the dark caramel. “I think I’m just fine.”

You left him to eat and straightened your apron. You were confident you’d changed your voice enough that he didn’t have the same epiphany. Even so, everything about him was different. At least in your head. He was no longer the desolate sheriff, he was desperate and demanding. He wasn’t who you thought he was. He was a man with a lot of power and a hunger to use it.

🚔

It was several days before you dared to leave the ringer on after Eugene’s departure. Your husband was loving but almost entirely absent. Since Ezra was born, he’d only grown more distant and work could not excuse him completely. When you ate dinner late with him, he barely heard you as he kept the radio on and those nights he didn’t work, he didn’t touch you.

You felt worse for your own misdeeds. The phone line made you shy and sullen with him. You should tell him but you didn’t know how and truly, you couldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t take it well and even if he was barely there, you couldn’t lose him. You were already painfully alone.

That night, he volunteered for overtime and so you hardly saw him before he headed out. He said you needed the money but your books were well balanced from your own after hours work. You’d done it to take the burden off of him but he still took the extra time, even as you argued that your bills were in good standing. 

Was it you? When had it all grown so cold?

Ezra ate his mashed peas and you set him down for the night. You heard him cooing still but you kept to your schedule even when he was wide awake. He always tired himself out and never fussed very long.

You sat on your bed and read. You checked the time. The phone would start soon and that night you couldn’t leave it off. You needed the money and you couldn’t be picky about where it came from. The month would be over and there would be a whole new batch of debts to account for.

You jumped as it rang. You kept the volume low so it didn’t carry through the whole house and you answered after several rings. You gave your usual greeting and breathed a sigh of relief when it was one of your regulars. You closed your book and picked your nails as you went along with his routine.

When he finished, you wished him a good night. You were dead tired but one more call wouldn’t hurt. You waited and grabbed the receiver on the first ring.

“Hello, mister, what are you looking for tonight?” You made your voice higher and breathier.

“Shhhh.” The long hush chills your veins. “Don’t talk.”

You quivered. It was him. You looked at the phone cradle.

“Don’t hang up.” He said as if he could read your mind. “You want it, don’t you? You want to feel me inside you. Down your throat, fucking the whore out of you.”

“I…” you uttered.

“I said be quiet.” He barked. “I want my cock so far down your throat I can feel it as I choke you. I want your spit all over me, I want you gasping and gulping until you pass out and I’m fucking your mouth lifeless.”

Your eyes widened and you listened in disgust. He growled and his hand slapped off his thigh as he pleasured himself. You sit paralysed as fear bubbled in your chest and you felt as if he could see you. You crossed your legs and huddled down over the receiver.

“I want to fuck your cunt until it hurts to sit down. I want to hear my body slam into yours, I want you to beg me to stop and keep going at the same time. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t make a noise, until all you can hear is my cock pounding inside of you.”

“Please…” You wanted him to stop. You wanted to hang up and yet you were terrified to move.

“And I know you want it too, whore. I know you need it. Not these words, not these calls, but you need me,” he shuddered “and I need it just as bad.”

He grunted and the line grew still. He hissed and cursed. 

“I’m a fucking mess,” he sneered. Another silence and you think he hung up. His voice startled you when he spoke again. “Who’re ya?”

“Wh-what?”

“I ain’t stupid. You’re some lady in the county. Maybe some lonely housewife. Ain’t sound like no prostitute I ever knew.” He sniffed and let out a groan. “Maybe you some dumb teenager playin’ games on the telephone, huh?”

“I don’t-- No. I--” You hung up. 

You stood and pulled the line out of the phone and dropped down heavily. You put your head in your hands and shook it. Fuck!

🚔

The next morning at the diner, you served the sheriff with a false smile. Every time he spoke, you heard the words he said to you on the phone. Although his tone was placid, his fervour played over and over in your ears. And when you overpoured his coffee, you apologized only to have him assure you it was alright and let you mop up the mess with your rag.

He left you his usual tip and you cleared his table. The newspaper was tinged from your spill and you dumped it on his plate. As you did, a card slipped out onto the table and your handwriting stared back at you from the carefully cut rectangle. You hid it quickly in the newspaper and rushed to toss it all in the trash and drop the plate in the bin.

It must have been a mistake, you assured yourself and excused yourself for a breath of air. The chef, Carson, was already by the kitchen doors and you said yes to a smoke from his pack. You lit it after the third try and inhaled the tobacco deep into your chest. You would go to the phone company tomorrow on your day off and shut down the second line. Your lesson was learned. It wasn’t worth the spare pennies.

Your day dragged by as all you could think of was the line. When you got to the phone company, you were jittery with worry. It was easy enough to shut it down but the fee cost you your tips for the day. You checked the clock before you left, bound to be a few minutes late picking up Ezra.

As you came out onto the street, your open jacket flapped in the wind over your uniform and your mary janes clacked on the pavement as you rushed to get to Enid’s and pick up your son. When you stopped at the corner to wait for traffic to pass, a flash and a honk made you jump.

Sheriff Bodecker pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window. He waved and leaned his arm on the door as he peered out at you.

“You needa ride?” He asked.

You smiled awkwardly and clutched the handles of your weathered purse.

“Sheriff, no thank you, I’m not goin’ too far,” you waved him off.

“Nonsense, you on your feet all day. It’s the least I can do.”

“You must be busy.”

“Radio ain’t goin’ off,” he slapped the door, “now come on.” He reached down and opened the door, stepping out with a groan, “Get in. You always are so nice down at the diner.”

You swallowed and your lips quivered as you tried to hold your smile. You followed him around the other side of the car as he opened the door for you. You got into the vintage cruiser and crossed your legs as you cradled your purse on your lap. He closed the door and dropped in on the other side.

He shifted into gear and pulled off. You thanked him and fiddled with clasp of your purse.

“No problem, but uh, I just needa know where you’re goin’,” he chuckled as he slowed at the next four way.

“Oh, I gotta get Ezra from his gramma’s,” you explained, “She lives just down Carsbee.”

“Not far at all,” he commented as he turned the wheel, “So, how was the rest of your day then?”

“Not so bad,” you said breathily as he looked at you in his mirror and you focused on the pedestrians on the street, “and yours, sheriff?”

“You can call me Lee if ya like,” he offered, “And wasn’t so bad either. Which number is it, sweetheart?”

You sniffed at the pet name, he was usually so formal at the diner with his ma’ams.

“21B,” you answered as you wiggled your foot nervously, “you can just drop me off. It’s not too far to home.”

“Don’t be silly, I wanna meet your boy,” he intoned, “you talk about him so much.”

“Oh, uh, of course,” you murmured as he pulled up along the front of your mother-in-law’s, “I just gotta go get him then.”

You hooked your purse over your elbow and slid over the seat. The sheriff kept you from opening the door as he bid you stay and got out quickly as he rushed around the front of the car. He opened the door like a gentleman and removed his hat. 

“I’m old but I haven’t forgot my manners,” he nodded and waited for you to step out.

You got to your feet and thanked him again before you strolled up the crooked walk to the front door. You knocked and let yourself in like you always did. You could hear Ezra babbling as he played with wooden toy cars. Enid sat in her usual spot and rocked as she watched him.

“How was he today?” You asked as you grabbed the bag you always left with him and packed up the loose ends beside it.

“Loud,” Enid muttered, “hyper.”

“Well, he’s at that age,” you grasped your purse and Ezra’s bag in one hand and picked him up from the floor as he reached out for you. “Alright, Ez, say buh bye to grammy.”

He waved and cooed as you held him on your hip. Enid said buy in her grumpy way and got up to see you to the door. You came down the single step as Lee waited by his cruiser. Ezra buried his face in your shoulder as he turned away from the sheriff.

“Don’t be shy, Ezra, this is the sheriff, Mr. Bodecker,” you tried to shake him upright but he clung to you and hid.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m used to that,” Lee laughed and opened the door, “people see the badge and they’re not so friendly.”

“He just goin’ through a phase,” you assured as you sat with Ezra in your lap.

As Lee shut the door, you let the bags lean against it and the car dipped as he got in the other side. He turned the engine and you gave him your own address as your son squirmed in your lap. At the first corner, Ezra found the courage to look at the sheriff and the officer looked back and stuck out his tongue.

“He looks like you,” Lee said as he pushed down on the pedal, “real cute.”

You accepted the compliment and hugged Ezra tighter. You could barely process the sheriff’s words as your mind returned to those he spoke the night before. Every time he spoke, you heard him, hissing and cussing at you.

You were relieved when he came up to your house and you turned to grab your bags. You felt a tug on your elbow as you balanced Ezra and your things. You looked back at Lee as he held your arm.

“I’ll get the door,” he said, “you just stay put.”

You waited as he let you go and once more, opened the door for you. He took the bags as you climbed out and you protested that you were fine. His hand settled on your shoulder as he pulled you to face him.

“Well, sweetheart, you gonna invite me in for some coffee?”

You were shocked by his boldness and couldn’t hide it. You blanched and looked at Ezra as he tugged at your jacket. You laughed awkwardly.

“Eugene’s still sleepin’ for his shift, I don’t--”

“We got some things to discuss and I think the least you can do after I was so kind as to drive you home is a coffee.”

You squinted at him in confusion. “Maybe another time, sheriff, I’d really hate to wake--” you reached for your bags and he stopped you with his grip firm on your wrist.

“Does he know?” Lee asked in a gristly voice.

“Know what?”

“Know you a whore?” Lee sneered.

You reeled and tried to twist from his grasp. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You can’t say them words on the phone and not mean ‘em,” he leaned in close, “Now I think you know what I want to talk with you about so you invite me in and I’ll be real nice about it but if you keep me out here, I can’t promise your neighbours won’t get a show.”

You pouted and rocked Ezra as he began to fidget, sensing your discomfort. “Please, I got Ezra--”

“You put him in the next room so we can discuss,” Lee insisted.

He let go of you and you nodded dumbly. You watched him wearily as you turned and led him up the walk. You unlocked the front door and he followed you inside. He hung his hat on the rack with his leather jacket and you hurried into the bedroom to set Ezra down in his crib. You distracted him with his stuffed rabbit and left him. He was usually due for a nap around then anyway.

When you got back to the front room, Lee sat on your couch and you went to the kitchen to start the coffee. You waited for the water to boil and filled the percolator as you dreaded what would come next. You poured a mug and set it out on the coffee table with the sugar dish. 

Lee leaned forward and spooned the sweet powder into his mug as you stood and wrung your hands. How had he figured it all out? How long had he known? Was he going to tell Eugene?

“Sit,” he said as he inhaled the savoury scent and took a cautious sip. His mug made a deafening clink as he set it down and you sat. “I s’pose you went by the phone company to end your little game.”

You sucked your lip in nervously and nodded as you looked down guiltily.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, “you know I was down there a few days ago and they just hand the records over if I say I got a warrant. They ain’t look close enough to realise it’s just a receipt.”

You gulped and kept your head down. You ran your tongue against your lip and blinked away the moisture in your eyes.

“How long you been doin’ all that?” he asked.

“Couple months,” you admitted, “I just needed some extra money. Ever since Ezra was born…”

“But you could get another job.”

“I gotta be home for the boy. Eugene never is.”

“Now a woman don’t be talkin’ like that if she happy. If she not alone.”

“Stop, please. It was a mistake. I’m sorry if you feel like I--”

“Sorry?” he interrupted, “you’re sorry? You think Gene would accept that?”

You sat in silence and picked at the button on your jacket. You hadn’t even bothered to take it off. “You gonna tell him?”

He let out a heavy breath and took another drink of coffee. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

You looked at him and furrowed your brow in confusion. You shook your head as he smirked.

“I will if you make me but if you want me to stay quiet--”

“Sheriff--”

“Shhhh,” he raised a finger, “now, you want me keep my mouth shut, you be waitin’ for me tonight after he goes.”

You stared at him in terror as your heart threatened to jump up your throat.

“And then we’re done talkin’. Then you do all those things we spoke about.”

“You can’t-- I got a son.”

“And a husband but you still be talkin’ to strange men about your pretty little pussy, don’t you?”

You blew a shaky breath between your trembling lips and sank down in the chair in shame. “I thought you were a good man, sheriff.”

“I am, don’t mean I’m not lonely.”

He drained the rest of the mug and coughed. He stood and adjusted his belt, his hand lingering on his belt. You watched his finger trace the barrel and your eyes crept up to his face.

“I’d hate to wake your husband, sweetheart, so I’ll be on my way.” he retreated around the couch and paused by the door, “but I’ll be around.”

🚔

The night went by faster than any. You never felt like you got much time with your husband but it was almost as if he was gone as soon as he woke. He left you with a peck on your forehead and dread in your chest. You thought of telling him, you wanted to confess and fix everything that had broken, but you couldn’t. You were too ashamed.

So when he was gone, you put Ezra down for the night and hoped the Sheriff was just trying to scare you. He couldn’t be serious, could he? You’d known him for years and he was only every sweet at the diner. He was a solitary man but was never unkind. That afternoon, he had been an entirely different man.

You sat on the couch, no radio, no nothing, and picked at the lines of your hand. You were certain you would sit up all night and laugh at yourself in the morning. He was just making sure you stopped, that had to be it.

But then the knock came and your whole body went rigid. You waited until it sounded again, harder, louder. You got up and went to the door. You didn’t need to look out to know who it was. You opened up and Lee watched you with his menacing blue eyes. They were no longer the gentle gems you knew from the diner.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled as he stepped inside and you backed away from him.

He closed the door and locked it then he removed his hat and jacket, just as he had earlier. He bent to ease off his boots and stood as he cleared his throat. He peered behind you and looked around your small house.

“I’m just in time, huh?” he mused as he touched your side and let it slip down to your hip. “What you shakin’ for?”

“I thought…” you rasped. “Sheriff, you know me. I’m not a bad woman.”

“You ain’t?” he snickered. “I do know you. I’m the only one in the county who knows the real you.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doin’ this,” you whined.

“I’m old but not decrepit,” he took your hand and raised it, “and you’re a beautiful woman. I daresay,” he kissed the back of your hand, “motherhood did make you even sweeter.”

“Please,” you begged.

“You get in that bedroom before I lose the last of my will,” he bit his lip as he looked you up and down and released your hand.

You shivered and backed away from him. You went blindly to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. You couldn’t, not in the bed you shared with your husband. Lee came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle.  His hot breath tickled your ear as he leaned into you.

“I wanna see what you hide under that dress,” he purred, “now don’t make me ruin it.”

You gasped and drew away from him. You neared the foot of the bed and unbuttoned the top of your dress. Your fingers were ungainly as you struggled and you pushed the sleeves down your arms with a stifled sob. You shoved the fabric past your waist and hips and his growl made you stand upright with a snap.

Your stockings were held up by fraying garters and your old underwear added to your shame. Your brasserie was pointed and too tight. You hung your head and balled your hands into fists.

“Turn around, I wanna see you,” he said.

You reluctantly obeyed and stared at the floor. He hummed and his thumb ran over his belt buckle. A sudden cry made your blood cold and he scowled. Ezra was awake.

You moved to go to him and the sheriff blocked the door.

“I gotta go to him. He must’ve had a bad dream.”

“I’ll take care of the boy. You just be waitin’ when I get back.” he ran his tongue under his teeth, “naked.”

He pointed to the bed and didn’t leave until you took several steps back. You listened as he went to the small room attached to the master. You worried he might hurt the boy but his coaxing voice surprised you. 

“Shhh,” you heard the distant tone, “it’s okay, son, it’s okay.”

You reached to unhook your bra and sat to roll your stockings off. You needed this man gone. If you abided him, he would be away sooner. You dropped the last of your clothing to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Your nails dug into the blankets and you closed your eyes.

It was over a year since you’d been touched. That alone made you shy but that man made you terrified. You heard him enter but didn’t look up at him. “You get up on all fours and ready that mouth for me.” he ordered as you heard his buckle tink, “yeah, I wanna start there.”

You swallowed and did as he said. You felt like some lowly animal as you stared at the floor. You heard the flutter of fabric as he stripped and when he came close, you shut your eyes. He grabbed your hand and jerked you to the edge. He tapped the tip of his cock along your lips.

“Now, open up, sweetheart,” he snarled, “I know you remember every word I said.”

You parted your lips and he forced his way into your mouth. He poked at the back of your throat but didn’t relent. You gagged as he sank down your throat and your entire body twitched. His hand went to your neck as he drew back and pushed back in. He felt himself as he invaded your throat over and over.

“Ah, yes, that’s it,” he uttered, “you can’t tell me you’re not a whore. You take me like one.”

You tried to swallow around him and breath and it made him groan. He kept fucking your face as his hand squeezed your throat. Your spit spilled out and smeared across your face and his pelvis. He kept your head bobbing until you were dizzy and dazed.

He stopped, deep down your throat, and grunted. He let out a shuddery breath and pushed you off of him. You slipped down onto your stomach and gasped over the side of the bed.

“Hoo, I almost blew,” he huffed, “oh, you bad, bad girl.” He trailed his hand down your back and slapped your ass, “turn around and get back up.”

You whimpered and lifted yourself back to your knees. You moved stiffly around and wiped your mouth as the taste of him stained your tongue. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back. He kneaded your ass with hungry growls and pinched your thigh. He felt along your cunt and tutted.

“You wet for me,” he taunted, “just from a taste, sweetheart.”

You dropped your head and he moved closer. He pressed the head of his dick against your folds and ran it up and down as you slickened. He lined up with your entrance and his large hand gripped your hip. He slid into you with a sigh and you let out a startled cry. Maybe it was because it was so long but he felt massive. You quivered around him and clenched your teeth.

“Oh, fuck, you want it just as bad as me, don’t ya?” He bucked his hips and you exclaimed, “how am I suppose to hold back with you squeezin’ me like that?”

He didn’t hold back as he caught his stride. He hammered into you as your flesh slapped loudly. You feared the noise would wake your son again, or worse, be heard by the neighbours. He groaned and grunted as he rammed into you and your thighs quaked. Ripples rolled over your spine and multiplied down your legs.

He stretched his hand over your back and slid them up to your shoulders. He bent over you as he forced your arms to fold beneath you and pushed your head into the mattress. He stilled and wiggled his hips until you moaned. He pulled one hand away from your shoulder as the other spread over your neck.

He slid out of your cunt and spread your juices up and down. He guided his dick between your cheeks and leaned into to pant in your ear. “I didn’t forget about your ass.”

He pushed against your hole and you tensed. His hand tightened on your neck and he poked harder. 

“You relax or it’ll hurt more,” he coaxed, “come on, almost…”

He pushed past your ring and you both gasped. Your eyes filled with tears and you sniffed as he urged himself deeper past your resistance. He let out a long breath as he advanced inch by inch. He drew back each time before adding more and when he was at his limit, you sobbed and clawed at the mattress.

“Oh, oh, fuck, oh, shit,” he swore as he rocked his hips, “you know, urgh, I wanted to do this for so long. Even ‘fore I called.”

He growled and built a steady pace as he stretched you. Your tears seeped into the blanket as his grip threatened to break your neck. His belly bounced against the top of your ass as he rutted without restraint.

“I always thought ‘bout you over that table. Always thought-- Always thought you deserved better than that husband,” he rasped out, “but I never thought you’d feel so good.”

He slammed into you harder than before. Your legs fell out from beneath you and he was quick to descend over you, covering you with his body as he bent his arm across the back of your head. He fucked you into the mattress as your head began to spin and your body reacted to his.

You’d never felt anything so intense as the maelstrom of pain and pleasure building inside you. You moaned and muttered until the sudden tide swept you up and had you murmuring like a fool, drooling onto the bed as he kept on.

He planted his hand on either side of you and lifted himself. He dropped his hips down into your ass over and over. The symphony of flesh filled your mind and you succumbed to the afterglow of tortured delight. He sank as far as he could and spasmed.

“Shit, oh, sweetheart, sweetheart,” he slowed and lowered his sweaty body onto you. You suffocated beneath him as his heart beat against your back. “Oh, you made me… made me blow.” He tilted his hips. “You feel how I filled your ass?”

You let out shallow breaths and turned your face into the blanket. He grunted and raised himself off of you, his cock slipping out easily and his cum trickling down after. He fell onto his back beside you and tried to catch his breath. He reached over blindly and let his fingertips dance along your ass.

“Really it ain’t your fault,” he said as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh, “a man must be crazy to leave you all alone at night.”

[mctherofdragons]

Born to Die | F.W.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: ANGST/SMUT 18+ only, major character death, toxic relationship dynamic, tattoos, gang activity, motorcycles, domination/submission, daddy kink, possessiveness, praise kink, choking, smoking, drug mention, alludes to criminal activity, blood/wounds/violence, hurt/comfort, police, arrest, gun violence, su*cide by cop. 

Based on: Sons of Anarchy; Lana Del Rey’s Ride and Born to Die music videos 

AN: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! I’m not going to argue about this being ~toxic because I know it is. It’s heavily influenced by Jax and Tara’s dynamic in Sons of Anarchy. It’s also a work of complete fiction and honestly, who doesn’t love a bad boy? I know I do. Thank you to Mya (@wandsandwheezes) and Lanie (@gcdric) for encouraging me to write this! Note about biker subculture: “old lady” is a term of endearment for a wife/girlfriend. If a biker refers to a girl as his “old lady”, this is actually a warning sign to other men to back off. Reader would want Fred to refer to her as such. ​

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

”He’s not good for you,” your mother’s voice echoed as you tossed everything you owned in a duffle bag. “He’s a criminal, y/n.” 

”I don’t care. I love him.” 

With that, you had left everything behind to be with Fred Weasley. He was a boy from the wrong side of town who you had met while tending bar to make ends meet. You had always been a good girl. Sure, your family had no money, but you were a hard worker. In fact, you had began studying to become a nurse - paid for with grants and academic scholarships. All of your dreams faded away when Fred walked into your life. 

Everything about Fred Weasley was stunning. He stood over six feet, broad shoulders clad in leather and tattoos, with a dangerous light behind his eyes. He had scars tattering his soft, pale skin. On his face, freckles danced beneath his eyes light a night sky, and you were enamored with discovering the constellations. He was tough, but soft with you. He wore his long hair gelled back,  adding to his bad boy persona. Fred was the most beautiful man you had ever seen - both inside and out. 

 He had come in one night close to closing, sitting down and whistling at you.  His brown eyes twinkled at you as he ordered a straight whiskey, flirting with you as he drank. “You’re far too pretty to be workin’ here all alone. Girls like you can fall prey easily.”

You had heard about men like him. They would roll up together occasionally, the backs of their leather jackets or vests donning the same symbolic patch. Outlaw motorcycle clubs with all of their criminal enterprising, violence, and danger had been something you would normally have avoided at all costs. However, Fred nearly radiated heat as he sat before you, pushing a tattoo and ring covered hand through his hair. He puffed on his second cigarette of the night, gazing at you in a way that made you want to abandon your good girl ambitions.

“You wanna go for a ride, sweet thing?”

After your shift had ended, you climbed on the back of Fred’s Harley, holding on tight to his waist as he sped down the road. That night he could have taken you anywhere. Even Hell would have been a welcome destination when Fred finally parked outside of a garage, pulling you inside. You were leaned against a different motorcycle with his hands exploring every inch of you. His hand slowly slipped around your throat, the cold of his rings pressing gently into your supple skin. At that moment, you had fallen entranced under Fred Weasley’s spell, unable to ever think about the life you knew before. 

Fred Weasley had bewitched you. Even with the danger that lurked behind every moment with you, the addiction to him had pulled you beneath the waves. It was a dark, deep ocean but you were content to continue being pulled deeper and deeper into the depth. You were his girl. That’s all you ever wanted to be - for eternity. 

+++++++++++++++++

Eventually, you had moved into Fred’s house. It was, like everything else about the man’s persona, not the safest place to be. At night, you’d hear gunshots rattling down the street. More than once, you laid awake, watching Fred in the moonlight, holding his own gun in his hand. You knew better than to ask questions about how the gang made its money. Fred often managed to shut you up with diamonds or kisses, pushing any questions you had to the back of your mind. 

One night, you had been laying on Fred’s chest. You were tracing the lion tattoo on the right side of his chest, your fingers dancing over the cat’s dark mane. “I’m scared for you, Freddie.” 

You gasped slightly as he pulled your hair behind your shoulder, pressing the pad of his pointer finger behind your ear. There you had gotten a small, but meaningful tattoo. The letter ‘F’ was sunk into your skin, marking you permanently as his. Fred was possessive over you. He kept you safe from the other members with a proprietary aura. Fred moved to attach a soft kiss to the tattoo, his warm breath tickling against your earlobe. 

“You know I’ll keep you safe, right, babygirl?” 

“Of course.” 

He slid his hand down your body, strong and calloused hands brushing against the skin of your side. He trailed a finger along the lace of your panties, slowly and painfully running the tip of his pointer finger along your slit. He moved the black material to the side, coasting two of his long fingers into you. He rubbed soft circles on your hood, causing you to gasp slightly. 

“Do you belong to me? Who do you belong to? If someone asks, who do you belong to?” 

He would occasionally beg for confirmation from you. “Fred Weasley,” you breathed, back arching as he attached his open mouth to your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “Fred Weasley.” 

He fingered you fast, loving the way your wetness coated his fingers. He pulled them out, shoving them into your mouth with a small grin. You gazed into his eyes as you licked them clean, batting your long, mascara coated eyelashes at him. 

“That’s my bitch.” 

You melted at his words, spreading your legs wider and allowing him to climb on top of you. You dug your fingernails into his back as he moved rhythmically inside of you, making tiny scratches along with the tattoos on his shoulders. His rings pressed hard into your skin as he propped your legs up, keeping his eyes burning into yours. 

+++++++++++++++++

You were waiting up one night for Fred, sitting in nothing but his leather vest, donned with the club’s patch on the back. The patch itself had to be earned, and membership in the club was lifelong. The only way out of the club itself was death, and Fred knew that very well. He had another patch on the front breast of his vest - Man of Mayhem - meaning he had undertaken several high-risk tasks for the crew. 

He didn’t tell you much about these tasks, and you didn’t ask questions as you would stand at the sink, scrubbing blood from his shirts. He was gone late again tonight and you had missed him, pulling the vest on since he had worn his jacket instead. You heard the door ratted open. Fred stood before you, cigarette hanging from his ruddy, pink lips. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke up into the air. 

“You like?” You asked, standing up. Your lips curled into a mischievous grin and you ran off toward the bedroom, but he caught you by your arm. He had you pinned against the wall. He smelled like alcohol, cigarettes, and motorcycle exhaust. It was then that you noticed Fred’s lip was busted open, a bit of blood dried over the cut on the top. It was swollen and bruised. His cheek, on the other hand, also had a large blue and yellow bruise forming beneath his eye socket. 

“Take it off.” 

You plucked the smoke from his mouth, pulling it between your own lips for a drag. “Why?” 

He grabbed the cigarette back and stomped it out under his boot. He latched his hands onto the leather of the vest and pulled it off of you, tossing it onto a nearby table. “No one fucking wears that patch besides members. Do you fucking understand that?” 

You had recoiled a bit, leaning away from him. He caught your face gently in his hands, planting a soft kiss on your lips. You sighed, suddenly melting back into his touch. Fred was holding your face tightly as he kissed you. You could feel the rugged cut on his lip against your own. You wished somewhere deep down the kiss itself was magic - able to heal him. His tongue danced along your lower lip before you granted him entry. You had almost forgotten you were completely naked while he was clothed, once again causing you to find your rightful place as his plaything. 

“I’m trying to protect you.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

He stood back for a second, taking in the sight of you naked before him. You giggled loudly as he hoisted you up, tossing you over his shoulder. He brought a hand up to smack your bare ass, a loud crack breaking the silence of the house. When he finally got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the mattress and you bounced. 

You propped your head upon your hand as he stripped, muscles flexing as he pulled his tee-shirt off. He laid down on the bed and you ran your hands along his bare chest. You were kissing fast and furiously, tongues battling for dominance. He had slid his hand between your legs, rubbing his fingers gently against your sensitive flower. He spat into his hand, bringing it back down to moisten you even more. Fred had an artistic way of touching you as if each point of pressure on your body was something he craved to explore. You were panting loudly, tiny feminine gasps rolling off your tongue. 

“You wanna ride me, princess?” You nodded, moving to place your knees on either side of his hips. Placing your hand around Fred’s shaft, you guided his length into you. You lowered yourself slowly onto him and tossed your head toward the ceiling, feeling your hair fall against the bare skin of your back. The way he filled you up was sinful yet otherworldly. Gently, you gyrated your hips in circles, getting comfortable. Fred placed his hands on your hips, urging you to begin bouncing. It was moments like this that had made Fred claim you as his ‘old lady’ - biker slang for a girl that belonged to him and only him. It was a predatorial move, urging the other men in the MC to back off, lest they deal with his wrath. It made you feel chosen, valued, and deeply cherished. 

Fred locked his eyes onto yours as you ran your hands up and down his chest. He caught your lips for a kiss, pushing his hands up into the tangles of your hair. As you panted, he spoke softly into your shoulder. “I need...I need your help with something. Are you gonna b-be my good girl?”

You continued to bounce on him, staring deeply into his eyes. “Anything for you, daddy.” 

He helped you off of him, moving swiftly to pin you beneath him. He slammed into you again, pinning your hands above your head. You moaned, letting him attach his lips around your nipple. He bit softly before sucking. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders, moving quicker and quicker. 

“Would you do anything for me, baby? Would you?” “Yes! Yes, daddy,” you moaned. Fred could feel your walls tightening around him, which signaled him to wrap his hand around your throat. The feeling of his rings on your skin and the loss of control sent you into your ecstasy, crying his name out loudly. He came next, pulling out to cum on your stomach. You watched, stars in your eyes, as he reached next to the bed to grab his tee shirt and wipe you up. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You held the gun in your hand still, shaking as you watched the person in front of you fall to the floor. “C’mon,” Fred said, wrapping his hand around your wrist. You ran along with him, shaking from your fingers to toes. 

“Is-Is...did I kill her?” 

Fred handed you a small, white pill and you took it without question. “It’ll calm you down. C’mon,” he said, starting up his bike. You crawled onto the back, wrapping your arms around his waist. Fred’s shirt was still soaked in blood. You had been his ruse to get into the house, and then he had urged you to shoot. 

He had shot too, leaving the living room full of the corpses of a rival club. As Fred sped, coasting nearly one hundred miles per hour, you saw flashes of red and blue light up in the rearview. Fred was content to rev his engine, but another cop car pulled out in front, causing his wheels to come to a screeching stop. 

Four sets of officers stood behind their doors, crouching, guns drawn. “Get off,” Fred whispered and you listened, hands up in surrender. A male cop immediately grabbed you, locking the handcuffs around your wrist. You were bent over the hood of the cop car, waiting for Fred to make his move. 

“Weasley, put your hands up and drop your weapon.” 

Fred slowly got off of his bike, hands up. He looked you dead in the eyes, saying words you had never heard him speak out loud before. “Remember, I’ve always loved you, baby. I’m not letting them take me.” 

With that, he moved his hand down to his waistband, going for his gun. Before he could get it, a shower of bullets rang out from all angles, bursting through the leather of his jacket and into his torso and head. You screamed, fighting against your cuffs as two male officers held you back. Fred Weasley had gone out the same way he had always wanted - in a blaze of glory. 

“Freddie!” You screamed echoed in the quiet desert night, staring at the blood pooling into the California sand. “Freddie!” 

Fred’s eyes were still open, blood leaking from his mouth. The light behind them was gone, his pupils only illuminated by swirls of red and blue from the sirens. You continued to scream as you were pushed, head down, into the back of a police car. 

The police officer began to read your rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” 

“Fuck you,” you cussed, as one final send off to the man you loved. 

[poppy-metal]

poppy i love how horny you are. I don't feel so alone now <333. Can we talk about Eddie slowly fingering Steve while he forces him to watch u touch yourself. You spread out on the head of bed while your two boys watch you masturbate. Eddie being in control of both of you ughhh <333

im gonna dry heave and never stop.

cw: gn!reader hehe. ass play (on steve done by eddie) dom!eddie. sub!reader. switchy!steve. fingering, ball worship, riding. daddy kink. I think (1) word of degradation? not alot at all.

steve would be :((( so overwhelmed. seeing his perfect baby inches in front of him, watching him get his hole played with. It's humiliating, but eddie pinches his thighs when he tries to close them, "keep em' open, big boy. and watch."

when you start to play with yourself he nearly loses his mind. its so hard to focus, eddies fingers tracing around his puffy rim and pushing in and out. lube slicks down his thighs and gets caught in the hairy mass of his legs, his balls are covered in it. his cock too, heavy and leaking on his flexing stomach.

he watches through hazy eyes as you pinch and twist your nipples, your other hand between your own thighs making a mess of your little hole. he can hear how wet you are and it drives him crazy. he wants to feel you on him, over him, around him. his cocks so neglected. aching and throbbing.

"dont close your eyes," eddie warns and steve blinks them open. his watery gaze settling on you again. your fingers are moving in and out of yourself. you're getting whimpery and breathless. "look how badly they're stuffing themselves. can't get enough of seeing their big hairy daddy get bitched out. hear how sloppy their hole is? they're so wet for this. greedy baby you got here."

he nearly jumps when eddies free hand comes around to wrap a slick hand around him. fat girth barely fitting in his palm. eddies rings glint against his tan dick, "how's this guy hanging." he strokes steve up and down slowly, twists his fingers inside him just right to make him keen. "oh, that feels like it hurts, baby. you wanna feel our pretty baby on your cock so bad, huh? need this poor thing with something wet and tight wrapped around it, even now. i should've known"

he lets steve go and steve whines. eddie talks to you next, "c'mere, sweetheart." his lube covered hand comes down between steves legs to cup his heavy sack, "need you to warm these up for me, okay?"

you're sliding your fingers out of yourself with a squelch that makes steve clench down around the digits inside him. he bites his lip as he watches you crawl forward, unintentionally spreading his thighs even wider to make room for you.

the way you look up at him, at eddie too, hooking his chin on steves shoulder to look down and see, makes him feel dizzy. such adoration in your eyes, as you lean forward and gently begin to pull his soft sack into your mouth. his head falls back, hair tumbling over his forehead and resting on eddies shoulder because- he feels your little tongue. licking over his balls, moving over the twin sacks in your mouth and drooling on them already. greedy thing.

"mm, that's better." eddie coos, pumping his fingers again, "how's that stevie? having your own little ball worshipper and getting this greedy asshole fucked? how lucky you are."

"please-" steve gasps. "please. i need-"

"what do you need?" eddie asks.

steves chest is heaving looking down at you still suckling his balls, his ruddy cock is straining forward, painfully hard, nearly resting on your forehead. he nearly rolls his eyes back. feels his toes dig into the bed.

"let me fuck them." he gasps shrilly when you pull your head back, letting his heavy sack plop wetly from your mouth. your eyes are watery and pleading. he knows you're worked up too. eager to be filled. he wants to fill you. "please, sir."

eddie hums like he's considering it. you squirm on the bed, and eddie looks to you, assessing how needy you've gotten. "what do you think, angel?"

you reply eagerly, "want him to fuck me, please."

eddies chuckle is throaty sounding, his fingers slide out of steves hole with a lewd sound. "come on then, up you get." he holds steves cock still for you as you clamber onto steves thick lap, trying to situate yourself. "there you go. slide down on it real slow for me, sweet thing. gotta let him feel it. like that yeah- god, your holes so pretty getting stretched like that."

steve, for his part. losing his mind.

his big hands come to grab at your ass, squeezing the cheeks and moaning loudly at how your hole is gliding down his big dick.

"holy shit-" he pants. hes so sweaty. "honey. that's so good. so good on my cock."

eddies arms come around him to rest just above his on your butt, around your waist. "stay still." he tells you both, "im still running the show here. and i wanna see just how desperate you two can get. we're nowhere near done."