#gray tells you to Sparkle On!!!!!!

[mrmosseater]

my magnum opus gray art

[ickadori]

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio missed his wife, and she missed him just as much. two simps in love.

[cws] fluff. fem reader -> wriothesley’s wife. reader is a mondstadt native. kissing.

Wriothesley’s cup of tea pauses halfway to his mouth as there’s a knock at his office door. His fingers tighten unconsciously around the handle, that incessant throbbing at his temples that had been dying out suddenly tapping into its nth life.

He contemplates ignoring it; pretending he didn’t hear it and indulging in his fresh brew, but he’s never been one to shirk off his work, no matter how inconsequential the task.

He sets the cup down rougher than necessary, and the legs of his chair scrape loudly against the floor as he pushes it back from his desk and stands to his feet. Someone better be dead or on the verge.

It was an unspoken rule that Wriothesley wasn’t to be bothered at this time -a quarter after five until six- because it was official tea time, a very, very important time in his day that let the inhabitants in Meropide see his most agreeable side… although he had heard talk from a few gossipy guards and prisoners that his ‘pissy attitude’ this past month had nothing to do with his interrupted tea times, but rather that his wife had gone back to Mondstadt to visit family.

“You know how he gets when he doesn’t see her after a while—downright scary. I’ve never seen a man look so enraged and distraught at the same time.”

“He put me on pipe restoration duty —don’t laugh, it isn’t funny! Worst job in the whole place, I swear— for the next six months all because my wife dropped by with a bento on my break. Apparently no one can be happy when his missus is away.”

“I caught him staring at her picture the other day, y’know the one he keeps in that chain around his neck, and sighing like some schoolgirl. I nearly thought my daughter had somehow gotten herself arrested and thrown down here when I heard all those lovesick sighs.”

It was all hearsay and speculation, of course. Wriothesley could manage just fine with you away - he was a grown man, a weathered man, a man who could function fully without the company of his wife.

That’s right, he thinks to himself. He’s been doing just fine in your absence, a bit quicker to anger than usual, but with the looming threat of being turned into a big, sopping puddle right below his feet, could you really blame him?

The door is wrenched open, strands of black and gray flying back from where they rested against his forehead due to the strong gust of wind he created.

“What is it now?” He nearly hisses out, but he manages to get a reign on it last minute, the words coming out a bit strained instead. He eyes the guard standing in front of him, their eyes flitting between the crease between his brows and the floor. “Spit it out before I—”

He stops abruptly when he hears a voice that he knows intimately well, and had he possessed any shame when it came publicly displaying the love he harbored for you, he would have been a touch embarrassed at the speed of which his frown smoothed out and the throbbing in his head disappeared, a sparkle in his eyes as his shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

“Oh? He has? Thank you for telling me, Sigewinne. I’ll get right on that.” You come rounding the corner with the small doctor at your side, a knapsack in your hands, and had Wriothesley been any less sane, he would have swore that he could feel the rays of the sunshine beaming down on his skin and fresh air filtering into his lungs when you turned your gaze to him, scornful as it was.

You’re fitted in a dress that’s customary for the women in your homeland to wear, and flowers are weaved into your hair, and the ring on your finger seems to shine a bit brighter.

“Wriothesley.” You march up to him, eyebrows knitted together, and push your finger against his chest. “What is this I hear about you acting like a tyrant?”

“You look beautiful.” He breathes out.

“And going to the Pankration ring? You know those poor people don’t stand a chance against you. That’s just bullying.”

“Let me take your bag, it looks heavy.”

“And you haven’t been eating right, either! Look at your face — you’ve lost weight!” He transfers the bag from your hands to his, and when his fingers brush against yours, he finally lets a smile bloom on his face, being met with a huff. “Don’t smile at me. I’m mad at you.”

“Can’t help it, happy to see you.” You falter a bit, corners of your lips twitching, but you hold strong, choosing to save face in front of the onlookers—always put up a good fight, especially when others are looking, is what he had told you once upon a time. “I’ve missed you so much.” It comes out in a low murmur, eyes locked onto yours and refusing to stray, even when you decide that his gaze is a bit too heavy for the setting and avert your own.

“I-well-you…just get inside your office.”

He’s nice enough to hold back a chuckle, instead stepping to the side so that you can shuffle past him and inside. Before he shuts the door, his gaze turns icy and his smile thins out as he lets his eyes sweep over everyone present. A resounding groan is heard, the unspoken promise loud and clear, and then he’s pushing the door shut and turning on his heel.

You’re on him in a second, arms wrapped around his waist as you bury your face into his chest. He returns the hug just as quick, thick, burly arms circling around your shoulders as his head dips down so he can stuff his nose into your hair and breathe your scent in.

Your voice comes out muffled as you try to speak, and he loosens his hold on you a bit, allowing you to pop your head up so you can look up at him. There’s a halfhearted pout on your lips, and his response is a reflex as he leans down to give you a peck once, twice, three times before moving on to place one on the tip of your nose.

“You were supposed to let me scold you out there, birdie. Now everyone’s gonna know that I let you off easy.”

“Let me off easy? I’d say this is the meanest you’ve ever been to me,” he gives an exaggerated expression of hurt. “You haven’t even told me you missed me, or that you’re happy to see me, or that you’ll never leave again because you couldn’t stand being away from me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You smile despite yourself, and he kisses you again, scarred hands moving to cradle your cheeks. You part with a gasp for air, and its his turn to smile when you stretch up to reconnect your lips, the lack of air not deterring you in the slightest.

“Breathe, sweetheart…” He rasps against your lips, and you suck in a breath, eyes slowly blinking as you tug at the material of his shirt. There’s a rush of emotions that washes over him at the unspoken confirmation that you missed him just as much as he had missed you, and he lets his hands wander down to settle on your waist, fingers flexing as they squeeze at the flesh there through the material of your dress.

“Well, well, well,” he starts, and you blink out of your stupor to don a guilty expression. “Looks like you haven’t been eating right, either, hypocrite.” He lightly pinches at your side, and you squeal out a laugh as you lightly bat at his hand.

“Have I told you that I missed you, and that I’m sooo happy to see you, and that I’ll never, ever leave again because I can’t stand being away from you?” You flutter your lashes up at him, direct that heart-stopping smile up at him, and for a split second he thinks that the primordial sea has broken the seal and reduced him to nothing but a puddle at your feet.

“Careful now, words like that are liable to kill a man, and this place isn’t fitting for a sweet girl like you.”

“Oh? Then maybe I should leave earlier than I intended t—” He quiets you with a kiss, and you laugh into it, earning a gentle nip on your bottom lip. Your teasing smile settles into something sweeter, tender, vulnerable, and it mirrors him perfectly.

You both speak your next words in unison.

“I missed you.”

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE

PART TWO

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: lmaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago 😭 also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage lmao.

PART ONE | PART THREE

The princess of hell along with her girlfriend was just settling in the guest room heaven provided for them temporarily as they had an important meeting with them.

Charlie and Vaggie stopped talking as their was a knock on their door, “Who do you think is it?” Charlie asked and Vaggie shrugged and Charlie decided to open the door.

There stood a rather tall female angel with three pairs of wings and a golden halo on her head, the short white dress accompanied by gold compliments the woman's figure beautifully.

Safe to say both Charlie and Vaggie were mesmerized, the woman before them was drop dead gorgeous. Though, Vaggie was still cautious, despite a former angel, she doesn't know who this woman is as some seraphim angels tend to not show themselves to the lower ranking aside from Sera.

“Are you Princess Charlotte? The daughter of Lucifer?” the woman asked with her [e/c] eyes sparkling in excitement, the woman quickly placed her hands over her mouth in embarrassment, “Oh! Sorry for the intrusion, I forgot to introduce myself,” she says with a small smile before giving the two girls a curt bow, “My name is [y/n], a seraphim. It's a pleasure to meet you two.”

Charlie gave her a big grin, giving the woman a curt bow. The princess of hell decided to trust her as she couldn't sense any bad intentions from the older woman and to her, the name [y/n] sounded awfully familiar, she just forgot where she had heard it before. “It is so nice to meet you, I am Charlotte but you can call me Charlie.” Charlie said and [y/n] just grinned as Vaggie decided to just watch the two, still cautious. The older woman's eyes landed on Vaggie and she gave her a grin, “And who might you be?” she asked her and Vaggie just glared at her before avoiding her gaze, “Vaggie.”

[Y/n] just grins, her eyes analyzing the gray haired woman before letting out a small hum before shifting her gaze to the princess. [Y/n]'s heart ached a little to see how much the girl looked exactly like her father. [Y/n] misses him, she wished she did something that could have prevented his fall. Regrets always comes last. She took a deep breath then once more wore a bright smile on her face. Charlie noticed the shift of her mood but decided not to question it.

“So Charlie, I came here as I was curious what your plan for hell is about.” [y/n] says softly, she wasn't there during the meeting Lucifer requested for hell and this time, she promised to be there for his daughter instead. Charlie's eyes sparkled excitedly, excited that an angel aside from that bitch ass Adam would finally listen to her. “Really?!” The princess asked excitedly and [y/n] can only let out a soft chuckle, “Of course, why don't we take a walk while you tell me about it? Your friend can join us too.”

Charlie calmed down and gave the older woman a smile, “Vaggie here is actually my girlfriend.” she says, expecting the older woman to judge her but she was surprised when [Y/n] just ruffled her hair. “My apologies, I didn't know.”

The younger girls were surprised, that an angel didn't show any disgust to their relationship and she even looked like she approved.

“Now then, how about that walk?”

“And that's what I'm planning, I wished for my people to find redemption and join heaven.” Charlie explained softly, taking a bite of her strawberry cheesecake. Both [y/n] and Charlie sat in a rather peaceful cafe in heaven, angelic sigils circling around them as [y/n] casted them for their privacy. [Y/n] can only smile as she listens to the younger girl who rambles about her plans for her people, [y/n] can't help but remember how similar Charlie is to her father, oh heavens... She missed him so much.

Vaggie didn't join them unfortunately, she said that she wanted to rest a little bit in the guest room.

[y/n] gracefully placed down the cup of coffee she was sipping and gently wiping her lips with a napkin, “That is truly admirable Charlie, to see you have so much hope for your people really reminds me of your father. I really hope it will come to life.” the compliment was almost enough for Charlie to burst into tears, to hear someone praise her plans and believe in it, it felt like a mother praising her.

Though, she was able to stop her tears as she realizes something. Reminds me of your father. [Y/n] and her dad knew each other.

Then Charlie remembers, the stories her dad told her about heaven and the stories he told her about his closest angel friend—the only one who believed in him. She remembers thinking that she felt her dad loved that angel in one way or another, with how fondly he spoke of her—with so much adoration.

“I remember now, you were my father's best friend!” Charlie gasped, a hand over her mouth and [y/n] can only chuckle, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Were? I still think of him as my best friend.” She chuckles softly, “Though, I don't blame him if he doesn't think the same way as I wasn't able to help him back then.” she continues sadly and Charlie had to wave her arms around to stop her, “Nonono, my father doesn't think like that. You're still his best friend.” Charlie reassured the older woman.

“Really now? How is he these days? I haven't heard from him after so many eons.” [y/n] asked softly with a slight chuckle and Charlie can only sigh with a small smile on her face, “Well... He's still how he usually is. Kind, trying his best for me, and lately he had an obsession with making rubber ducks.” she says with a small giggle making the older woman chuckle, “Thay sounds like him, though surprised that he still loved ducks. He used to ramble to me about random duck facts when he was still here. He was such a dork, I truly missed him.” [y/n] says with a chuckle, a longing look in her eyes.

Charlie was able to put two and two together, her father and this woman loved each other and she can only assume they didn't confess in the fear of ruining their friendship. Charlie loves her parents but a part of her is hoping in a different universe, her father and [y/n] are happy together.

Charlie decided not to mention it to the woman and just continued hanging out with the older woman. “I am sure he misses you too.”

“The meeting will start in a few hours and Charlie?” [y/n] says softly before summoning a wax sealed white envelope out of thin air, gold sparkling from where the envelope is as it slowly falls into her hands. Charlie looked at her in curiosity, “Can I ask you a favor?” [y/n] asked her hesitantly and Charlie just nodded, “Of course!”

“Can I ask you a favor of delivering this letter to Lucifer?” She asked and gently extended her hand towards the younger girl in which the girl accepted the letter and placed it in her chest pocket. “Of course! My father would be delighted to hear from you.”

“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate it dearly.” [y/n] smiled softly as she stood up from her seat, extending her hand to help the hell princess up from her seat. “Now, let me walk you back to your room so you can get ready for your meeting.”

Now the princess of hell wishes the other angels were just as understanding as [y/n]. Even though the meeting didn't go as planned, she felt reassured as both Emily and [y/n] were there in the court room.

“What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.” Lute sneers with an annoyed glare, putting on her mask. Though, Charlie can feel her patience thinning, her eyes glaring at the angels.

The other angels looking down on the scene happening below, [y/n] looking worried for her while glaring at Adam and Lute. “There's no question to be posed, he's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that 'Hell is forever'?” Adam and Lute sang mockingly and [y/n] could feel her anger starting to boil. She always hated Adam, that egoistical prick, she looked up at Sera as if asking her to stop this nonsense.

“A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to—” Adam sang and [y/n] noticed Sera getting worried, “Adam.” Sera says sternly but it seems the man was too busy to hear her, “Come down and exterminate you!”

At that moment, loud ringing was only what [y/n] heard as she was shocked to hear him say that. Exterminate...? Don't tell me...? [Y/n] asked herself before glaring at Sera, the other angels were also shocked by the reveal.

“Wait!” Emily exclaimed, shocked by the reveal and Adam just noticed his slip up, “Shit.”

“What are you saying? Let me get this straight, you go down there and kill those poor souls?” Emily asked, horrified as she slowly flies down towards Charlie, holding her hand, “You didn't know?” Charlie asked and Emily shook her head. “Whoops!” Adam says, not a care in the world, “Guess the cat's out of the bag.” Lute says with a smirk, “What's the big deal?” Adam asked with a condescending smirk and [y/n] wished she could go down there and punch him.

“Sera, tell me that you didn't know...” both Emily and [y/n] asked simultaneously, though, Sera was just looking at Emily. [Y/n] was pissed at this whole revelation, human souls are killed in heaven by the hands that are supposed to be pure holiness. To think about blood staining those hands, fills her with disgust.

The whole courtroom was a mess, [y/n] doesn't remember what exactly happened. The reveal that Vaggie was an angel didn't surprise her, she can sense the girl's angelic blood but the reveal that Sera was the one who ordered for the extermination to happen, filled her with rage.

“Charlie! Don't lose hope! We will find a way to help you!” Emily says as we watched Vaggie and Charlie be sucked by a portal back to hell, “Don't give up! We'll find a way!” [y/n] added, making sure the two girls heard. Sera glared at her and [y/n] glared back.

That's what Charlie last saw, Emily looking worried and disappointed but what worried her was Sera and [y/n] started arguing, angelic powers starting to spark between them and that was the last thing she saw as she returned back in hell. Thankfully, the letter was safe in her pocket.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: An eight page digital comic featuring Sam, Celia, and Alice from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. The characters are all colored with a single color each. Sam is red, Celia is green, and Alice is pink. Sam is a fat Arab man with short curly dark hair, a mustache, and a small goatee, and he is wearing small black earrings, a cardigan, a turtleneck, trousers and loafers. Celia is a taller Korean woman with short dark hair and she is wearing rectangular glasses, piercings including an industrial piercing, an x-shaped earring, and snakebites, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a vest, trousers, and black wrist cuffs. Alice is an even taller white woman with long fluffy hair and crooked teeth, and she is wearing cat eye glasses, three pairs of earrings, snakebites, a flannel shirt, a hoodie tied around her waist, a patchwork skirt, bracelets, and a lanyard.

Sam and Celia are stood at a table covered in papers. Celia urgently turns to Sam. Celia: Alice is coming! She can't catch us researching, we need a diversion, QUICK! How can we make her think we're not doing what we're doing? Sam, shrugging really hard: UHHHH she thinks I have a crush on you?? Celia, sweating, turns back to where Alice is coming from, panicked, and turns back to Sam, shrugging and reaching for him. Celia smiling a bit manically: Yeah, that'll work, sure!

Sam, with Celia's hands grabbing his cardigan: Wait whaAAAA- He is pulled out of frame. Alice walks in: Hey Sam, working hard or hardly woOOOAA She leans on the doorframe as she holds a hand to her chest in shock.

The next panel is rendered with soft pink shadows and "shoujo sparkles" in the now pink background. Sam is sitting on the table holding onto Celia, whose face is buried in his neck as she wraps one arm around his back and the other holds up one of his legs under his knee. Neither of their faces are visible. The rest of the page fades back to gray from there. Sam and Celia look over at Alice, hair ruffled, Sam is now blushing. Sam: ALICE!! He pushes Celia away and they look at each other for a moment, panicked. Sam: It's- .... exactly what it looks like! Celia: Aw, you've caught us! He rests his hands on her shoulders and they both look in opposite directions as though embarrassed. Celia is also blushing lightly. There are red and green neon signs pointing to them reading "Totally Ham-Slammin'" and "GAY! (in an M/F way)" respectively.

Alice looks to be in shock with a vacant expression and a computer pop up over her forehead reading "Alice.exe has stopped responding". In the next panel she is fine again and back to smirking. Alice: WOW SAM, didn't know you had it in you! Now I'm no snitch, so I didn't see anything, BUT- you lovebirds should cut it out before Gwen catches you. Celia and Sam look at each other anxiously, cheeks pressed together as she speaks. Alice: You KNOW she'd tell Lena. Celia, pulling back and smoothing her hair out: Oh, for sure. Sam: Th-Thanks, Alice. Alice: Don't mention it! I'll give you crazy kids a minute to straighten up, TA-TA~ She waves as she leaves.

Sam and Celia listen to her steps fade before going "phew" and finally pulling away from each other, now holding hands at an arms distance. Celia: You alright? That was kinda sudden.... Sam: It's fine! Just a bit caught off guard. Celia: I can't believe she actually bought all of that! Sam: Me either! Works for me, though.

Celia: Did you want to get down- Sam, pulling away suddenly, blushing again: NO! He crosses his legs and looks away sheepishly, scratching his head. Sam: I wanna stay here another minute or so.... Celia, concerned: You sure you're alright? Sam: Yeah! Just, er.... Celia looks at him, confused. Sam, blushing increasingly harder: Ahem. (He folds his hands in his lap politely.) I am not immune to being thrown on a table. Celia, smiling and politely stepping away: AH! .... Noted~

She walks away casually, still smiling. Celia: I'll give you a minute to collect yourself. Sam, head down in his lap, embarrassed: Thanks.... He looks up after she leaves. Sam: Wait. He straightens up, slightly panicked, face entirely red. Sam: What do you mean by "NOTED"?!

end ID]

~~~~

i am SO glad this episode didn't entirely debunk the silly headcanon that birthed this comic. initially i wasn't convinced sam actually had a crush so i made this like "well if he didn't before, HE DOES NOW" so.... here's this silly comic thing <3 i just think they're neat <3

[nimblermortal]

Guys. GUYS.

If you make a cake... make a thin caramel lid and put it over the top before the icing. I did this to ensure I got a smooth top for the icing, BUT even more importantly when you cut the cake, there is the most AMAZING crackling sound. Sensory experience.

[leviathanspain]

take everything, it’s all yours

coriolanus snow x reader

synopsis: coryo knows what they’re gonna do to him, and he just wants one last taste

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“they’re gonna ship me off, baby..” he whispered. he was panting, having climbed through your second floor apartment window. the hunger games had been declared over, with lucy gray being the victor. coryo had done things he claimed ‘would secure his future’, without ever telling you what they were. but they were enough to land him into trouble, which led him to say his goodbyes.

he moved closer, the bed dipping with his weight. you sat on the bed, hands in your lap as you contemplated. it was the middle of the night, your parents had gone to bed, but you knew that with any noise, they would awake instantly.

“i-“ your hesitation was clear, coryo knew that in order to get you to put out, he would have to do some convincing.

he leaned forward, taking your hands out of your lap, grabbing one and holding it tightly in his grasp. you looked at him, gasping a little as his mouth caught yours. he kissed you roughly, a man starved, as you found a way to match his rhythm.

you couldn’t resist him, not with those gorgeous curls and lust filled sparkle in his eyes. you couldn’t resist him the first time you met him, assigned as his class partner, you would make a fool of yourself to get him to notice you.

now here he was, begging at your feet, just for you to touch him.

you gave in, kissing him in a way that made him know you’d give him what he wanted.

he let his hands fiddle with the fabric of your nightgown. it was a thin silk, pink tinted. he hiked it up, as best as he could before pushing you back into the pillows, hiking it up more to rest above your hips.

he pulled away, and placed the hand in his, on your dress, “hold it.” he whispered, “and shut your mouth.” he warned.

you gulped thickly, nodding as his hands found the seam of your panties. they had a little bow on the front, matching the bows on the straps of your nightgown.

you waited patiently as coryo pulled down your panties, watching them grace the skin of your legs until they reached your feet, where you hastily kicked them off.

coryo wasted no time in holding your legs open, hands finding their comfortable spot on your inner thighs, squeezing them once before beginning to unbuckle his own trousers.

you waited, watching his hard cock spring out from the confinement of his pants. he pumped himself a few times before spitting on his hand, rubbing it over himself.

he pulled your legs down, closer to him, and with better access. he leaned forward, curls brushing the front of your nightgown as he lined himself up with your swollen cunt. you were so wet, he hadn’t realized that the spitting was unnecessary.

“mhm, coryo..” you moaned softly, feeling the head of his cock pushing into you. he was so big, you felt like you’d never get used to it. and considering this could be the last time ever under coriolanus snow, you didn’t think you ever would.

he thrusted in fully, and you couldn’t help the groan that fell from your lips. steadily pushing into you as he leaned above you. “mm, take it…” he grunted, thrusting in harder, watching as your eyes rolled slightly.

you couldn’t contain your moans, “it’s all yours! coryo, take everything…” you cried so loudly, he would have to do it for you. his hand clamped over your mouth, tightly to make sure no one else would hear you.

he found his pace, a rough yet dramatic pace, as if he wanted this to last forever. his hand was still tight on your mouth, his body taut over yours. you moaned, but he could tell you were trying to keep quiet.

but even he seemed to struggle. he groaned softly, your cunt around him, squeezing and not letting him go, was enough to make him cum. but he held out.

you hand loosened on your nightgown and you could feel his breath on you, “hold it!” he whispered, bringing your hand to the fabric, “don’t let it go.” he demanded, thrusting into you even harder.

you knew your cervix would be bruised, it always was a little sore after a night with coryo. you couldn’t contain your moans anymore, not as the knot in your belly got tighter and tighter.

coryo watched as you came undone, his last thrust had sent you over the edge, and you were trembling under his touch. your moans contained only by his hand, and your eyes were just whites.

you shuddered as the feeling overcame you, feeling the loss of his cock.

coryo stroked himself, coated with the juices of your arousal and orgasm, he continued to stroke himself, your eyes lazily watching.

he twitched suddenly, and cum squirted out onto the planes of your belly. he groaned lowly, watching as his cum dripped.

you felt weak, eyes closing momentarily as coryo moved around, grabbing a random shirt to clean you off.

he kissed you, watching as your eyes fluttered shut before he escaped through your window, for the last time.

[witchywithwhiskey]

ari levinson + "that sounds like an excuse, I want a confession"

optional scenario: ari as the devil 😈

that secret place in the garden

pairing: father's boss!ari levinson x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, creampie, cockwarming, fingering (f receiving), outdoor sex, begging, teasing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, light bdsm, little bit of bratting, pet names (buttercup), fluffy ending

word count: 3,200ish

a/n: ahh Aspen i struggled with this one a bit and it's not technically Ari as the devil, but i think there's some parallels you could draw if you squint 😅 hope you and everyone else enjoys!!! ♡

It was an unseasonably warm spring day—much too hot to be attending an outdoor party hosted at the mansion of your father’s boss, Ari Levinson. But, as you glanced around at the other attendees, you seemed to be the only one suffering beneath the overly bright and warm rays of the spring sun.

The terrace behind the mansion was filled with your father’s colleagues and their families, since Mr. Levinson had invited everyone to bring anyone they wanted to the party at his home in the countryside. The event was meant to celebrate a successful first quarter or something of the kind. You couldn’t quite remember since your eyes tended to glaze over whenever your father began talking about work.

Despite your father having worked for Mr. Levinson’s company for a number of years, you didn’t know very many people at the party. You’d trailed after your father for a little while, smiling dutifully when he’d boasted about your career to his colleagues. But when he began bemoaning the fact that you hadn’t found a husband yet, you’d excused yourself.

You’d wandered through the party looking for the only other person you knew, but when you didn’t find them, you’d stood at the edge of the crowd on the terrace, sipping a sweet, sparkling drink. You’d felt awkward, and your discomfort only grew when you noticed the looks you were getting. 

You’d worn a rather short sundress to the party, and you’d known when you put it on that it wasn’t quite appropriate for the gathering hosted by your father’s boss. The neckline dipped low on your chest, the fabric so thin you couldn’t wear a bra, and the bottom hem flirted around your upper thighs, showing off a nearly scandalous amount of skin. But it was such a hot day, and you’d worn the dress for someone special—someone who was supposed to be at the party but didn’t appear to be.

Frustrated by all the lecherous looks from the men who worked with your father, and the equally scathing glances from their wives and girlfriends, you slipped away from the terrace. Descending a set of stone steps into the gardens that spread out below the mansion, you breathed a sigh of relief as you escaped into the shaded lower grounds of the estate.

Strolling through the gardens, you admired the bright spring flowers and all the lush greenery that had only recently bloomed into life. Amid your wandering, you discovered a wrought iron gate set into a high stone wall and you followed your curiosity, pushing it open and discovering a secret garden beyond.

There were purple flowers and vines draping down the gray stone walls, and a rainbow of flowers circling the small garden. A stone fountain stood in the center, with water bubbling out of a fixture at the center that looked like a roaring lion. The water looked clean and clear and you bent down to trail your fingers through it, finding it was cool and refreshing. 

You were just debating whether to take off your shoes and dip your feet into the water to cool off when you heard a voice from behind you.

“I won’t tell anyone if you decide to jump in,” came a rumbling, familiar voice, “I’m sure it’d be a relief.”

Spinning around with a gasp, you found your father’s boss standing just inside the gate. Ari Levinson’s bright blue eyes were two twinkling stars even in the dazzling spring sunshine. You felt a warmth bloom within your heart, and a small smile curved your lips.

Ari looked endlessly polished, even on the hot day, and you couldn’t help but admire the older man as you took in the sky blue linen shirt and light pants he wore. When you finished your perusal of his outfit, your gaze met his. He made a show of trailing his eyes down your body and back up, giving you a wolfish grin, his eyes heating until they burned even more than the sun.

The look in your dad’s boss’s eye made you squirm, a delicious heat building between your thighs, and you turned back to the fountain, pretending to be unaffected. 

“It is an excessively hot day for an outdoor party,” you commented, keeping your tone light. Butterflies were rioting in your chest and you couldn’t stop yourself from twisting your fingers together in an effort to stop yourself from reaching for the older man. Your body felt attuned to his, and you could feel him as he prowled closer.

Ari came to a stop just behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, but not close enough to actually brush up against you. 

“Mm,” he hummed, acknowledging your words. “Whoever planned this party should’ve checked the weather.” His hand skimmed down just beside your arm, teasing you with the possibility of his touch but never quite making contact. A shiver raced down your spine, goosebumps raising all over your body even with the heat of the day.

“They should’ve,” you agreed in a whisper, forgetting what you were talking about as your mind went blank and your body trembled with need. You wanted to lean back into Ari’s chest, but you weren’t entirely certain it was such a good idea, especially with his party and all your father’s colleagues not too far away.

Thankfully, Ari made the decision for you, pressing his big palm to your stomach and easing you back against his chest. You let out a soft sigh of relief as you leaned against him. Ari was strong and steady at your back, your body relaxing into his familiar hold. 

“I looked for you,” you whispered, turning your face so you could look up at Ari over your shoulder. 

He ducked down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I was inside talking to some members of the board who refused to be out in the heat,” he murmured, an apology in his tone. Then he leaned back, giving you another wolfish grin. “But then I heard one of my manager’s daughters had come to the party wearing a skimpy little sundress,” he rumbled, his hands sliding down over your hips until his fingers flirted with the hem of your dress. “And somehow I knew it was you.”

You wanted to smile impishly, liking the idea that Ari had known it was you, but forced yourself to pout and flutter your lashes at your dad’s boss. “It’s such a hot day, Mr. Levinson, I only dressed appropriately for the weather,” you murmured in your sultriest tone, adding some breathiness to your voice that you knew Ari would like.

“Slutty girl,” Ari rumbled, his tone accusing but warm enough that you knew there was no anger behind it. “That sounds like an excuse, I want a confession.” His hands slid under your dress, his fingers digging into your soft thighs as he groped you and worked his way up to the place that ached for him. “You wore this dress just to tempt me in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, unable to keep up the ruse when your knees were quaking with desire. If it wasn’t for Ari’s strong arms holding you up, you were certain you would’ve collapsed to the ground at his feet. “I did—I wore it for you, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he rasped his praise right into your ear. His fingers brushed against your panties and you realized all at once how wet you were. When Ari groaned, you knew he’d noticed as well. “So wet for daddy, buttercup—have I been neglecting you too much?”

“Ye-yes, daddy, need you!” Your voice was a whine as you leaned more firmly back against Ari’s chest, letting him support your weight while his fingers tugged your panties to the side. A loud gasp tumbled from your lips and your head fell back against his shoulder when his thumb brushed over your clit. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you whimpered, your whole body shuddering with pleasure. 

“So pretty, buttercup,” Ari rumbled, his beard brushing against your cheek as he ducked down to press a kiss to your jaw. “Look so beautiful in your pretty little sundress, all dolled up for daddy.” Ari’s voice was warmer than the spring sunshine and it melted you further, your hands reaching up and sinking into his soft hair to hold onto him. “My gorgeous girl—all mine,” he said, his voice going lower and deeper and making your core clench for him.

Ari’s fingers dipped between the folds of your slit, playing with your desire and stroking your clit in soft little circles that had your hips stuttering forward and desperate mewls spilling from your mouth. “Daddy,” you cried on a gasp, unable to form any other word than the term of endearment that fit Ari so well. 

“Mm, need daddy’s cock, buttercup?” he asked, and you could hear the teasing smile in his tone. “Need daddy to fill up your achy little cunt?” 

“Yes, please,” you murmured sweetly, rolling your head to the side so you could look up at Ari. His eyes sparkled in the spring sunshine and his mouth curved in a charming smile. “Please fuck me, daddy,” you said, grinning when Ari’s eyes darkened. But you didn’t let him respond, grabbing his beard and pulling him down for a messy kiss.

Ari indulged you for a moment, then pulled away, leaving you gasping. He gripped your shoulder and gently eased you forward, bending you over so your hands were planted on the flat edge of the water fountain. Ari wasted no time in tugging your panties down your legs, helping you step out of them. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you watched Ari pocket your panties and bit your lip to hide your pleased smile. He caught it anyway. 

“You won’t be needing these,” Ari teased, shooting you a wink as he stood back up and worked his pants open. 

When you felt the tip of his cock slide between your thighs, pressing against your dripping folds, you let your head fall between your arms and moaned loudly. 

“Oh god,” you groaned as Ari began pushing inside you. He was so thick, it felt like he was splitting you open, but you loved every delicious moment it. “Oh my god,” you muttered on a gasp, the tip of Ari’s cock hitting the end of you, making your cunt clench around his thick length.

“You know I love it when you worship my cock, buttercup,” Ari rumbled as he curled around your back, his lips pressing a heated kiss to your bare shoulder. “But there’s no need to be so formal—daddy will do.” As he showered your shoulder blades in kisses, you could feel his self-satisfied grin against your skin.

Huffing a laugh, you squirmed your hips, fucking yourself back on his cock. “Then, fuck me, daddy,” you whined, rolling your hips forward and back, taking his hard length into your warm, slick cunt until both of you were moaning. “Daddy, please, need you,” you cried, your voice a pathetic whimper.

Ari chuckled against your shoulder, his hands digging into the top of your dress to knead your tits. “So needy today, buttercup,” he teasingly chastised you, tugging on your nipples until you let out a hoarse moan. “No one will find us in this garden, want to take my time with you.” He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, murmuring, “Missed you.”

A desperate mewling whine squeezed free from your throat, pleasure coursing through your body and making you tremble with need. “Missed you, too, daddy,” you whimpered, your body shuddering when Ari pulled out and thrust back inside you. “But you can take your time later, I need you to fuck me!” 

With another laugh, Ari turned your face toward him and kissed you, his tongue plunging between your lips and fucking your mouth the way you wished he’d fuck your pussy. Then he was standing up, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d feel his fingerprints for days. 

“Alright, buttercup,” he rumbled, a grin in his voice, but when you looked back at him, you could see his darkened blue eyes focused on the place where your bodies joined. “You know daddy can’t resist giving you what you want—even if you are being a bit of a brat.” He glanced at your face and shot you another wink.

He looked so handsome beneath the springtime sun—a golden god in his secret garden, preparing to take you the way your body ached to be taken. It was everything you’d wanted from the day, and you were all too eager to urge him on with a cheeky quip.

“You love it when I’m a bit of a brat,” you teased, shooting him a flirty smile over your shoulder. Your expression didn’t last, though, because Ari pulled his cock almost all the way free of your body and slammed back inside, forcing a loud moan from you. 

“I do,” Ari agreed through gritted teeth, setting a brutal pace as he pounded into you from behind. “Now be a good girl for daddy and take the cock you begged for.” His fingers dug into the creases of your hips where you were bent over, pulling your body back onto his hard length as he surged forward.

It was all you could do to moan your response, focusing on keeping your knees locked beneath you and enjoying the feeling of Ari’s big cock splitting you open. Since he hadn’t told you to be quiet, you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, sobbing and crying and moaning your pleasure while he fucked you into oblivion.

Ari worked you up until you were on the precipice of your release, and then he slid one of his hands between your plush thighs, rubbing your clit as he muttered, “Come for daddy, buttercup, lemme feel that tight cunt milk my cock, gonna fill you up.” The sharp clapping sound of Ari’s hips slapping against your ass and thighs filled your ears along with his voice and you were lost.

You came with a hoarse scream, pleasure crashing through your body and making your arms and legs tremble violently as you forced yourself to stay in position. Your body went tight as mindless moans spilled from your lips and your pussy squeezed Ari’s cock hard enough to send him over the edge of his own release. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he rutted into you. Then he pressed deep into your cunt and groaned. You felt his cock twitch as he came inside you, his fingers digging possessively into your hips while you rode out the waves of your own pleasure.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, reveling in your releases together, Ari’s hands idly massaging your hips while you caught your breath. 

Then with a soft groan, Ari began maneuvering your still shuddering body to sit with him on the flat edge of the water fountain. Keeping your bodies connected, his softening cock buried deep in your cunt, he helped you pull your shoes off, then shed his own and rolled up his pants. He spun your bodies to dunk both your feet into the cool water.

You sighed in relief and melted back into Ari’s chest, his arms holding you tight so you wouldn’t slip off his cock. “Feels good, daddy,” you murmured, turning your head and burying your face into Ari’s beard beneath his jaw. 

“Good girl,” he said softly, brushing a kiss to your temple as he splashed water on your legs, chilling your heated skin. “Just let daddy take care of you.” 

You hummed a sleepy, pleased sound, tiredness from the hot day and your afternoon delight with Ari making you want to take a nap. But Ari’s next words had you jerking upright, feeling fully awake.

“I was thinking it might be time to tell your parents about us,” Ari said gently, his hands smoothing over your body, fixing your dress back over your chest and generally trying to keep you calm even as your heart began racing. He seemed to know you were panicking because he turned your face to his over your shoulder and gave you a serious look. “I’m tired of sneaking around, I want to show you off proudly.”

Glancing down at the skimpy little dress you’d worn for the sole purpose of torturing him, you pressed your lips together, trying to hold back your reservations. But you’d been seeing Ari long enough that he knew how to read you—better than you would’ve expected, in fact.

“We don’t have to tell anyone today,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he gave you another serious look. “But I don’t want your father finding out about us at our wedding.”

You gasped—Ari had never mentioned marriage before and it came as a surprise, even if you’d been seeing him for almost a year. Your body clenched in delight, which meant your pussy tightened around Ari’s cock and he stirred within you. He narrowed his eyes at you in an expression that told you he wouldn’t be distracted by your body.

As much as you were able, you turned to Ari and cupped his face in your hands, your fingers sinking into his thick beard. “We’ll tell him together, next week,” you promised, leaning up and kissing Ari. “Can we have a spring wedding, daddy?” you asked sweetly when you pulled away.

Ari chuckled and squeezed you in his arms. “You know I can’t resist giving you what you want, buttercup,” he said by way of an answer, laughing harder when you squealed with happiness. He caught your lips in a messy kiss, his laughter devolving into a moan when you rocked your hips in his lap, grinding on his cock until he was thick and hard inside you again. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you stayed with Ari in that secret garden, indulging in each other’s bodies beneath the spring sunshine until it grew late and you were forced to part. 

A week later, you and Ari sat your parents down at their home over brunch and confessed to your secret relationship. Though your father was shocked, Ari explaining his intention to marry you seemed to go a long way to soothe any ruffled feathers. By the end of the meal, your parents were happy for you, and your father looked genuinely pleased to be welcoming his boss into the family.

A year later, on a warm—but not unseasonably so—spring day, you married Ari on the terrace at his country house in front of all your friends and family. The reception was held there as well, and as the afternoon turned to evening, you and your new husband slipped away from the party for a little while. You snuck down the stairs to the grounds, running hand in hand to that secret place in the garden where the two of you might be alone. 

Beneath the stars, in your secret garden, you came together, for the first time as husband and wife, and you couldn’t have been happier.

[lovekendri]

inexperienced | peeta mellark

request: hey! can you do headcanons or a fic about your first time, um, “doing the deed” with peeta? or like how he would be with someone who’s inexperienced. thank you! i love your writing 🤍 - anon

omg i love this! thank you so much for the request AND being my first request!! i'm a bit newer to writing smut, so i hope it lives up to your expectations! ♡

peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: it's your first time, and your boyfriend, peeta, is determined to make sure your first time is magical.

cw: 18+ only! fluffy smut, p in v, soft and hard dom!peeta, inexperienced!reader, established relationship, first time, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

wc: 2.9k

type: ✽ | ❀

As you poured another glass of a fancy sparkling pomegranate juice to end off the bottle, you tossed it into the bin next to the table and walked yourself over to the couch where Haymitch and Peeta sat, the room still buzzing with other District 12 residents.

The television was on, playing some sort of instrumental music, but you could barely hear it over the chatter in the room.

Haymitch and Peeta were deep in conversation about Haymitch's new relationship with Effie, and you've never seen Haymitch look so happy to talk about something.

You sat down next to Peeta, and you could tell he was ready to leave soon, probably after he finished the conversation.

You had indulged in homemade bread from Peeta with oil and vinegar all night, as well as fresh berries picked from the bushes in front of your house with the sparkling juice, and you were starting to get tired of eating to cure the boredom.

You had followed Peeta around all night like a lost puppy, and it wasn't a good look for you, but you were ready to go home after a few conversations.

"I personally didn't expect Effie to be your first choice," Peeta snorted, "I thought she drove you crazy."

Instead of paying attention to the rest of the conversation like you should've, you began to fully admire your boyfriend for the first time all night.

He wore a gray button up with the top two buttons undone, the sleeves tucked up around his forearms. It was tucked into a pair of blue jeans that appeared slightly too tight, the fabric straining against his legs. Finishing off the outfit with a brown belt. He sat manspreading, holding a bottle of something you couldn't see, the logo hidden in his hands, but you knew it wasn't alcohol.

Looking at him tonight brought a different feeling to your chest and stomach, an odd, tingly feeling you hadn't very much felt before around him. Watching him talk, watching his lips move as he responded to Haymitch, the nod of approvals he would give.

"But anyways, you two better get going," Haymitch said as you tuned in to the conversation once again, standing up from the old couch you all sat on. It was getting later in the night, and you were thankful for him to say that, as it was almost one in the morning.

Peeta stood up as well, taking your hand to help you up from sinking into the couch.

"Alright, good to see you," Haymitch said, giving Peeta a small hug, and clapping him on the back, like a brother would do.

Haymitch turned to you, and reached out for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a short hug before pulling away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, probably," you said, smiling, subtly reminding Haymitch of your lunch plans tomorrow.

"Of course you will, sweetheart," he gave you a small clap on the back, weaker than Peeta's, but still a loving tap. A small lopsided smile appeared on his face and he turned away.

"You ready to go?" Peeta asked, looking down at you.

His eyes were trained on you, reminding you of what you felt just seconds ago about the tingling of your stomach and the tightness in your chest.

"Yeah," you smiled, trying to hide the fact you could feel the blush creeping up your face as you looked past him toward the coat rack near the door.

He grabbed your hand once again, grabbing your coat and slinging it over your shoulders, not bothering to have you put it on when you're a mere twenty feet away from his house.

You waved goodbye to any people who were paying attention at the slowly dying party, and walked out the door, hand in hand with Peeta.

"You enjoy the juice?" he asked as you reached the sidewalk, playfully giving you a little shove to the shoulder to knock you off balance a bit.

"You know I did," you replied, recovering your feet and taking his muscular arm in both of your hands. The crisp, cool air of the night nipped at your cheeks, and the leftover snow from the recent fall crunched beneath your feet.

It was a short walk, and by now you were at the door of Peeta's house. He took the keys out of his pocket to unlock his front door. The light over the door was still on, coating the walkway you stood on in a dim, yellow light.

"You looked beautiful tonight," he said as he unlocked the door, pushing in the door with more force than intended.

"Thank you, you looked rather handsome yourself," you replied, hearing a small chuckle escape his throat at your comment.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, he walked through the living room to reach his bedroom, and you ran inside before him to kick off your shoes and jump on his bed.

The softness of the mattress engulfed your body, and you rolled into the knitted quilt on top of his bed.

Tonight felt like a cuddling night, but something about the air felt different.

"Save some room for me," he said, having just taken off his shoes.

The feeling you had earlier watching him rose in your body again as he set his knee on the edge of the bed, climbing over to your side and collapsing next to you with a hand on your hip.

You turned to your side, throwing a side of the quilt on top of him.

"There's plenty of room for you," you said, looking down past his jaw. You saw the same outfit as before, but now his belt was slightly looser, his shirt half untucked. You tried your best to avoid looking toward his jeans, but you didn't have to force yourself anyways.

"Eyes are up here, darling," Peeta's hand reached out gently to your jaw, lifting your face to look at him.

Your face heating up immediately, you made eye contact with him. A small grin was growing on his face, a cheeky smirk you'd seen so often. He kissed you with the same pecks he always did when you were cuddling, but even after you'd kissed him hundreds of times the same way, you couldn't shake the feeling that something felt different tonight.

Doing your best to ignore the prying thought, you snuggled up to his warm body, basically steam rolling him to get on top of him. You laid on top of him, one of his hands loosely around your waist and the other lightly stroking your back. Your arms hooked under his.

After a while of laying in silence listening to each other breathe, you started to close your eyes, letting comfort and sleep take you over. Just as you began to feel the entire pull of sleep, you felt him sharply exhale. He dug his face into the crook of your neck at the same time his hand grabbed tightly onto your hip.

"You've never had sex, have you?" he murmured lowly.

The question startled you, increasing your heartbeat and waking you from any slumber that started to take you over. You turned your face into his neck as well, too embarrassed to lift your head and face him when you felt the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Is this what felt different? Did the air feel different because Peeta wanted to have sex with you?

"Absolutely," you say, the uneasiness in your voice a dead giveaway that you most definitely have not.

He knew you, he knew you hadn't. In fact, he knew that he was the only boy you had ever dated, the only boy who you'd ever kissed.

"Oh, really?" he says, his hands sliding from where they rested to lightly graze over the back of your thighs and your ass, one hand giving a light squeeze to your thigh.

A barely audible but obviously desperate exhale escaped your lips, your head dropping down completely to his shoulder.

He had never touched you like this before. Butterflies were exploding in your stomach, your chest and throat growing tighter as he continued to move his hand over the hills of your body.

"I thought so, baby," he whispered. "It's okay."

He didn't stop moving his hand, but his head dropped back down to the bed, an exhale leaving his own lips.

"Would you let me be your first time?" he said breathily, his hand moving up to rub over your back once again.

You felt like you couldn't say anything, your throat feeling so closed with his hands touching you in ways you'd never felt before, the feeling of his rough hands stroking across your body was enough to send you spiraling.

He noticed your silence, moving his hands to sit up. You refused to let go of your tight hold on his body, trying to catch your breath from the unnecessarily overwhelming feeling blossoming in your stomach.

"C'mon, baby. Talk to me," he whispered.

"Please, Peeta," your voice came out strangled. It didn't sound like your own, plagued by the tightness of your throat and the desperate want for him to touch you like he was before.

It took him a moment to register what you said.

"That's my girl."

His hands reached up to your arms, gently prying them away from his body in order to get you off of him.

He laid you gently on the bed, and you felt like a total mess. You knew you shouldn't be so obsessed with the way he was making you feel, but it felt so right to be touched by him, to be held in the erotic ways you didn't know he wanted.

He was on top of you, his arms out straight and his legs on the outside of yours blocked a cage around your body. You were in for it now.

At first though, he only kissed you.

The low light of the room added to the needy ambiance of the room. Kissing felt more erotic, less controlled, the way his lips moved familiarly but yet so foreign at the same time, the soft dominancy from him that you'd never felt before threatening to take you over. The way he would stop to take a short breath before continuing to kiss you, sometimes biting your lip as he pulled away. When you felt one of his hands creep up your hips onto your breasts, it was an explosion of feelings you hadn't had before.

Your gasp almost breaking the kiss, you felt him grin against your lips as his hand slipped under your shirt to run it over your torso.

His touch was so gentle, so polite, allowing you to feel the entire moment of what he was doing to you. Again though, it was so different from ways he had touched you before. So new and arousing.

His kisses began to trail down your cheek to your jaw, down your neck, and back up to your lips. He kissed you all over the neck, anywhere he could.

You felt so many butterflies and tingles in your stomach, and a warm heat between your thighs growing as he touched you more, lips and hands working in unison to sweetly prepare you.

His hand now moving down to pull the waistband of your pants ever so slightly down, pausing his kisses. He took the moment to move a knee between your legs, giving them a little nudge to open.

His eyes met yours, darkened with arousal and excitement. His lips were swollen and slick with saliva, his cheeks a light rosy tint.

"You ready?" he murmured, watching your face closely.

Though you were so nervous, you were eager.

You wanted this to happen, the more he touched you and the more he caressed your body allowed to the heat between your legs to grow, the unfamiliar tingles and butterflies in your stomach fluttered with anticipation. He was all you ever dreamt of, and the way his eyes bored into yours with lust and hungriness, you were as ready as you'd ever be.

"Yes," you forced out, the constriction of your throat still very prominent.

You watched as the grin on his face grew to a sinister smile, his eyes squinting with pride. He removed your pants with such swiftness you'd barely noticed, and he took the time to admire your bottomless body. Nothing he hadn't seen before, but something he got to see in a totally different manner.

He exhaled sharply, pushing a rough hand into your panties, a finger sliding through slick folds.

He wasn't near being inside you, but the first few circles around your clit felt like heaven, your mouth opening in shock and a strangled gasp forcing its way through. A white heat began to grow in your stomach quickly, and you pushed your head into the softness of the bed.

"Attagirl," he whispered, praise quickly falling out of his mouth as he watched you squirm underneath his fingers.

A slick finger suddenly pushed through you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. His fingers worked magic on your clit while he pushed his finger in and out of you.

"Yeah, baby?"

Heat, heat, and more heat grew, the pleasure becoming almost overwhelming under your boyfriend's control, the praises coming out of his stupidly pretty face driving your body insane.

Gasps sweetened with whimpers and small moans fell out of your mouth like a sailor's cusses, your eyes screwed shut as Peeta worked your body perfectly. In no time, he pushed in a second finger, earning a loud gasp and a grab to his forearm, his legs tightening around your leg to keep you from wiggling away.

"You feelin' good, love?" he whispered. You could hear the curl of his evil smile, absolutely delighted to be making you feel the way you were. You desperately nodded your head, your grip on his arm growing tighter as the heat in your stomach grew, an overwhelming feeling threatening to fall.

He felt your walls beginning to tighten, and pulled his fingers out.

"Why?" you whined, the feeling in your stomach immediately dripping down to the small heat you had before. You grabbed for his hand, wanting him to make you feel amazing again, but he pulled it away from you.

"No, sweetheart, I want you to experience more than just my hand."

You watched as he undid the rest of his belt from before, your jaw falling open slightly in shock as he unbuttoned his jeans, undoing the zipper as well. His black boxers showed through the small opening in his pants now, and you could see what he was hiding beneath them.

"You okay?" he asked, aware of your jaw now basically on the floor. You nodded at his question, snapping your jaw shut once again.

Your face was hot, your body was shaking a little. You were so ready in anticipation of how he was going to make you feel. You didn't dare look at him, because you knew that you were basically going to finish at just the sight.

"You're sure you're ready?" he said, a hand holding steady on your hip and the other you could only assume holding his cock.

You nodded, your hands going to the quilt for a hold on something, your body beginning to tense.

"Good girl."

You felt him push into you.

A loud gasp pushed from your throat, your body jerking in surprise. He definitely filled you out, your eyes rolling back and heat beginning to grow again.

"What's wrong?" he said, the concerned tone in his voice loud, keeping still inside you.

"No, no, keep going," you whined, your eyes screwing shut.

He began to move slowly, only pushing in a few inches every time, preparing you for the full.

The friction felt so good, quiet moans falling out of your mouth as he pushed more and more inside of you, growing faster with each movement of his hips.

He pushed all the way into you, hitting a spot that sent white heat coursing through your body, electrifying, your vision blanked.

He dragged his cock out once again, pushing all the way inside of you once more.

The tingly heat grew quickly in your stomach as he found a medium pace, cock sliding easily in and out of your cunt with his hands gripping tightly on your hips.

"You look so pretty underneath me," he praised, so close to pushing you over the edge.

Uncontrolled moans forced themselves out of your throat, the heat building up so close to a release. His hips became sloppier and uncontrolled, his pace increasing as he worked to finish.

With one harsh thrust, your vision went white and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. A loud cry left your mouth as you came, your legs tightening around his hips.

He finished quickly after you, his thrusts extremely sloppy.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed next to you and pulled you into his arms, his body warm. You were both breathing heavily, his muscular arms engulfing you in a blanket of comfort,

"I love you so much," he murmured, tucking his head down, his forehead rested on top of your head.

"I love you," you whispered, "thank you."

He didn't say anything, kissing the top of your head and tightening his arms around your body.

"Thank you, pretty girl."

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof read: ✓

[plutoswritingplanet]

Taking What's Not Yours (Dracule Mihawk x Reader)

a/n: soooooo, there is this pirate warlooooord. basically, i've watched the live action show on Netflix and immediately had to commit a one shot.

Warnings: Pure Smut (i had to get it out of my system), Wall Donging, Use of Alcohol, Stealing, Plotting, Lollygagging, inappropriate use of that cunty cross necklace.

Summary: A misguided attempt at impressing your friend lands you in a very peculiar situation. (cross-posted on AO3)

   The bar buzzed with the energy of drunken people. Your throat still burned with the after-taste of the cheapest rum the establishment had to offer, and for a second you've become deeply worried about losing your eyesight, as faint notes of straight methanol registers in your brain. Then, the pleasant buzz hits your nerves like a suffocating blanket, and in one moment you sense all your troubles drifting away. And there has been quite a lot of troubles on your mind lately.

Mainly, the Marines, their presence an annoying nuisance. By no means were you a pirate, no. You searched for freedom in different ways, such as stealing as much, and as often as you could. Money was the driving force of your life, but you'd be lying, if you said it was the only pleasure you seek. The thrill of the chase, of finding that perfect little trinket you can grab, and your victim would be non the wiser. The euphoria of creating distractions in one place, so you can strike like a viper in another. It made your blood boil with excitement incomparable to anything else. 

On top of that, besides the occasional confrontation, the Marines simply couldn't identify you. All it took, was a bandana around the lower half of your face, and suddenly you were able to march into a bar, such as this, filled with Marines, and no one would notice. Your eyes fall onto a rather skinny one, the belt of his too big uniform is digging into his waist, betraying how little there actually is of him. He looks back at you, smiles, and joins a group of his friends at one of the tables. You reciprocate the smile with a glint in your eye. The poor bastard doesn't know it was you, who stole an antique photo of his grandma right from his breast pocket. 

In your defense, the small frame was made of gold. And damned pretty at that. It fetched you a pretty price too, one you were currently drinking away, waiting for your friend to join you in your efforts of landing under the table by the end of the night. 

You barely manage to go through one fourth of the bottle, when they arrive, smile on their face and hair wild from running through the streets. It all goes downhill from there, as stories and alcohol flow freely between the two of you. It's a welcomed distraction from the gray reality of life, a small ray of sunshine in this murky town. They tell you about the latest heist they've pulled, eyes sparkling in the dim light, as they recount a particularly risky part of their daring escape. You snort into your glass, shake your head.

- See, that's where we're different. - you counter, leaning back into your chair - For me, it's all about stealth. In and out, so they won't know when they've been robbed. 

Your friend giggles to themselves. The drink in their glass splashes slightly, as they place it forcefully on the table. 

- You really think you're that good, huh? - they challenge, and already, you can feel the tingling sensation of excitement at the tips of your fingers. 

- I know so. 

They furrow their brows, turning towards the crowd currently hounding the bartender. There's a mischievous smirk playing around on their lips, as they turn their attention back to you.

- So, if I were to choose any person here, and told you to steal from them unnoticed, you'd do it?

The absolute gall of this question. Of course, you would. Hell, you'd do it multiple times, until this whole bar was filled with people suddenly missing their belongings. Because nothing compared to the thrill of reaching into someone else's pocket unnoticed.

- You know what? - your eyes run across the gathered crowd, smirk playing around on your lips, as you've spotted your chosen victim. - See that guy in the black coat? The one with the big ass hat. I bet I can get that fancy necklace off of him, in like, three minutes tops. 

As you speak, your friend follows your gaze through the Marines, and the pirates, and all the in-betweens. But when their eyes finally land on your target, they freeze in their spot, before rather rudely grabbing your shirt at the collar. Then, so fast, the world starts to spin in front of your eyes, they yank you under the table. Your stomach lurches with protest at the sudden movement. You give your friend a confused shake of your head. 

- Do you have any idea, who you're talking about? - they whisper-yell, eyes wide and clearly terrified. 

- What, about the hat guy?

Apparently you've said it too loud, because your friend nearly launches themselves at you. 

- That's Dracule fucking Mihawk.

From the way they've said the man's name, you gather, it should be at least familiar to you. Unfortunately, you can't say you know much of the world outside of the town, so your confused expression deepens. 

- He's like, the biggest deal - Your friend continues, their grip on your shirt loosening slightly - Like, children read stories about him and shit.

- I didn't - you shrug, before rising slightly up, so you can peek from above the table. 

The hat man has turned his back to you, his stature rather impressing, as he towers over everyone in the establishment. Your eyes follow the dark lapels of his coat, thief senses greedily gliding over the handle of his sword secured to his back. It's reminiscent of a cross, with gigantic, shiny gems nearly tempting you to do something unwise. Your friend tugs you back down, and your chin scratches on the rough surface of the table.

- What is he, like, a missionary? - you ask, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

- What?

- You know, the cross and all that...

- What kind of missionaries have you been seeing?

Fair point, you think, before risking another peek, against your friend's efforts to pull you down.

 The man, Mihawk, takes a long swing from a flagon filled with something you can't really identify. You watch almost greedily, as his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows his drink. Then, your eyes drift to the necklace, nestled on his exposed chest. Gold, real gold, you can see it from here. Another cross, albeit, much simpler, than what he had on his back. A week of drinks, and fancy ones at that flash before your eyes. 

- Don't even think about it - your friend warns, finally giving up, and letting go of your shirt. 

Your eyes stay fixated on your prize. If you could just see where the clasp of the necklace is...

- Think about what...? - your voice betrays you, and you wet your lips with your tongue in concentration.

- He'll kill you - your friend warns - Like, actually kill you. This is not a man you should fuck with.

At that, you finally tear away, your eyes meeting your friends, a sea of mischief swirling in them.

- Who said anything about fucking? - you say with a wink, and before your friend can say anything else, you rise from your seat.

Taking the half-empty bottle of rum in one, smooth movement, you begin to make your way towards the bar, adding a stumble and a drunken giggle for good measure. The previous ungodly ammounts of liquor circulating your body definitely help with the impression, but you're pleasantly surprised, that your head stays relatively clear. Although, if your target is truly as powerful and dangerous, as your friend makes him out to be, then perhaps you really lost your mind for good. Best not to dwell on it though. 

The man barely spares you a glance, as you collide with the bar right next to him, arm brushing against his in a deliberate movement. You make sure to press your chest against the countertop, before waving at the bartender a bit too enthusiastically. The leftover liquor in your bottle sloshes out, landing straight onto the man's chest and lap. At that, he finally moves, annoyance clear in his rigid posture. Traces of liquid fall all the way from his collarbones to the belt buckle of his trousers.  

The truly magnificent performance of a drunken, apologetic girl you gave at that moment, would ensure you the entry to the most prestigious acting schools. Your eyes widen comically, as you follow the trajectory of your drink. He barely flinches, as his entire front becomes covered in alcohol, but he does react, as soon as you start apologizing, a lot, your voice quivering as if you're about to burst out crying. 

Don't look up, you remind yourself, as your body moves closer to his. You pull down the sleeve of your shirt and reach towards him, trying to dry some of the liquor off his skin. For the split second you manage to make contact, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. He's incredibly warm, his skin pulled taut against prominent muscles. Then, your sleeve reaches the golden necklace.

His arm immediately shoots out, grabbing you by the wrist and nearly shoving you off. It was enough, though. That short moment of contact revealed more than you've bargained for.  

- Leave - you truly flinch at the sound of his gravely voice, no acting needed - You've embarrassed yourself quite enough, woman.

Your head nods fervently, hair jumping around your face. He releases your wrist, and you mutter another string of "I'm so sorry, sir". Then, you throw in a sniffle, for good measure, but your treacherous eyes drift upwards, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man's face, as you're only inches from him. Yellow envelops you in an instant, a piercing, unrelenting gaze, which breaks through all your defenses. Your gaze hardens in an instant, challenge rising in your posture like its second nature. One of the man's prominent eyebrows shoot upwards ever so slightly, and you know it's your time to exit the stage. 

So you bow your head again and slip past him as quickly, as you physically can. His golden gaze follows you, the feeling of his eyes at the back of your neck makes your shoulders tense. With a stumble, this one not rehearsed, you push past the gathered patrons, until you reach the doors to the restrooms, nearly falling through them, in your haste to remove yourself from this strange situation. 

Your body collides with the row of basins, as you lean forward to try and catch your breath. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, the sound of blood rushing through your ears deafening. It's fear, you're aware. You've never been so close to being exposed, no one has ever seen straight through you, and so quickly at that. Chills run the length of your spine with such force you physically cringe. 

And then, something else starts to brew in the pit of your stomach. Something that starts at the tips of your fingers, spreading upwards, until it settles in your chest. The magnetic pull of excitement, the danger of a new challenge. Your brain feels hot inside your skull, as you gather all the information you managed to pull out. 

The necklace is heavy, but strangely, not as heavy, as solid gold would be. The clasp is sturdy, but small. You could feel it, with how the strap tightened, when you pulled at it. And one more thing. As you tried to "dry" it, the body of the necklace shifted slightly, so you could see the clasp peeking over the man's shoulder. You were almost entirely sure it was one of those old-timey ones. The one, where two halves fit together, incredibly easy to open. 

God, you really are going to pull this off. You hype yourself up, in front of the mirror, jumping from leg to leg, like a sportsman ready to fight for their team. Easy. Quiet. In and out. You've done it a thousand times, why would this one be different? After this rather pathetic pep talk, you make up your mind. Splashing some water onto your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror, determination filling your eyes to the brim. 

And then, you're out, the door to the bathroom swings behind you, as you easily blend into the crowd of rowdy patrons. He's almost impossible to miss amongst the ruckus, with his straight posture and that damned hat. There is a plan forming in your head, as you stalk towards him. The unfortunate waiter, with a tray filled with tall beer glasses walks towards you, and with ease, you slide your leg to the side, making him trip right onto the floor. 

It creates enough of a distraction for you to smoothly move behind your target, and as he looks over at the screaming crowd, you hand makes its way behind the collar of his coat. With the warmth of his skin just under your fingertips, you touch the clasp of the necklace. It unravels immediately, sliding off of his neck, where, just out of his vision, your other hand waits. The cross lands in your palm just as the man realizes what is happening.

His entire body jerks in your direction, large hands immediately flying towards the gigantic sword on his back. Thankfully, you're faster. Fingers squeeze around the smaller cross, and suddenly all pretense is gone, as you bolt back to the restrooms. You don't stop to check if the man is pursuing you, a flurry of emotions chasing you out of the establishment. Excitement, yes, of course, but mostly impossible to explain fear. In that moment you know, you can't get caught if you want your life to continue. 

So, you barrel through the doors to the restroom and immediately jump onto one of the basins. Your hands make quick work opening the small window just below the ceiling, its lock coming undone under the prying of your lockpick. Night air floods the bathroom with the crisp smell of the harbour. Putting all your concentration into athletics, you jump through the small opening, squeezing through. Your shirt catches onto the lock and tears with the force of your body. You land on your face, right into the cobbled street below.  Only then do you risk taking the time, and looking around, eyes scanning the dark, as your breath quickens. 

Nothing. A dog is barking somewhere, and even from the outside you can hear the sounds of the patrons screaming over each other. For a split second you wonder, if one of the voices belongs to your target, but decide against it. He didn't seem the type to raise his voice. Perhaps that was one of the things, which unsettled you about him. 

Tossing the necklace a couple of times in your hand, you observe as the gold shines in the light coming from the lanterns strung out around the city. There, right under the lower half of the cross, you could see a tiny groove. As if it was meant to be unscrewed or something of the sort. Deciding against hanging around in the ark alley right outside the bar, you put the necklace around your neck.

You manage to take about five steps, before some force grabs onto the back of your shirt. A hand twists itself into the torn material, and yanks you back so fast, and so hard, you completely loose balance. The brick wall of the lower part of the bar greets you with sharp pain, the impact knocking the wind out of your lungs. Stars swim in front of your eyes and your stomach twists and turns, as a sudden wave of nausea overcomes you. 

Then, all you see is yellow. 

He's here, arm pressed right under your chin with unwavering strength, his golden eyes bearing into you, watching you struggle against him. The smell of smoke, seawater and wine engulfs you whole, and suddenly the weight of the stolen necklace on your chest becomes unbearable. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. If you thought you were scared of the strange man before, now you're downright terrified. 

- Not many people would dare to steal from me - his voice is steady, almost bored, but your ears pick up on the subtle tone of curiosity - Let alone do so successfully.

Perhaps it's the alcohol in your system, or perhaps your ego has grown much too big, but you almost feel as if the man is impressed. 

- Tell me, what is your name? - his arm digs a bit further into your skin before retracting ever so slightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you, that he could do so very easily. 

Your tongue darts out to wet you lips, and you will yourself to sound even a fraction less scared than you truly felt.

- I'm nobody - you whisper fervently - I'm nothing. It was a stupid joke, I'm so sorry.

His eyes scan your face, taking in your disheveled hair, the way your eyebrows scrunch together, the way your lips tremble. His gaze slides further down to your panicked pulse running rampant, catching slightly at your heaving chest, before snapping back up. Freezing chills run up and down your body, and your legs kick out slightly, trying to find better footing, to regain some control over the situation. He gives you no such chance, as his arm pushes your neck further into the wall, and as your breath leaves you, your body starts to struggle. 

- Nobody. Nothing. And yet you've managed to steal from me - something akin to subdued mirth flashes in his golden irises - If only for a moment. 

His other hand rises and your heart stops in your chest, as you feel the tips of his fingers tracing the line of the necklace, from the juncture between your neck and your arm, sliding lower. There is no mistaking the small gasp leaving your lips, when he reaches the heavy cross nestled right on top of your breasts. He taps the goden piece once, twice, before grasping it firmly and giving it a hard yank. The clasp at the back digs painfully into your skin before it gives out, snapping and falling right into his hand. 

- You're a curious little thief - his voice lowers, as he inclines his head to look at you closer - For that reason, I'll let you live, this one time. The world needs some chaos, after all.  

You expect him to move away, give you space to breathe and disapear into the night. Yet, none of you make a move. Your body stays pinned to the wall, the bricks spreading cold throughout your back. He never retreats, standing firmly in his place, as his arm still presses itself into the crook of your neck. Finally, you risk enough to get a good look at him, from the silky black hair, the perfectly trimmed facial hair and the elegant dip of his collar bones. And, oh, his pupils are dilated. For the first time, you discover a change in his unrelenting gaze. 

The gold retracts, giving way to the swallowing blackness of his pupil, as his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the situation at hand. You'd be confused too, if you didn't feel the tell-tale buzzing forming in your guts, low in your stomach. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips, and with undeniable satisfaction you watch his gaze flicker downwards. 

- Is there something else you want? - his eyes snap back up at the husky tone of your voice, and you give him just a tiny ghost of a smirk.

He recoils immediately, albeit, never taking the arm off of your body.

- I am not some teenage boy who can't control his urges - he sounds almost offended, as he straightens himself, and fixes you with a stern glare. 

Too bad. His previous slip-up has already filled your head with devious ideas, which in turn, sparked a sudden flame of confidence. So, with a self-assured smile, you lean back, finally finding your footing, only to raise one of your legs, purposefully running your calf the length of his thigh. His breath hitches ever so slightly, evident more by the movement of his Adam's apple, than any sound. Then, you reach your prize, your knee knocking into something that could only be described as a sizeable erection.

- My research says otherwise, sir. - you counter with a pointed look, and the man before you freezes in his spot. 

Time seems to slow down and stretch like taffy, as the man continues to stare at you, thoughts running through his head. Oh, how much you'd give to know them all. Will he kill you, you wonder as your eyes dart around the small creases forming on his forehead. Will he kiss you, his lips are parted and invitingly plush. Will there be more, your eyes follow the lines of muscles exposed under his unbuttoned coat. 

At first you don't even notice, when he had taken his arm back. That is until you feel him take a firm grab of the back of your head, gathering the roots of your hair in his grasp. There is no denying the choked whine that escapes you, as he cranes your head back, nor is there a point denying the groan he gives out at your reaction. 

An unspoken understanding blooms between the two of you, both of you suddenly knowing exactly how this encounter will end. For your part, you were more than excited, breathing heavily, as your mind became foggy from the feeling of his fingers in your hair. And if his darkened eyes and slight blush dusting the highest points of his cheekbones were any indication, you seemed to have similar effect on the man. 

- For all the research you seem to be doing - your brain feels hot and heavy in your skull, as you try to shift your focus onto his words, and not the way his lips curled into something akin of a smirk - There's one thing you didn't bother to check, did you?

All you can do is stare at him blankly. his other hand starts to toy with the necklace, turning it in his palm. 

- Have you checked, if my necklace is made of gold? - he asks matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the side. 

Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out, as you continue to stare with growing confusion. Then, a glint of a golden cross catches your attention, as the man moves it higher for you to see. 

- Did you check it? - he accentuates his words, and you shiver under his intense gaze.

You shake your head no, and your neck feels as if it's made of lead.

- Use your words, thief.

- No

You don't recognize your voice, so meek and small. 

Then, all thoughts leave your head, because he lifts the lover tip of the cross and places it on top of your lower lip, pressing slightly, and watching with fascination as the cold metal creates a small indent in the plush flesh. 

- Check it.

Again, your brain seems to be moving in slow motion, but when it catches on, a glint of mischief swirls in your eyes. You open your mouth, let the necklace land on your lower teeth, and then, craning your neck, you bite down, like a good thief that you are. 

It's gold alright. Albeit, the part currently between your teeth seems to be hollowed out. Your brows knit for a second, as this new information registers in your mind. So you were right before, the small indent is meant to separate one piece of the necklace from the other. 

With a slowly blooming smirk, you let your tongue dart out swirling over the metal. The man's eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pulls back at the necklace. With some fight, you let it go, but not before giving it another lick, this one much more suggestive and pointed. 

- You're a devil of a woman - Mihawk breathes, before untangling his other hand from your hair. 

Both hands now, he grips the necklace, and your mouth runs dry at the sight of his fingers smearing your saliva onto the metal. And then he pulls. Your heartbeat momentarily quickens, as your eyes register another form of metal glistening in the dim light. 

A knife. Small but incredibly sharp, your body starts to shiver but it's not out of fear. He drops the other part of the necklace into his pocket, and gathers the front of your shirt into a tight grip. Your breath hitches, as you feel the tip of the knife slide up under your clothes. It scratches a path from your navel, up to your collarbones, and as the material bunches, the man suddenly yanks the blade upwards. Your entire body jumps from the wall, and your squeak of surprise is accompanied by the loud tearing of your shirt's material. 

You fall back against the bricks, and Mihawk leans onto his heels as if he's appreciating an art piece.

- Now we match - you manage to breathe out.

He humms, deep in his chest, and as suddenly as he just tore your clothes off, he dives towards you, open mouth landing right between your breasts.

The moan he wretches from you would be embarrassing if you could only bring yourself to care. But you can't, not when his hot tongue traces patterns all across your stomach, stopping to swirl around each one of your nipples. Like a man starved, he drinks you in, hands pushing and pulling against your hips in a rythmn, that feels more and more like a promise of what's to come. 

Your hands flail at your sides, desperate to find any sort of purchase. Fingernails scarpe against the bricked wall, as Mihawk's stubble tickles a path from your collar bones and up your throat, stopping for a moment, to give a few nips to the skin just below your ear. Another whine is wrenched from you, as the man places an open mouthed kiss to the scrape your previous encounter with the surface of the table has left on your skin. Then, finally, he pulls back for just a moment, drinking in the sight of your heaving chest and the redness which has engulfed your entire face.

- Beautiful - he concludes in the same, steady tone, as if he's stating an obvious fact, not paying a compliment.

It works on you all the same, and with a gasp, you lurch forward, your lips forcefully colliding with his. The kiss is deep and filled with passion you're not sure you've ever felt in your entire life. As his mouth and tongue work the insides of yours, you feel him slide his hand from your hips to the front, fingers pulling with urgency at the laces of your breeches. You can only pray, that there's no one taking a midnight stroll through the streets, as another loud moan escapes you. He does his best to swallow it, but something tells you he takes immense pride in the reactions you give him, as his efforts at keeping you quiet are haphazard at best.

Then, after finally winning the battle with your lacing, his hand pushes itself into your undergarments. Your head smacks back against the wall, when he begins to touch you where you need him the most. Expert fingers find your bundle of nerves in an instant, but before you get too carried away, one of your arms encircles his wrist.

Mihawk tilts his head, an unspoken question clear in his golden gaze.

- No time - you pant out, and for a moment worry, he doesn't quite register your words, with the way his focus shifts immediately to your swollen lips - No time, just... Just fuck me, Mihawk.

That seems to reach him just fine, because as soon as the words leave you, his arms shoot out towards his pants. He makes quick work of the massive belt buckle, and with impatient hands yanks his erection out of his underwear. You'd lie, if you said the view didn't worry you just a little bit. But excitement was your drug of choice, and right now you felt as if you could explode at any given moment. With shaky hands, you try to shimmy out of your pants. Seeing your rather clumsy efforts, Mihawk stops you. 

With half-lidded eyes you watch him kneel down in front of you, gently pulling your breeches down, before lifting each of your feet, so you could step out of them. 

- I think I like seeing you like this - you comment, as he leans forward to kiss the space under your right knee. 

- The view from here is also quite spectacular - he counters, kissing up your thigh and making you gasp, as his stubble presses into the mound of flesh just below your stomach. 

Still, there is no time, so you reach down towards his shoulder, and pull him up. 

- Please - you whisper against his lips, and who is he, to deny a lady in need. 

Lifting one of your legs in a tight grip, finally, his hips snap up, filling you to the brim. Your muscles tense, as you try to accommodate his size. To his credit, he stays still, face pressed into the crook of your neck, where you can feel his strained breath. Finally, you let yourself relax. tapping him on the shoulder, to let him know he can continue. 

And continue he does, slowly at first, dragging your body from the wall every time he retracts, only to come back in with an agonizing pace. You don't really know who's more frustrated at that point, because as soon, as you try to wriggle your hips more, to force him to pick up the pace, all resolve seems to dissapear. His hand grips your thigh even harder, enough to leave a reminder for the later days. The other tangles itself into your hair, pulling at the strands. And then he truly puts in work, hips snapping in a punishing pace that makes your back scrape against the brick wall. You hide your face in his coat, inhaling his scent and praying that the thick material will be sufficient at muffling your moans of pleasure. 

There's pressure, building steadily in your guts, and it doesn't take you long, to feel the band snap somewhere deep inside you. Your muscles tense and your eyes roll back, as you begin to shudder in his grasp, knees giving out completely, so only his own strength is saving you from colliding with the floor. Soon, he follows with a low grunt, nearly toppling over, when his own release hits him. 

His arm holds you close to him, as he uses the other one to steady himself against the wall. Both of you are panting heavily, none of you ready to move just yet. You rest your cheek against his chest, and feel him press his face to the top of your head, inhaling your scent as if this wasn't just a quick dalliance in a dark alley. 

- You should get back to your friend - Mihawk's voice is muffled by your hair - They must be dreading all the atrocities I could've bestowed upon you.

You laugh breathlessly, finally pushing him back and appreciating the flush on his cheeks, and the way his hair has flown out of place from under that impressive hat.

- Yes, those atrocities have been very great indeed. 

***

Your friend sits alone at the same table you've left them. Their head is hidden in their hands, and three empty bottles litter the space before them. It seems they have already started to mourn your untimely death. 

The inside of the bar has quieted down, as the closing hours began to loom over the patrons, a few stragglers still hanging around the bar, sowly finishing their respective drinks. 

Unceremoniously, you sit down right in front of your friend, wincing ever so slightly at the discomfort still lingering in your muscles, kicking their leg under the table and watching them nearly jump out of their seat with fright. 

- You... - their eyes have a difficulty focusing on your face, but when they do, it's like the heavens have opened before them. - You're alive!

Your eyes are glowing, and your face is still blushed from your previous encounter. You lean forward with a brilliant smile, hands slapping onto the wooden table.

- So - you can't help but laugh - About fucking with him...

[preciouslandmermaid]

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

[gimmethatagustd]

technicolor | pjm

Love is one hell of a drug. Bottled and sold on the black market, it isn't for the faint-hearted. You're not really interested in trying it until you meet Jimin.

○ Pairing: Jimin x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Strangers to lovers, dystopian, angst (?), smut

○ 3 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Dystopian)

○ Word Count: 992

○ Warnings: Implied drug usage (syringes), unprotected vaginal sex, bathroom sex, sex while under the influence (of love jhsdkfsj)

○ Notes: I tried so hard to keep this at a normal drabble word count jhkdfs

○ Post Date: January 11, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Serendipity - BTS

“Have you ever been in love?” Jimin leans into you so he doesn’t have to yell over the music. He smells like sweat and the remnants of cologne, a musky kind that’s likely expensive. 

You shake your head. Of course not. No one has. 

“I could love you.” 

Jimin’s face glows blue from the strobe lights, then lights up with streaks of pink and gold that cut across his face like lightning. There’s silver glitter smeared under his eyes, and his teeth sparkle when he bites the tip of his tongue with some twisted form of a knowing smile. 

He’s pretty, a technicolor dream sticking out like a beacon amongst a sea of gray bodies grinding to the DJ’s electronic music. You’ve never met someone who looks like him; you've only seen people so colorful and bright on television. No one in real life seeks out passion. No one in real life looks so alive. You don’t even feel it, though sometimes you think there’s something inside of you that yearns to, like a ghost of a reminder that humans’ bodies once evolved to do more than just want. 

They tell you that life is about fulfilling needs: hunger, thirst, and the drive for success. There is no such thing as pleasure. 

Yet here is this stranger promising love where he sits at the bar beside you with a cherry stem tied into a knot between his teeth and silver studs poking out from the shoulders of his blue jean jacket. 

“Could you?” you ask, barely swallowing because your heart thumps in your throat. There’s only one way Jimin could love you, and it isn’t legal.

Jimin pats his chest, curling his fingers around the edge of his jacket. When he pulls it open far enough to peek inside, you see the syringe and a glass vial filled with a light pink liquid tucked into the inside pocket.

“I could,” Jimin says with a smile too pretty to be mixed up in something like this. “Will you let me?”

“Fuck, I love you so fucking much,” Jimin rasps against the curve of your ear. His hot breath dances down your neck, making goosebumps spring up along your forearms.

“I love you too,” you moan the unfamiliar words. They flow out of you easily and are quickly lost between Jimin’s lips and teeth. 

Jimin whimpers when you suck on his bottom lip. The sound is cute. Jimin is cute. It’s the first thing you’d noticed about him when he slid into the seat next to you at the bar. With glitter smeared beneath his eyes and a sparkling smile, he charmed you away from your friends and into the dingy bathroom.  

There’s so much more to Jimin than his looks, though. You love Jimin for everything that he is, the good and the bad, even though you don’t know what any of those things are. It doesn’t matter. Because you love him, those other things don’t need to matter. 

Heat builds between the two of you in the cramped bathroom. Sweat makes the crease of your thigh sticky against Jimin���s bare hip. When you splay your hands against Jimin’s back to pull him closer, you can feel the cotton stick to his skin with sweat. He’d shed his jean jacket before hoisting you up to sit on the edge of the sink. 

Your ass barely fits on the thin lip of the sink. With how sweaty your skin is, you keep almost slipping off of it. The thrust of Jimin’s hips rocks you backward. The back of your thighs are beginning to chafe, but you don’t notice, especially not when Jimin’s hands squeeze your ass to hold you in place as he fucks you with sharp, deep thrusts. 

“It’s so good, Jimin. You feel so good.” Your hands shake as you rake them down his back, pulling his t-shirt hard enough that it makes him gasp when the collar tightens around his neck.

“Best you’ve had, right, baby?”

“Yes, yes, your cock is s-sooo–” Your words are cut off by a loud sob that shudders through your body. 

When you pull Jimin closer, you feel his tears smear against your neck as he tucks his face into your shoulder. You don’t know why you’re both crying, but it feels good to let your body tremble and heave while Jimin’s cock glides in and out of you. This is love, having a body hold you, whisper sweet reassurances in your ear.

Jimin loves you. He loves your body, the way you smell, how wet and hot your pussy is around his cock. He loves your cute gasps and everything, really. He loves everything, even though he knows nothing. 

Jimin cums after you. Once he’s finished, he zips up his jeans and tucks the half-empty vial in the inside pocket of his jean jacket. He helps you hop down from the sink and straighten out your skirt. The high is gone, short-lived, a burst of a star before it dies. Love is fickle like that, you suppose. But what do you know? This is your first time trying it out. 

“I feel… Is it supposed to feel, um, weird?” You press your palm to your chest and take a deep breath. 

Jimin checks his hair in the mirror and flicks at the black strands with his pinkies. 

“It’ll go away after a few hours.” His response feels simple. It feels… 

“I feel really… empty.” 

“It’s like a hangover,” Jimin turns to give you a sparkling smile that makes your stomach twist, “Drink some water and sleep it off.” 

You let Jimin take your phone to input his number. When he gives it back, his contact name is Loverboy. Something about it bothers you. 

“I had fun,” Jimin giggles after kissing your cheek. “If you ever want more love, call me, okay?” 

You watch Jimin slip through the bathroom doors, love held hidden against his chest.

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[tragedy-of-commons]

dearly beloved

sunday & gn!reader | wc: ~1.3k

Some birds were not meant to fly.

tags/warnings: SPOILERS FOR 2.2, implied/nongraphic animal death, childhood friends trope, kind of a character study, there is humor is you squint, romance is not the focus here

notes: the story quest had the gears turning and i have this to show for it! i honestly just wanted to yap. so. sunday's characterization is loose and i just had fun with this!

Sitting on the windowsill is a cage fashioned from wrought iron. 

Inside Robin’s bedroom—the one you play in almost everyday—it’s a jarring new addition; the dull gray metalwork draws your eyes away from the scattered dolls and books resting upon the honey oak floors. Before your lips curl downwards, the shape inside of the cage catches your attention.

…A small bird chirps from inside.

“Robin!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you from the hallway, “Since when did you get a pet bird? And is that a Charmony Dove?” She doesn’t come running in to answer, so you assume that she’s still held up with dinner. Making your way over, the little dove chirps at you.

It’s so pretty—and you would surely be scolded for gaping like a fish impolitely near any of the Oak Family—but Robin has never been a Judgey-Mc-Judger-Pants like all of those other stuffy adults. 

“So adorable…” You decide to stick your hand between the bars so you can pet the animal. Though it’s beautiful, you’re sure you’d be able to hear its song much better if it could be let out for some fresh air. 

An annoying voice decides to scare the ever-living shit out of you. “It is, right?” 

“F-Fuck! Sunday, you scared me!” you say hotly, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest. “Where is Robin? She doesn’t take joy in my suffering!”

He tries not to smile at your “crass” language—whatever that means. “Mr. Gopher Wood wanted her to continue her lessons instead of playing with you,” Sunday straightens his posture, “She made me come to tell you, so…”

“Are you kicking me out?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Because if you are, I didn’t even wanna be here anyway! Robin is better than yo—”

He facepalms like you’ve seen your mother do. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I could make you leave if I tried. But weren’t you wondering about the dove?”

Your scowl drops into an awed smile, forgetting the whole reason why you were upset. The bird shifts from foot to foot (talon to talon?) on its perch, looking at you with eyes that look like sparkling amethysts. “Yes! When did you guys adopt one? I’ve never seen a Charmony Dove here before.”

Sunday frowns, a serious one, you note. It looks out of place on his face that still matches the chubbiness of yours, but he’s always been the one to talk you out of shenanigans in your ragtag group. He seems older right now, standing like he’s ready to lead an entire lineage while he can barely preen his feathers by himself. 

“That’s because they normally don’t live here. Robin and m—Robin and I—found it outside in one of the gardens a week ago, sick and hurt,” he says, taking a spot at your side while you examine the bird with sympathy. “We decided to adopt it and nurse it back to health.”

“Poor thing…” It allows you to scratch under its neck, cooing affectionately under your touch. “At least it’s looking better. Robin must be so happy to have her own pet in her own room! Did she name it yet?”

Sunday frowns deeper, and he should really stop doing that, ‘cause he’ll get wrinkles. “No, she didn’t name it yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Robin… isn’t really happy about us adopting the dove.” Now that just doesn’t make sense! Robin loves animals, and you both once talked about adopting hundreds of them if you could. You’re about to open your mouth until Sunday adds on quickly, “She says birds are meant to fly in the sky.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” you survey the sturdy cage and how it dwarfs the inhabitant inside. “It looks like it’s in jail like Hanu from the cartoon.”

He flicks your forehead. “Be serious for once.”

“We’re eight!” you cry.

Sunday agrees to show you how to feed and hold the dove properly after you beg him, and the longer you hold fledgling life in your hands, the more cruel the cage seems. You don’t know if birds are meant to do this or that, but you know that their song is louder (and more annoying) when they chirp outside of your window.

Before you leave for the day, he also tells you that he and Robin plan to release the Charmony Dove when it fully recovers. A bittersweet notion that you think fits the siblings perfectly. If Robin is the sun that everyone’s eyes will be on, then Sunday must be the silent moon obscured by the curtain.

The moon lost its sun not long after. Robin’s departure from Penacony was also bittersweet, and you were left with one less friend. Not a week after she left, you found yourself in her empty bedroom, lonely. She did say that you were allowed inside anytime you wanted, and that you both would message everyday. Still, you missed her.

Something else is clearly missing too. The wrought iron cage that normally houses the Charmony Dove you’ve become familiar with is empty. You don’t think it could have escaped; the door to the enclosure is sealed with a solemn air. Sunday would naturally be taking care of the little thing, that much he told you, so where is it?

You get your answer after searching the winding halls for a short bit.

“...I didn’t mention this to you because I knew it would make you upset,” his brow is furrowed again, and you’d tease him for looking like an old man, but something is definitely wrong. “But the dove died a few days ago. It tried to fly, and when it did, it crashed.”

“That’s… what? I thought that you said it was healthy,” you supply, heart clenching.

“I’m sorry. It was, but I guess that some birds aren’t meant to fly.”

You don’t think you’re going to cry. “Why not? It looked perfectly healthy, so why shouldn’t it be able to fly like the others?”

Sunday laughs, “That’s a good question. It’s unfair, isn’t it? If we didn’t set it free, it’d be alive.” Somehow you get the feeling that Sunday isn’t feeling guilty, but instead something else. His eyes are set and intense, as if he’s not talking about a Charmony Dove, but something more than you can’t understand.

It is unfair. Birds are supposed to belong to the sky; that’s one of the first things you learn about them when you’re learning to speak your first words and take your first steps. 

You feel heavy. “I’m glad it, um, passed when it was free, at least.” Maybe he’s acting a bit more down because of Robin leaving—which does make sense. You feel far away from him.

Sunday grabs your hand tentatively. “I wish there didn’t have to be an ‘at least’.”

You squeeze back. “Maybe one day, there doesn’t have to be… does Robin know?”

(You’re too naïve to notice the look of resolve aging his features by the day.) Now he looks guilty—doing that thing where he shifts his weight from foot to foot, “I didn’t want to upset her either.”

It’s silent save for the shuffle of your feet as he leads you out of the room and outside into the familiar gardens. They’re beautiful, filled with freesias, roses, begonias, and even a few unkempt weeds growing in the little abandoned corners. You’d go as far as to call it your paradise.

The reason you’re here reveals itself: a stone marking a mound of dirt that is plainly a makeshift grave. “Is this…?”

Sunday nods, halo dipping in tandem with his head. “It is. Just like the cage, it also needed a place to rest. This time I, um, fashioned it,” he pauses, “But one day, like you said, hopefully there needn’t be an at least. I want to make a world where there isn’t one.”

That sounds bittersweet, you think, plucking a weed from the otherwise flawless grass and placing it on the pillow of earth. 

(You just hope that the boy beside you doesn’t lean too far in either direction.)

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @nomazee

[my-castles-crumbling]

interrupted declaration of love - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 427

"Pads?" Remus murmured, angling his head down to look at the the boy resting on his bare chest.

"Mmmm?" Sirius mumbled, clearly half-asleep.

"I...I need to talk to you," he whispered, deciding that now was the time.

He'd been thinking about it for weeks. About how much he adored Sirius. How he could stare at the other boy for hours, how he could spend the rest of his life kissing him, how he would actually die for him if it meant protecting him. How all he wanted was to make him happy.

He loved him. And he needed to tell him.

"Merlin, Moons, your heart is beating a million miles an hour," Sirius chuckled from on top of him. "Are you thinking about that time the other day in the broom closet, because-?"

"No," Remus breathed, sitting up and pulling Sirius with him. "No, I wanted to say..." But he was so scared. What if Sirius didn't love him back?

"Is everything okay, Moony? You...you seem nervous," Sirius asked, catching on to Remus's nerves now that he could see him.

"I'm fine," Remus waved him off. "It's just..Sirius, you don't understand how much I care for you. And you need to. I...I've had feelings for you for years, and-"

"I know," Sirius grinned, gray eyes sparkling. "Prongs told me you used to doodle Remus Black in your notes."

"Right, but not the point," Remus said, ignoring his blush and pushing forward. "I just- I mean to say I...I care more for you than anyone else in my life. You're- I don't deserve everything you give me, but for some insane reason, you've chosen to date me, and-"

"Are you proposing, Moons?" Sirius asked, interrupting again, his expression mischievous. "Because if you are, I want Prongs as my best man."

"No, Sirius," Remus said, getting irritated. "I'm just trying to tell you I bloody lo-"

But at that moment, the door to the dorm banged open and James barged in yelling loudly, "Trip to the kitchens, mates! I could eat a hippogriff!"

And to Remus's horror, Sirius jumped off the bed and responded, "Right-o, Prongs! Let me just grab a jumper!"

Sinking resignedly back into the pillows, Remus watched James disappear back downstairs and Sirius throw one of Remus's own jumpers over his head before running to the door. When he got to the threshold, however, he stopped and looked back, an angelic, euphoric look on his face.

"I love you too, Moons. Of course I do. Now put on a shirt and come get cake with me."

[aspirationalpeony]

Lucky Me

Summary: You and Mel do a little experimenting after she shares a disappointing truth about her past relationships. Content Warnings: Lots of smut. :) This fic is loosely set in the same world as "Finding Beauty," but can be enjoyed independently. AO3 Link

"He wasn't good at it," Melissa says. "Joe. Makin' me come." She blushes.

It's so not her--tough, capable Melissa, fearless and demanding. You touch her cheek, brush a strand of red hair back behind her ear. She hasn't had a touch-up in a while, and there's a streak of gray growing in at her temple. You love that she can be vulnerable with you, admitting these little truths about herself, in words, in body.

"Really?" you say. You have a well, duh moment in your own head: the last time you saw Joe, he interrupted you constantly, derailing your thoughts to tell his own stories, never letting you get to the punchline of a joke. He just feels like a bad lover, inattentive and untrustworthy. Plus, you know the stuff he said to Melissa about her body.

"Yeah." She plays with the band of her smart watch, then leans forward off the couch toward the coffee table, picking up her wine glass. (It's a weeknight, so the liquid inside is grapefruit-flavored sparkling water.) "And 'specially later on, I couldn't get wet, he'd get so frustrated."

"Even though you were telling him what to do?"

Putting her glass back down, she cuts a look at you for the assumption, but it breaks out into a smile, a little sheepish. Your heart does a flip-flop at the sight. "Well, yeah."

Your fingertip traces the shell of her ear. She shivers. You can't believe Joe would get frustrated, impatient, bored of trying to give this woman pleasure. Every inch of her has some private sensitivity: the lobes of her ears, the small of her back, behind her knees, below her navel. Getting to learn these secrets has been the most incredible privilege. And it's been fun.

It's taken her a while to learn to let you, rather than tell you; to give you a chance to explore. She's so used to controlling every moment, organizing her own pleasure and yours. You love when Melissa is the boss, but you also love when she gives up the authority; when she melts into the feeling and lets you be in charge.

"What about Gary?" you ask.

She snorts. "Gary who?" Her mouth twists and she shakes her head, at the question, at herself. "I mean, sometimes I'd take his mustache for a ride, but that's about it. He didn't have, y'know. It." Her eyes flick up to yours again. You haven't missed the way they've been down this whole time, unable to hold your gaze; how her chin is tucked toward her chest, her shoulders up. "It doesn't... Bother you? Talkin' about them?"

You check in with yourself, but end up shrugging. "Not really." You've spent time with Melissa and Joe together, and there's no heat between them, just the friendly chemistry of two people who've known each other half their lives. Gary you did see once, and he looked kind of like an uncooked ham. What is there to be jealous of?

You study her face. She's still pink and a little twitchy. "Does it bother you? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You drop your hand to her nape, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the column of her neck. She sways into you with a sigh.

"I wanna," she says. "Talk about it. I feel like I..." Her lips pinch. "Owe ya."

"No," you say, straightening up. The plastic of the couch creaks with your movement. "Melissa, you don't owe me anything. I want to talk about it if you do, but--"

"Nah, that's--" she shakes her head. "It's not what I meant. I mean, I... It's like, it's a part of... Me. Y'know." She pushes her hair back from her face. "And 'cause I love you, and--" she laughs a little--"cause you're stuck with me, I..."

Your always-active heart gives a tremor, hearing the cautious vulnerability of her voice. You slide your arm around her and pull her in.

"It ain't that big a deal," she says, muffled, lying, against your shoulder.

Even if she can't admit it--your tough-girl sweetheart, not wanting to let her soft heart show--you can. "It is to me," you say, and squeeze her.

You loosen your grip, and she tucks herself against your side. It always surprises you how small she really is. Every day she's like a cat that's making itself big, back up, fur on end, daring anyone to come at her; here she gets to shrink back down, turn back into herself, become your kitten.

"I don't get it," you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It's fun making you come. I love it."

"Lucky me," Mel says, very smugly.

"I sometimes think about--" you stop. This really isn't the moment for your fantasies: yeah, you guys were talking about sex, but not in the dirty sense; it was Melissa sharing something important, something emotional, and...

"Yeah?" she says. Her voice has two registers when she's turned on: airy, almost girlish, usually when you've surprised her, and throaty, a rasp. Now it's that fainter, breathless one. The sound of it sends a tickling frisson down your spine.

"Um," you say, and it's your turn to blush. "I think about... A lot of things."

"I'm waitin'."

You huff an embarrassed laugh. It's one thing to fantasize, another thing to tell the object of your fantasy all about it. "Sometimes I think about," you say, and clear your throat, "how sensitive you are. And I want to know how many times I can make you come."

You can feel the way her breathing speeds up, her body against your side, but she doesn't speak.

"We usually stop at two," you say, "but I think you can take more. I think you can take a lot more. And--sometimes, I think about how little it takes, like, when you're right there. Like I can just breathe on your clit and you'll come. I think about getting you there and telling you 'no.'"

Her breath catches.

"I bet you'd go crazy." You're smiling a little. You touch your mouth, tapping your lower lip, thinking of it. "You'd cuss me out, you'd yank my hair. You'd probably try to finish yourself off. I might have to tie you up to stop you."

"Oh," she says.

You risk a glance at her face. She's looking up at you from where she's leaning against your side, her green eyes glassy, her cheeks pink, her lips parted.

"You like that, baby?" You slide your hand down her back and feel the muscles shift as she moves, pushing herself up, then throwing a leg over you, settling onto your lap.

Having her like this is perfect. She used to hold herself up on her knees, not letting you take her weight, until you got her to understand that you loved the pressure of her body against yours, that there was no such thing as too much of her.

She dips her head and kisses you. It's not a starter kiss, warming you up; she kisses you like you're inside her now, deep and filthy, putting her tongue in your mouth with no foreplay. You groan as her hand cups your neck, feeling the prickle of her manicured nails against your skin.

"You think about me like that a lot?" she asks you when she's letting you catch your breath. The words are low, your faces close, like it's a secret someone could overhear.

"Yeah," you admit. Your hands slide over her hips to grip her ass. She gives an encouraging little motion when you squeeze. "I love thinking about what I could do to you..." Her breath hitches again. "What you'd enjoy."

"You get off on it?"

"Yeah, I do," you say. "I get off on getting you off."

Her eyelashes flutter. She makes a noise like a whimper. You have a flash of inspiration, and before you can second-guess yourself, you take her hand from your neck, the other from your shoulder, and pull them behind her back.

She gasps. It's an arrow of electricity right to your clit. Her eyes open wide, searching for yours, as you gather her wrists into one hand. It's not a very strong grip--she could yank away from you easily--but it pulls her shoulders back and leaves her chest thrust forward.

"Is this okay?"

She nods.

"You have to tell me."

"It's okay," she says. Her voice has dropped into that second register of pure arousal, throaty and low. "It's... It's good."

"Did Joe ever do this to you?" You don't know what makes you bring him up. Not jealousy, but... Maybe curiosity. Maybe wondering if he ever took the time to catalogue Melissa's reactions, to think through what would really turn her on, if he ever gave that much of a shit.

She chuckles breathlessly. "Like to see him try," she mutters. Her blush is traveling down her throat and blotching her chest.

You follow its path to the three buttons at the front of her blouse. You watch her chest start to heave as you work them open with your free hand. They expose the center gore of her bra and a hint of the silky curve of its cups.

You palm one breast roughly, squeezing. She groans. You can just feel her hardening nipple through the layers of fabric separating you. You thumb it, pinch hard, to make sure she can feel it, turning her next moan into a whine.

Her hips rock into your lap, trying to get friction. You lean back to look at her: disheveled, red, her hair spilling everywhere, her lip gloss blurry from kissing.

"You're so fucking sexy," you tell her, voice low, making her moan again.

You'd love to finger her, but there's no lube, and she's in leggings pulled up high over her hips, with not a lot of room between the two of you to get inside them. You slide your hand between her legs and over her covered sex.

She pushes down into your palm, hard, as you nose the tender inner curve of one breast, tracing your lips against the edge of her bra. Pressing through her leggings, you can feel the plump shape of her cunt. You trace those folds down, then up, over her clit.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes as you start rubbing. "Oh, fuck..." She shifts restlessly; you think she might pull her wrists away, but instead she arches toward you, drops her head back, inviting a bite to her throat, which you give. You suck soft skin into your mouth, scrape of your teeth, nibble, move down, find another spot, repeat. You can't leave marks, but there are blotches of satisfying pink where you've touched her.

"You getting close?" You work your thumb against her clit.

"Uh huh," she says, weak and needy. She picks her head up again and there's a lost, fogged look of pleasure on her face as she meets your eyes.

You hold her gaze. "Tell me when you're there," you say. "When you're right there. Okay?"

Her brow creases as she tries to focus. You wonder if she's ever tried to do this before, parsing out stages to her pleasure, or if she's always just gone up and over, never thinking about how she got there.

"I--I--I think I'm--" her voice is wobbly.

You pull your hand away. She whines and her hips jab down toward your lap, seeking a touch that isn't there. You rub her thigh, slide your hand up, over the soft curve of her belly and down to press against her mons; her hips jolt again.

"Fuck you," she says feebly.

You rub your thumb back and forth, far above where she wants it. You know she can feel the contact here in her cunt, a phantom pressure to remind her how empty she is, how close she was.

"More?" you ask.

She squirms and nods. When you give her no response, she huffs a sigh, rolls her eyes, and says, "Yes, fine, yes, more, oh--shit--"

You've found her clit again. You know this time she'll already be sensitive, and she might not be able to tell you when you need to stop. You focus on watching her: the glazed look in her eyes before she shuts them, her parted lips, her frantic breaths, her rocking hips.

You time it; you pull your thumb away. She gives a frustrated cry and squirms in your lap. You take pity and give her a distraction, rubbing your cheek against her breast, finding the hint of her pebbled nipple, the one you neglected before, and biting hard. You feel the elasticity of her bra's cup more than you feel her flesh, muting the sting of your teeth, but it makes her keen.

"You've got no fucking clue how hot you are," you tell her. You bite again and tug, drawing out another delicious sound. "I haven't even taken your clothes off. Look at you. I want to do this to you forever."

Your thumb at her clit again, this time so lightly it barely counts. "You want to come, don't you?"

Her wrists twist in your grasp, but don't pull away. She says, all breathless, angry bravado, "What do you think?"

"I think I could stop right now." She gasps, though you don't stop gently rubbing her clit. "Even though I want to make you come. And after that, I want to take you upstairs and eat you out. I want to suck on you and get you all over my face. I want--"

"Oh, shit, I," she says weakly, her hips starting to twitch.

Realizing, you say, "Just from this?" She's really almost there again? "Fuck, you're incredible. Should I stop?"

"No," she whines.

"You want it harder?"

"Yes!"

You give her what she wants. Finally, she pulls her wrists out of your grip so she can grab your hand and shove it fully against her cunt, letting her ride your palm to her orgasm. Melissa's always noisy, but this time, she's loud, the sound of her desperate cry huge in the living room.

"Oh, fuck," she says faintly as she sags down onto your lap. "I, oh..."

"You did so good," you murmur to her and rub her back, grateful to have both hands again. She buries her face in your neck and clings to you, breathing hard. She mumbles something. "What, baby?"

She picks up her head a little. "I said, 'yeah, you too.'"

It makes you snort. It's a funny mix of tenderness, affection, and gratitude you feel, knowing that even after an orgasm that took her like a runaway train, she'll still make sure to remind you of your place. Can't ever get too smug around Melissa.

You trace a hand up and down her back, finding the hem of her blouse and rucking it up so you can touch her bare skin underneath. She's hot against your palm and it makes you sigh.

"You want to go upstairs and keep going?" you ask, mouth against her ear.

"I wanna recover first," she says blearily. "What the hell was that?" She sits up a bit in your lap and you have room to reach around her and pick up her water from the table.

"A little taste," you say.

She brings the glass to her lips and sips, eyes narrowed, watching you the way kung fu heroines watch their enemies, prepared to bust out their fists at any moment.

"Of what I've been thinking about," you add. You rub her lower back. "I think you liked it."

"I think you gotta be crazy to get off on somebody not letting you come," she says, then scowls. "Which I guess makes me crazy."

"I guess it does." You can't smother your smile. "You're okay, though?"

"What do you mean? I came, didn't I?"

"I mean, sometimes emotions can get weird," you say, "after doing that kind of stuff. You get a lot of hormones and chemicals in you and they can make you feel..." You shrug.

"You got a lot of experience with 'this kind of stuff'?" Now her gaze is accusing. "You been holdin' out on me?"

"No, not a lot of experience. A little, maybe." You hold her hips, rubbing your thumbs over their soft curves. "A little experience. And a lot of things I want to do to you."

Her whole body shudders. She reaches back to put her water down, then loops her arms around your neck and kisses you. It's her post-coital kiss, lazy and loving, the hunger more muted.

"Gee," she says breathlessly when you part, and repeats herself, a grin curving her lips: "Lucky me."

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know. 

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors. 

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first. 

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business. 

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in. 

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings. 

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.” 

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist. 

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.” 

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out. 

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?” 

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him. 

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed. 

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will. 

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face. 

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead. 

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself. 

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well. 

“Ooh– stockings?” 

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–” 

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?” 

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red. 

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!” 

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water. 

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.” 

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin. 

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him. 

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to  the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes. 

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring. 

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure. 

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.” 

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?” 

“In the woods,” he says simply. 

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?” 

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading. 

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly. 

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time. 

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods. 

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted. 

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass. 

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another. 

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces. 

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.” 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.” 

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder. 

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.” 

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest. 

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees. 

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.” 

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair. 

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?” 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.” 

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.” 

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?” 

“Not a hair of it.” 

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.” 

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!” 

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning. 

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet. 

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. 

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing. 

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you. 

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible. 

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven. 

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem. 

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening. 

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you. 

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip. 

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe. 

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core. 

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck. 

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand. 

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in. 

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?” 

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some. 

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you. 

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.” 

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?” 

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Overachiever

—

Time Written-12:01 a.m.

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (gave up looking for an image for this guy so yea)

—

Faint blotches of muted blues and crooked gray shadows shroud your closed eyes, your heartbeat drumming in your head. Loud, thick gurgles ring in your ears, forcing all thoughts from your head.

Short, guttural grunts erupted above you. The sting along your scalp from a fistful of hair being clutched helped control your involuntary speed, coming to a sudden halt.

“I said,” his voice breaches through your muddled mind. “Keep those eyes open.”

On demand, you do so. Your watery eyes opening to a blurred vision of him; a rugged, sweat dampened mess, still clad in his leather uniform.

His hand eases off the back of your neck, allowing you to pull yourself off his fat, curved cock with a loud, lung expanding gasp. You cough after short chokes, a mix of spit and thick precum dribbling down your chin, seeping in between the valley of your breasts through your own suit.

“Look at you,” Jason huffs, guiding his heavy cock again to press against your glistening lips, feeling a sparkling pride over your ruined makeup.

“Pretty little whore. Y’see that?” He questions, guiding your head with his free hand to gaze down at him in question, focusing on the faint ring of bright red lipstick marking a good three quarters along the length.

“You’re getting better at this, Princess,” he breathlessly chuckles, tapping your outer cheek with his drenched dick.

“Bet your throat hurts, huh? Be honest.” His question has you nodding without much thought, feeling the muscles in your neck tingling after getting bullied and bruised by an eagerly horny vigilante.

“Tsk tsk. New hole’s just getting used to me, sweetheart,” Jason cooes with highly detectable mockery before leaning down, grasping your chin with two fingers to have you look at him, taking in his crinkled, amused expression.

“All that big talk when you’re stealing shit, now you got nothing to say.” After a condescending chuckle, Jason traps you in a hot, tongue heavy kiss, feeling himself throbbing at the sounds of your measly little whimpers.

“Aww, What’s the matter? Too fucked out already?” He whispers in between short pecks, swiping off a hint of spit along your chin before bringing it towards his lips, sucking the digit clean.

“Maybe it’s a little too much for ya,” Jason insists in a second guess attempt, fighting back a smirk from your growing eyes loaded up with denial. “Bit too big for you to take—“

“N-no!” You insist, your once balled up fists reaching up to grasp along his wrists. “I can do it, I know I can. Please, Jay.”

“Easy, easy. Fun’s barely starting, babygirl.” Jason displays his full smile, sharp teeth making an appearance with his chuckle.

Alongside pride, he was still giddy that he got you to agree to this.

“I know you wanna make me happy. Know you wanna earn your little reward.”

A hot, gushy load down your throat became your solid priority in an instant. Jason had that ability to suddenly render you absolutely starving in seconds, manipulating you into wanting what hadn’t come to mind before.

Your answer was a solid nod, eyes glowing in anticipation to further please him. His heavy palm clasps your throat in a snug hold, holding your head in place. His voice is low, quiet and lustful, but you hear him loud and clear.

“Tell you what,” Jason proposes with a quirk in his brow. “You take all of me; every last inch, an’ I’ll give you what you want.”

Eagerness leaves you automatically agreeing; pretty, kiss swollen lips with a pretty pink tongue eager to lap at the fat bead that threatened to drip off his length.

“That what you want, pretty girl?” He questions. “Want to make me happy? Wan’ me to make you come?”

You feel your whole body heating up from the fire that's burning deep inside you; your pussy painfully untouched and drenched. Jason promised he’d give you what you wanted if you played along in being a pretend thief, the motivation keeping you barely stable as it is.

It was like your brain was hard-wired to urge him towards his release. Or, maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more submissive to set your own desires aside for him.

Eagerly nodding was your only form of answer, but Jason would gladly take it.

“Prove it then,” His hands leave your neck and head, settling them back along his sides. “Show me.”

Adjusting your sore knees against crooked gravel, you greedily lap up the fat, clear bead of precum that called your name, the saltiness drowning your tastebuds.

He lets out a short groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches a bit of himself disappear between your lipstick smeared lips. His hum rumbles low in his chest as you bob your head back and forth at a steady pace, swirling along him with your tongue.

He's quickly drunk off of your persistent eagerness to please him, peering up at him through wet lashes. You were more focused on his reactions, watching his head slightly raise, threatening to tilt back if he wasn’t so stubborn to watch every second of it.

You looked a gorgeous sight already as you changed direction, pressing your glistening lips along the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the majority of his heavy dick rest along your face, settling against the corner of your cheek, nestled beside the small grove of your nostril.

A perfect picture to capture the memory, if it occurred to him to pull out his phone. His obedient, needy girl eager to please whenever he needed you.

He's panting harder now, shoulders rising quicker with his slightly labored breathing.

“Ready?” He had the decency to ask, waiting for your muffled hum in response before grasping hold of himself.

“Open.”

You obey, sticking out your pretty tongue.

“Eyes on me,” he taps the fat head along the muscle at least three times, too impatient to warn you of what happens if they close.

His hips lurch forward, sliding himself deep in your throat with a relieved groan. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he's blocking your airways. You try to settle your reflex, nearly choking on him at the start.

Your soaking wet lips slowly passed where you last reached, your nose brushing against thick curls at his base, taking in his musk while choking on cock, hooking your fingers over the tight harnesses securing his meaty thighs.

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep your throat from rejecting him, but you're not able to hold him there for long before you choke.

The vibrations left him shivering, watching spit bubble from the corners of your mouth, dripping slowly down your chin and neck, disappearing down your constricting suit zipper.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his head tilting back in pure, raw pleasure, feeling his balls tighten with every constrict of your throat as he fucks your face.

Maybe it was his fault, getting off on your vile, arousing gags, your sickly gray tears rolling down your ruined face. The ultimate ego boost, nothing could ever top this.

You could've cared less of the mess you became, focused on him and his pleasure alone. His deep, aggressively hot tone serenaded through your brain like melted dark chocolate, leaving you addicted for more.

A rich, heavy moan left his mouth, vibrating through his chest as his head tilts back, Adam’s apple bobbing with thin beads of sweat as the nightly breeze bats against his shivering skin.

The sight of those gorgeously shiny lips clenching along the base of his drenched dick left him teetering on the very edge, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him being a bit too much for you to take.

Jason raised you higher up on his cock, nearly forcing your buckling knees off the ground.

The sounds that came from your pretty little mouth as you reached your limit, forcing you to take more than you were used to were vile and filthy, but he loved every second of it. A private symphony just for him alone.

“Nice and messy, babygirl,” Jason rasps out, glancing down at your flushed face with heavy lidded eyes.

“Gonna clean up that messy little pussy,” he murmured through heavy panting, reinforcing his interlocked fingers behind your head. “Then fuck those wet tits next.”