#i need to make a pair of camisole straps

[discountalien-pancake]

Back on my sewing thread bullshit and I’ve kind of fallen in love with fillet crochet. I never liked it much before, because it’s usually worked in heavier threads and always felt a bit chunky and blah. But in a 40wt sewing thread, it’s delicate and stretchy(!) and really feels like lace.

[evieelyzabethh]

Warmer than a Comforter

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.

warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it

It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.

When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.

You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.

You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.

"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.

"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.

You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."

"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.

"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.

"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.

"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.

"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.

Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.

"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"

"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.

"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.

You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.

As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.

His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.

"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.

"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.

"You know how to fix windows?"

"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.

You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.

He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.

"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."

"What're you gonna do that for!"

"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."

"But would Xander do it for free?"

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.

"You are such a whore, you know that?"

"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.

You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.

"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.

"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.

***********************************************************

Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.

"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.

"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.

Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.

He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.

He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.

"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.

"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."

"Am I that transparent?"

"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.

"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"

"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."

"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."

"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.

Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.

After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.

"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."

" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.

You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.

"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.

Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.

"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.

Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.

He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.

"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.

"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.

He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.

"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.

His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.

"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.

You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.

Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."

He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.

The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."

As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.

Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.

Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.

"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.

Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.

"Are you still cold?"

[celtic-crossbow]

I Can Sabotage Me By Myself

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence, descriptions of injuries, temporary character death (I promise)

Summary: You always knew it would hurt to lose Daryl, but you never imagined it would feel like this.

A/N: Honestly, today has not been a good day for me. So I needed some super angst. I apologize in advance.

“Don’t touch him!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, your hands pulling away from the man on the ground for a moment. Rick backed away, his wide eyes shining with unshed tears. He didn’t go far but just away was enough. You leaned down, smoothing back the archer’s hair, not even caring about the blood that was wetting the strands you touched. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. Just look at me, I’m here.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide and focused on you; god, the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. You always told him you could see everything you had ever wanted in his eyes. Even now, when they were filled with pain and fear, you could still see everything. 

“Ssshhh,” you tried to soothe him, even as blood streamed over his lips. The bite in his throat was deep. It was fatal. You knew that. He did, too. Still, you held pressure against it. He would bleed out faster if you didn’t. You were selfish. He was in pain, choking on his own blood and all you could think about was hoping he’d last one more minute. And then one more. And then one more. 

Daryl brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and leaving a crimson print on your skin. You didn’t care. That’s not what you felt at that moment. You felt his touch, cooler but still warm. Still alive. 

“You’re alright.” You lied. You knew that he knew that too, but even as he coughed and red burst past his lips, he smiled at you. It was small and pained but genuine. When his hand fell away from your face and you clearly heard the sounds of your friends sobbing over the gunfire and struggles still happening around you, you knew you couldn’t pretend any longer. “Please, don’t go.” 

Daryl was still now, blinking slowly, any fight left in him fizzling out. He was still watching you. You could tell there was so much he wanted to say. “Please, Daryl, I can’t. I can’t do any of this without you.” The movement was so slow and soft, the very last of his energy. He put his hand on his chest, over his heart, and then pointed a trembling finger at you. You nodded, grabbing that hand to kiss his palm and hold it against where your own heart was beating. “Me too.” You whispered, watching his eyes close. “Me too.”

All other sounds faded, no longer mattering. You stayed frozen to that spot, his hand still held against your chest. You kept it there, trembling as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his forehead and then his mouth, ignoring the blood there. Your fingers gently grasped his chin and turned his face away from you before you took hold of the hilt of the knife strapped to your thigh. The flames burning all around you reflected on the blade as its sharp tip pressed in just below the base of his skull. “Me too.” You whispered again. The wail you released echoed as you drove the knife forward, all you could hear over and over and over and over and then darkness. 

You sat up with a gasp, skin glistening with sweat that had your camisole sticking flush against you, heart pounding a tattoo into your ribs. There wasn’t enough air. You were looking frantically around the room. The lighting from one small window was dim at best, but you could see the bed you were lying on. There were clothes on the floor, in a pile against the wall. One small shelf. Two nightstands. A door, half open. You could barely make out the toilet and shower stall. Next to the main door, propped against the wall, was a crossbow. 

Daryl’s room. 

Had you come down here and passed out after it happened? You were so confused. Your chest ached, both from lack of air and something else. Still gasping through an onslaught of tears, you looked down beside you to Daryl’s pillow. You fell onto your side and pulled it against your chest, sobbing through uncontrolled breaths. It still smelled like him. 

The door creaked loudly as it opened. Daryl had always scowled at the thing and said he would fix it. You didn’t know who had entered but they turned on the light. You were certain they’d be distressed at finding you like this: tangled in the sheets, crying, and hugging the archer’s pillow. Surely, they’d understand. 

“The hell ya doin’ to my pillow?”

You froze. You stopped breathing, eyes wide open. Sitting up quickly, your bloodshot eyes landed on the very man you had just been mourning. He was standing in the doorway, slowly closing the thing behind him while he kept his worried gaze on you. 

“Ya alright? Ya look like shit.” He drawled. He took a slow step toward you, hands up like he was showing you he was unarmed. Your breathing had picked up again but your body didn’t seem to be getting the signals your brain was sending it. “Y/N?” He was at the foot of the bed now, leaning down with his head tilted. 

Before he could say anything else, you launched at him, arms winding around his neck. Your body collided with his so forcefully that he stumbled back with a grunt, able to catch his balance even as your legs wrapped around his waist. He didn’t say anything as you all but wailed against his neck. His arms, which had been hovering outward, found their way around you so he could gently rub your back. 

“Ya gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He walked forward and sat down with you still firmly attached to his front. You shook your head against him. “Fair ‘nough.” He shrugged and continued to rub your back until your sobs quieted to occasional hiccups. You finally pulled back, eyes swollen and red. Daryl gave you a concerned once over and then tucked some hair behind your ear. 

“I had—I had a nightmare.” You knew now it had been just that. Your sleep-addled brain had earlier left you confused and emotional, unable to pull yourself out of the terror you had endured. You were able to remember going hunting with Daryl that morning. The two of you had returned with a small doe. A headache had been threatening to build all day, so Daryl had sent you off for a nap and reminded you to take something for your head. “Alexandria was—there were walkers everywhere—Daryl, you were bit—” Your hand quickly pressed against his throat, as if you were assuring yourself there was no wound. “I watched as—I had to—” 

“M’right here.” Somehow, he made sense of your ramblings. He tried to catch your eyes but you lowered your head.  “Hey.” His finger hooked beneath your chin and guided you to look at him. “M’fine. Been helpin’ Carol for the past couple’a hours. M’good.” He released your chin only to take one of your hands. He pulled his vest aside to place your palm against the shirt he wore beneath it. His heart beat strongly against your touch, if not a little fast. “See?”

You laughed in spite of yourself. You were awake now and had already figured out that it had all been a grizzly nightmare, but this somehow brought you a new level of calm. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your mouth against his, smiling at the ‘oomph’ that escaped him. He proceeded to kiss you breathless, until you were just a boneless heap in his arms. 

“Ya good now?” He asked, pushing you back a little to see your face. 

“I’m good.” You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips along his jaw. 

“Good.” He grabbed your arm and pulled while standing, his other arm behind your thighs hoisting you the rest of the way across his shoulder. Your laughter bubbled up and out of your throat as your fists lightly pounded against his back. “Let’s getcha fed an’ then we can spend the rest’a the night lettin’ ya find out just how alive I am.”

“Oh my god, Daryl! Shut up!”

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Ifrit/Rain, mentions of Ifrit/Dewdrop/Rain

Tags: Public Masturbation, Semi-public blowjobs, possessive behavior, Cuckolding, kink denial on Dew's part but it's fine he's fine it's fine they're all fine.

Summary:

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

Ifrit doesn't remember how the night began and he's certain he won't remember how it ends but that doesn't matter right now. Right now he's got a nice buzz going, a nice grassy spot under a tree to stare at the sky and his hand wrapped around his cock because hey. Why not.

If he concentrates, he can hear the others by the bonfire, still whooping and hollering as they dance and fight and fuck. He could join them but that would mean moving more than just his hand across his dick and he's not really feeling it right now. More interested in feeling himself. Maybe one of the others will stumble across, offer their own hand or mouth or even more but for now, Ifrit's intent on a little self-love.

There's no point in saying he's not vain because he absolutely is. This physical form had been good-looking to start with and when he found out he could modify it? Just by moving around or getting inked up? Siblings were practically lining up at the gate for his, heh, personal attention in the gym as a trainer. He was completely focused and professional during classes. But once that session was up? They knew where to find him.

Wasn't just the human Clergy either. Mist liked it when he wrestled with her, winner take all. Alpha needed the occasional beatdown too and Omega was perfect for when he wanted his ankles by his ears and a fat cock pushing so far into his guts he could taste it.

Just thinking about it made a pretty pearl of cum bead up from his tip. He smears it over the ruddy head with his thumb, rolls his hips as he toys with the slit and thinks about the others.

Dew was so cute to rile up. He could get spitting mad over some teasing and all Ifrit would have to do was look down and see where all the blood went. Only made the little guy madder, but all Ifrit had to do to apologize was kiss it until it was all better and the flush on Dew’s face was from pleasure and not fury.

Been a while since they hooked up, Ifrit thinks. A little bittersweetness lies in the memories, how Dew had found himself wrapped up in a new role and a new pack while Ifrit was left behind but he doesn't hold a grudge. Just wishes they could meet up again, see if he still has a temper or he’s gotten it under control. Ifrit's seen the way that multi-ghoul needles him, nothing short of a masterpiece there. He’d love to team up with him to make Dew cry sometime and his cock throbs in agreement.

Then there's that pretty water ghoul. Rain. Ifrit's been dying to get to know him all kinds of ways. See if he gets as wet as Dew used to, before his transition. He saw the two of them earlier, before the party really got going and okay, they looked good together. Dew looked downright snappy whenever someone tried to lure Rain away and that was just adorable. Like a dragon angrily guarding the first shiny trinket of its horde.

Monogamy isn't really a thing to the ghouls. Why would it be? Still, sometimes they can get possessive over each other. Dew's definitely got the worst case of it Ifrit's ever seen over Rain. He'd curled himself tight around the water ghoul, scenting him something fierce. Ifrit could pick it up from halfway across the field. And okay, it was a little cute. New love, and all that.

He blinks. Right, that's how he came to be here pumping his dick. He got so caught up in the vision of Dew and Rain and their entangled limbs, combined with the noises of a few threesomes happening, his mind laid out a beautiful picture of himself sandwiched between the two of them. Maybe he could coach Rain on how best to rile up Dew, get his little cock as red as his face. What to say to make his brow furrow even as he huffs out a too-quick orgasm.

Speaking of…

His balls already tight, Ifrit lets himself go and sighs at the way it aches when he does. He's got better stamina but he's been here a while, whatever he drank is working its dirty little magic on him and the night is still young. Wouldn't want to wear himself out too quickly.

If he listens, he can hear Mist crying in that perfect way she does when someone's licking her cunt and someone else is doing her gills. Belial, she's cute. Maybe he just has a thing for water ghouls, but who wouldn't with all their sensitivities and tendencies to get so wet. Maybe he should get up and join them, attack her gills from the other side and really get her going, get a few fingers stuffed up her cunt, make her squirt like she always does. His hand wraps around himself again and before he knows it, he's got his tongue in Rain's gills instead, frenching him from the inside while he bounces on Ifrit's lap, claws digging into his shoulders. Feeling Rain gasp for air as he creams around Ifrit's cock, Dew’s eyes dark with fury.

“You look like you're having fun.” Comes a soft voice and Ifrit chuckles, squeezing the base of his cock.

“Just thinking about you.” He says honestly, cracking his eye to peer at Rain. He looks good tonight. Always looks good but this is the first time Ifrit's seen him in something other than his uniform, a pair of light blue shorts that skim the tops of his thighs and a sleeveless shirt with thin straps and thinner fabric. Ifrit’s eyes lazily slide up and then firmly look back down, no shame. Dew’s not here to hiss and snarl, Ifrit's going to take advantage. As much as Rain will let him.

“We’ve never been properly introduced.” Rain muses, coming closer. “I know your name though. Seen you around. Seen some footage.”

“Do you like what you see?” Ifrit asks, angling himself so Rain can get an eyeful of his body, toned muscles and cock on full display. Like before. He's not shy about his own vanity. He half expects his confidence to intimidate the quiet water ghoul but Rain…Rain laughs at him. No one's ever laughed at Ifrit before.

He doesn't know if he likes it or not.

“Dew said you were cocky.” He drops to his hands and knees, tail coiling behind him. His eyes narrow as he comes up between Ifrit's thighs and smiles with a little too much fang for comfort. “He wouldn't be happy if he knew I was with you.”

“Then why are you here anyway?” Ifrit asks bluntly, trying to regain a foothold in the strange shift that he's pretty sure just happened.

“Because sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Rain tells him with a nip to his skin that sends Ifrit reeling. No way this is happening. He can still smell Dew on Rain's clothes, smoke and anger and lust. So much lust.

"Isn't Dewdrop your, uh…" Boyfriend is the first word that comes to mind but it doesn't feel right. Too human, too exclusive. Packmate would be the best option yet it still feels too casual for whatever the hell those two have going on. He and Dew were packmates and they were never so touchy-feely as he is with Rain. He vaguely remembers Dew getting a little weird about Aether when he was first summoned but it still had nothing on how he behaved now. Rain seems to humor it and continue to do his own thing when Dew's not looking but he still doesn't want to get on the little guy's bad side and ruin any possibilities.

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

His fingers tickle dangerously high and Ifrit squirms against the tree.

"Well," Rain continues thoughtfully, casually wrapping his hand around the base of Ifrit's cock, hiding the sudden flare of his tattoos as he begins to stroke him slowly. "My Dewdrop said he didn't want you touching me. So don't touch me. And we'll be alright."

Ifrit feels far from alright at this moment in time, but then Rain's bowing to dab his soft tongue to the underside and he can't find it in him to argue. The first gentle lap hits him harder than a punch, the second, somehow even worse. Rain entertains himself with Ifrit's cock like he's got all the time in the world; sliding the foreskin to and fro over the ridge, mouthing at the tip and going even lower to fit both of Ifrit's balls in his mouth. Going back up and rubbing his cheek against the head to smear the beads of pre cum all across his face.

"These are pretty," he remarks, so casual as if he was admiring a garden or a display of jewelry. Ifrit doesn't even know what he's talking about at first until Rain starts tracing the outline of his tattoos with his tongue. He got them done months ago, glyphs written and designed to further pleasure a partner. Maybe one or two thrown in so no matter how he thrusts, he always hits the best spots.

"Enchanted?" He asks, looking at Ifrit with his dark eyes, pressing a kiss to the shaft. Ifrit nods stupidly, fingers curling in the grass to keep from grabbing Rain's head and pushing him down again, make that pretty mouth drool with how Ifrit would fuck it.

"Thought so." Rain says with satisfaction. "I like the way it tingles when I touch them. Must feel good to get fucked by a cock like this."

"I've had no complaints." Ifrit gasps as Rain lays his tongue flat to slap his cock against it. He's such an active participant in his past flings that it feels off-putting to just sit here and let himself be…be toyed with. He doesn't even think Rain's blinked once since settling between his thighs and it's unnerving.

"When Dew calms down a bit," Rain starts, moving Ifrit's cock this way and that to admire all of his tattoos as they glow. "With this whole possessive thing. Maybe I'll ride it."

"Fuh-" Ifrit hisses as a large blurt of precum oozes out of his slit. Rain drinks it down then goes even further, opening his jaw for Ifrit to easily slide in without grazing any fangs. "Fucking, oh, oh that's good."

He's so pent up from touching himself earlier, thinking he wouldn't have to worry about stamina. Now he's got Rain making the sweetest, choked noises as he fucks his face on Ifrit's dick, nice and sloppy, getting his saliva all over Ifrit's balls while he gags on it. Ifrit's tearing up handfuls of grass as Rain brutalizes his own throat, moaning and trying to stifle his moans at the same time, lest Dewdrop catch them in the act and get royally pissed off.

Rain would probably just kiss him with a mouth of Ifrit's cum, his brain offers up and it's over.

He cums with a pained noise, faster than he'd like to but again he’d been working himself up decently beforehand and if he knew Rain was going to go to town on him, he would have saved his stamina. He tries to warn Rain with a stuttered exclamation as his body locks up. Rain just pulls away to tug at his cock and Ifrit starts praying Rain will put it back in his mouth and swallow but he keeps pumping his hand at first. Aims so the first spray lands thick over his eyelashes, the second glossing his full lips, smearing the head around before kissing it and pushing down to take Ifrit in, letting him finish directly down his tight throat.

“Fuck!” Ifrit shouts, hitting his head on the tree when he throws it back, trying to fuck Rain's mouth for the last few flexes of his cock. Rain keeps still, lets his jaw hang open as Ifrit pushes his cum back in as it drools out, relishing the slide of Rain’s tongue on his skin even as he slips into oversensitivity and the friction is too much. Rain lets him go with a final kiss and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Ifrit's cum is dabbed off Rain’s eyelashes with his ring finger, also licked clean. There's something almost feline about him as he does it, looking so beautiful in the fractured moonlight coming down from between the branches.

"Can I," Ifrit starts. "Do you…anything?" He sounds stupid to himself and can't even imagine what he sounds like to Rain, staring down at him with a passive, unreadable expression.

"I already got mine." He says carelessly, flopping back and spreading his thighs to show off the wet fabric of his tight little shorts clinging to his cunt. Ifrit swallows thickly, eyes riveted on the way he drags his fingers softly over it. He can see the way they bump over the shape of his swollen clit and Ifrit moans right along with Rain when he rubs the tip of it.

"Swiss and Aether." He tells Ifrit, a subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. He raises a leg and uses the motion to flip himself over, lifting his tail to reveal another damp spot just underneath that's slowly drooled out enough cum to combine with the first one.

"Mountain."

Ifrit practically convulses with the longing stab of arousal the sight gives him, wheezing as Rain wiggles his shorts down to give him a better look at his well-used holes, swaying his hips and letting them gape for the briefest of moments, before shimmying his clothes back on and doing something elegant and twisted that results in him standing up, hand on his hip. Looking down at Ifrit with an amused little smile.

“Dew always forgives me if I confess everything. Helps to give him a demonstration too…So he knows what he missed out on.” It's said in such a blaisè tone for all the heavy implications in the words, Ifrit can't quite believe what he just heard. Just stares open mouthed at Rain with his soft cock wilting against his thigh and his ears ringing. Rain covers his laugh and leans close. Lets Ifrit get a nice view of his tits down his top as he takes two fingers, the two he'd touched himself with, and pets Ifrit's tongue. Before he knows what he's doing, he closes his lips around them and sucks, shivering at the faint taste of salt and sex.

“You're cute.” Rain says. “I hope I get to play with you again.”

He tries to say something but what exactly he wants to say he doesn't know. It just comes out as a stupid little uh-huh around Rain’s fingers as he withdraws them. He chases them but then Rain’s giving him a little head shake, wiping them on Ifrit's cheek and he falls back, defeated and stunned. Rain giving him that mischievous little smile the whole time.

“See you ‘round.” He says, tapping those same two fingers against his eyebrows, giving Ifrit a lazy salute. The fingers go from his temple to his mouth, where Rain spreads them and licks lasciviously in between with a wicked little wink before turning and walking off, leaving Ifrit to stare at the way his hips swing in well fucked and insouciant little half circles. How he's not limping is beyond anyone's guess.

“Damn…” he wheezes, head hitting the trunk. “Just… damn.”

What a night.

[muddyorbsblr]

talking in your sleep pt 2

Summary: You wake up 14 hours after your Melatonin-aided much needed sleep and face the aftermath of your confession to Loki. A confession you believed was a dream.

Pairing: Loki x Reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: implied smut, Loki being hot (not sure if this needs to be a warning but it's there), mild angst (?) [let me know if i missed anything!]

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that it was dark outside. You'd slept the day away. Maybe even more. But you felt rested, fully energized, ready to go back to your office and face the behemoth that was the security system of the Ten Rings.

Just as you were about to stand up and head back to said office, you vaguely remembered Tony's words about not wanting to see you in your office for the next seven days. That was when you noticed the next thing. This wasn't your home. You didn't even remember leaving the tower. But you did remember bits and pieces of a conversation between Loki and Natasha arguing about whose room you would sleep in.

"FRIDAY?" you called out into the dark empty space. 

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N?" the AI answered. 

"Could you tell me what day it is, how long I've been asleep, and then turn the lights on at 50%?" 

"Certainly, Miss Y/L/N. It's Friday, the 16th, and you were asleep for fourteen hours. Turning on lights at 50% brightness." As light slowly filled the room, you took note of your surroundings. The neatly organized shelves, the helmets hung on the walls, the emerald green bedspread that was an almost exact match to the clothes you were wearing.

You groaned. "I'm in Loki's room?" 

"Indeed you are, Miss Y/L/N. And I've been instructed by Mister Laufeyson to tell you to meet him at the kitchen when you wake. Will that be all?" 

"Yes, FRIDAY, that will be all. Thank you." You took a look around the room, trying to remember anything more than fleeting moments of the last two hours before you fell asleep, to no avail. So you decided instead to follow FRIDAY's words and make your way down to the kitchen to meet Loki. 

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, you noticed that the tower was strangely quiet for a Friday night. "Lo?" you called out into the quiet space, your voice echoing from the walls.

"In here, darling," you heard him call out. When you walked into the kitchen, you had to catch yourself at the sight of him wearing only a pair of green silk pajama bottoms, a match to the sheets upstairs. You willed your eyes not to roam, not to appreciate his literal godly form, to keep them trained on his face. Big mistake, because once he turned around and his eyes met yours, a devilish smirk crossed his features and his eyes roamed your form. "You are quite the beguiling sight in my colors, dear Y/N. I may have to tell Romanoff she's not getting those clothes back." 

"You plan on keeping them for yourself?" you quipped, trying your best not to let his gaze affect you. But then he set the plate in his hand down and made his way over to you, crowding your space. 

"You have your wits about you again. That's good," he said in a low almost whisper. "You should tell her you're keeping this for yourself." His tone was almost authoritative, as if he wasn't giving you room to protest. You suddenly get flashbacks of him declaring that you would stay with him while you slept in that same tone. Except this time there was a softness to his words, like he was trying to wrap you in them, in his presence. 

It's like he's seducing me, you thought to yourself. But there's no way; you're being delusional, Y/N. Of course you were. He didn't see you that way. He never would. 

You struggled to compose yourself. "I thought you had a thing against people wearing your colors." 

You felt your heartbeat at your fingertips as you watched him raise his hand and slid his finger under and along the strap of your camisole. "Perhaps under the correct circumstances, I would be willing to share." And then he looked at you through his lashes and you could've sworn your heart stopped beating altogether. 

The way you saw it, there were two options. Keep the flirty banter going and see how far he'd take it, or stop it where it stood and play it off like a joke between friends. You didn't trust yourself not to get hurt with the first choice. "Pssh," you chuckled. "You know for a second there, Lo, I could've sworn you were flirting." And you gently nudged his hand away and sat down on a stool  by the kitchen island. "Where is everybody, by the way?" 

"They went out to one of Stark's many clubs to intoxicate themselves on inferior ale and gyrate all over strangers they will cease to remember by morning. Maximoff left that out for you and told me to make sure you ate it once you woke up." 

"Why didn't you go with them?" 

"Nothing in that image fit my rendition of an enjoyable time, darling. And there are far more important things to attend to." 

"Such as?"

"Ensuring that someone I care for is taken care of after she endangered herself the way she did this week." There was no mischief in his eyes as he said the words, as he stared into yours, like he was trying to see into your soul. "Y/N, swear to me you'll never be that reckless again. When you nearly fell earlier…" He seemed to fight back his sentiment.

You placed your hand over his. "I promise," you said softly. "I just forgot--"

"You cannot afford to forget these things, Y/N." His voice sounded almost desperate. Then he took a deep breath. "I don't want to live in a world bereft of you a day sooner than I absolutely have to. I do not wish to even contemplate that world, do you understand?" You had no words, no witty comebacks, no jokes, nothing. All you could do was nod as he held on to your free hand, returning your nod as he raised your joint hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He then let go and motioned to the plate of pasta in front of you. "Eat, darling." 

You did your best to focus the next several minutes solely on finishing your plate, rather than allowing your mind to wander in the direction of the smoldering shirtless god standing by the counter pretending to leaf through a book, when in reality he was watching your every movement. 

Once you were finally done he ceased his charade and walked over to place himself behind your seat. You visibly stilled as you felt him reach from behind you to slide your plate over to the side, and then proceeding to lean over and rest his chin on your shoulder. 

"What’s up?" You did your best to sound casual. He wasn’t ever like this with you. Whatever this was. So to have him behaving like this now? It was jarring, that was for sure. 

"Did you know you talked in your sleep, dear Y/N?" Your breathing hitched as you both felt and heard his words, what with him having his lips so dangerously close to your ear. The effects he and that absolutely sinful voice of his had on you felt like they were magnified. Tenfold. 

You took a deep, slow breath, trying to find your footing, finally taking notice of how he’d placed his hands on the marble top, effectively trapping you between him and the kitchen counter. You let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Nice try, Lo. I know I don't." You made a motion as if to step off your seat, but his next motions kept you right where you were, as you watched his his forearms flex ever so slightly and he stepped even closer to you and you felt his chest pressing against your upper back. It was clear the message he was trying to send across to you. Don't move an inch.

"That may be so," he started speaking again. He let go of the island and proceeded to sweep your hair over your shoulder with one hand and wrapped his other arm loosely around your waist. "But you say the most interesting things when you're under the influence of that medication, in the moments before you succumbed to its full effects." 

Your blood ran cold as you got flashbacks of the most wonderful dream. You were laying in bed, in Loki's arms, as he asked you if you were his. And you told him you were and that you were defenseless against his perfection, that you fell in love with him. Such a damn shame you don't feel the same way. 

"That wasn't a dream," you whispered, barely even able to breathe properly as you felt his nose tracing along the length of your exposed neck. "You know." You were doing your best to choke back the sob that threatened to escape you. 

"I do." 

"I'm sorry." Your voice was barely audible. Any louder and you were sure to be a sobbing mess in his arms.

"What ever for, darling?" His words came out so softly, so lovingly, with just a hint of longing. But surely you were imagining it. Right? "You've done nothing wrong."

"I don't know," you whispered, on the verge of hysterics. "I just feel like I should be apologizing for something." And then another flashback. A dream – no, a memory – of you pressing your lips to his neck right before everything went black. Your breath hitched. "I'm sorry I kissed you."

"Don't be, my precious girl," he crooned. "I quite enjoyed it. The feel of your soft, luscious lips on my skin. It was as if the universe stopped; I wanted it to. I wanted that fleeting moment to go on for eternity." What? "The only thing I did not enjoy was you succumbing to slumber before I could return the favor." Oh, you were sure you stopped breathing now. Was he really saying what you think he was saying? "No matter. You're awake now."

You went near frigid in his hold as you felt him press his lips softly to your skin, and he let out an audible exhale that felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. If you thought he would stop at one, you were adorably naive.

He proceeded to press kiss after kiss to your skin, each getting less chaste, more frantic. You began to question if you were still dreaming, but feeling the edges of the stool you gripped so tightly in your hands digging into your palms told you you most definitely were not. This was real. This was all real. 

"Relax, darling," he whispered into your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You could've sworn your heart stopped beating the moment you felt his tongue flick against your skin. His hold on you tightened so slightly as he moved his lips to your jaw. "You have nothing to fear. You've done nothing wrong, my little mortal." His lips moved closer to yours, stopping at the corner of your mouth and pressing a kiss there. "All you've done is the impossible." 

"Which is?" you breathed out, surprised there was any air in your lungs at all after receiving this kind of attention from him. You never thought he would; you often forbid yourself to even dream it. You wouldn't dare, because even in your dreams where you were undoubtedly the best version of yourself, even there you never saw yourself worthy of him.

"I won't tell you until you relax, dear Y/N," he teased, his lips moving against your skin, so tantalizingly close to your lips. "Let go of the breath you're holding and lean in to me." 

"I'll fall." 

"You won't. I'm here. You're safe with me. You always have been." That did you in and finally you slowly felt yourself loosening your grip on your seat, exhaling and doing exactly what he asked, leaning against him. "Good girl," he murmured, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, gently tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. "All you've done is love me. As I've loved you." 

Before you could respond, he captured your lips with his in a kiss that was heated but held such restraint, as if he was still testing the waters with you. Your heart felt like it was soaring as you started to wrap your head around what was happening, as if a fire was ignited in you that warmed your entire body. 

When he pulled away from you, you immediately felt the loss, craving his kiss once more. If you'd thought you were intoxicated by being in his presence before, you were downright drunk on it now. Addicted, even. "Oh, my love. My darling Y/N. It seems one taste of you and I've become insatiable." The feeling's mutual, you thought to yourself, unable to form words. There was that word again. Love. He turned you around in your seat so that you were facing him. "Look at me." You tilted your head up to look into his steel blue eyes, your breath hitching as you saw all the emotions swimming in them. "I want you to say it. Say the words that made me whole. I want to gaze upon your ethereal perfection as you say it. Please, Y/N." 

You took a breath, and the words spilled out of you, as if you couldn't say them fast enough. "I love you, Loki Laufeyson." 

You watched as the brightest smile lit up his face before he leaned in to kiss you again. "I love you, Y/N Y/L/N." He lifted you into his arms and you wrapped your legs around him, as if by instinct. Like you were meant to do this. Made for it, even. "The only damned shame is that we failed to tell each other sooner. I could have had you so much sooner." 

He began to walk you back up the stairs when the elevator doors dinged and opened to reveal Tony and the rest of the team coming back. He took one look at the two of you and blurted out, "I don't even wanna know. I'll see you the week after next, Y/N." 

"Keep the clothes, Y/N," Natasha hollered. "Suits you better anyway." 

You couldn't be bothered to respond, not like you could anyway. Your lips were otherwise occupied. So you gave a half-hearted thumbs up and waved goodbye at the team watching what was transpiring from the common area. 

"Well it's about goddamn time," you heard Wilson boom from the doors. "So who had money on tonight?" 

"I did," you heard Wanda answer him. "I told you all to never bet against me, but none of you listened. And now I'm rich. Should I silence Loki's room?" You didn't hear the response. You didn't care.

You faintly heard a door closing before you felt your back hit the silken sheets of his bed. "I must remember to thank Stark for giving you a week away from your duties," he murmured as he pressed kisses to your jaw and neck. "We have an abundance of lost time to make up for, my love." 

"Everyone knows exactly what's happening right now," you gasped out, your filter going completely out the window once again.

He pressed a kiss above your heart before looking up at you through his lashes. "Does that bother you? That they know?" 

A devious smirk graced your lips as you coyly shook your head. "Not really, no." 

A/N: Does this still count as fluff? I don't know anymore lol

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @redbluekjw @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @ficitve-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446

[caffiend-queen]

The Auction

Chapter Two: Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You...

In which our three grooms enjoy their version of the wedding night.

18+ as always, excessive profanity and crude sexual references, references to unwilling drug use.

Chapter One here

Just keep looking over their heads. This isn’t about you. This is about Ben. 

 Never in her life had Rowan’s posture been so perfect, finishing-school level, standing with her shoulders back and head high to keep the flimsy straps of the jade green camisole from slipping off. It was bad enough that the delicate drape of the silk was barely covering her breasts, but it got worse when she remembered they’d forced her to put on a matching pair of undies that pretty much showcased her bare ass.

“And now, Number Fourteen, let your hair down?”

While her fingers were numbly removing the pins from her artfully messy chignon, she was trying to remember something. The Old Americas had something… where the girls walked around in bathing suits and did strange things like spinning a piece of metal or singing bad songs. Or singing badly. Something like that. The winner got a crown. Were these rich, old weirdos trying to recreate that? Did she get a crown in the end?

No, her spiteful inner voice reminded her, you get a ring that shackles you to one of these assholes.

“Do a little twirl, dear.”

Shifting to the balls of her feet, Rowan did, feeling lower at that moment than she had during all the humiliating and dehumanizing examinations, poking and prodding, squeezed into expensive underwear and flimsy dresses- just to take it all back off and spin like some White Trash Cinderella. She knew what these heartless, rich fucks were thinking, they were laughing at her and-

Ben’s face. “This is going to be a perfect day, Rowan! You know I know this stuff.” His smile. 

Head up, she finished the spin and let her hair settle around her shoulders. They’re scared, and they need me, she thought, they need me, so make them pay for it. She smiled, a full, demure smile with all kinds of promises within it as the auctioneer began the bidding.

One paddle went up. “Five million credits! Very good, thank you, sir, do I hear-

Six million credits, excellent! Do I hear six and a half for Number-

Ten million credits, quite impressive indeed! Do I hear-”

And Rowan smiled and smiled, eyes sparkling with a slight, shy tilt to one shoulder. Oh, I am going to cost you, fuckers. You’re going to pay so much more than just this.

There was a moment of silence, and it was enough to drag her back to the present.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new record bid here at the House of Toussaint. Sixty million New American credits for Number Fourteen!”

Despite herself, Rowan’s eyes were comically huge. Sixty million credits? Oh, my god, she thought feverishly, he must be horrible. A troll so disgusting that even his money couldn’t get a suitable candidate without buying me. Oh, god…

“Number Fourteen, you are dismissed. Will our successful bidders come to the reception room, please? We will handle the transaction and you may meet your new spouse.”

 Her adrenaline buzz wore off by the time Rowan made it backstage, clutching the heavy beaded gown to her front. She would be the last to enter the reception room after being briskly divested of the gown and put into a cream-colored dress with sheer sleeves and a swirly skirt. In any other situation, she would have loved it. 

Zipping up the back, Amber looked behind her in the mirror, eyeing her critically. “This fits perfectly,” she handed her a lighter pink lipstick. “This will make your lips pop,” she advised, and Rowan burst out laughing. 

“My popping lips,” she leaned against the mirror, still laughing but hearing that edge of hysteria. “Yes, that’s definitely the most important thing in this moment. My popping lips.”

Amber was staring at her, a hairbrush lifted to smooth out her hair. “You’re not going to be one of those girls who has a meltdown after the auction and we have to drug you, right? That’s worse because you can’t remember anything for the next like, twenty-four, forty-eight hours or so, but you look and act calm and everything.”

Rowan’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. They drug the girls and they seem… okay?” 

The other woman looked her over, lips pursed. They were alone in the dressing room, aside from the bored security guard. “You’ll walk and talk like a perfect little lady. Until you come out of it. Then you have no idea what happened to you.” She moved behind Rowan, running the brush through her hair, checking the curls. “Some of the girls like that. They don’t want to know. But they have to wake up sometime.”

“How…” Rowan wet her lips, “how can you live with this? Some of these girls got snatched off the street, just walking home from work or something. And they’re making them a…?”

The stylist’s eyes narrowed over her shoulder. “You think you’re better than me? More moral or something?”

“I wouldn’t drug girls into forgetting the last two days of their lives!”

Amber snorted, brushing her hair quite a bit harder than necessary. “You’re about to go sleep on a pile of money. I’m going home to my one-bedroom apartment, three kids and my mom. Forgive me if I don’t cry for you.”

Rubbing her forehead, Rowan tried to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I’m not better than you. But you get a choice.”

Turning her and pushing her toward the door, Amber called for the security guard. “This one’s ready to go.” Looking back at her, the stylist shook her head. “Choices. Then choose to get everything you can out of the next five years. You’re going to need it.”

 The reception room was luxurious and almost offensively over the top in catering to everything a Rich Asshole would require for their comfort. Deep, comfortable chairs in butter-soft leather. An extensive bar with a shimmering mahogany surface and several attentive “mixologists.” The aged Persian rugs covered the dark wood floor and expensive lamps cast an amber glow. 

Entering the room, Rowan anxiously scanned for Glenna and Mina.

Glenna was standing pale and silent next to the epitome of Rich Asshole, Rowan noted. Excessively handsome and wearing an expensive suit that was clearly custom-made for him and treated like rags. He ashed his cigar casually on the floor, some of the soot drifting on to his beautifully tailored pants. A signet ring glinted on his pinky finger - god, that’s so cliche - Rowan snarled silently. He was laughing loudly at something another bidder was saying, the other man’s greedy eyes focused on poor Glenna.

Mina… Mina honey, where are you? Rowan thought, praying she’d been sold to someone nice. Someone capable of kindness. Her heart sank to see her friend held in the competent grasp of a beautiful, older man. Long, black hair shot with silver threads, swept back over a truly spectacular Tom Ford tux, something she recognized only because she’d seen an ad for it in one of the magazines in the dressing room. His cold, composed face was pale and perfectly boned, and his long fingers were gripping Mina’s elbow as he bent to whisper in her ear. She smiled weakly and nodded.

“Rowan? Over here, dear.”

Oh, good, she thought bitterly, Mr. Toussaint’s back to being all sweet again. Two-faced son of a bitch. Pasting on a pleasant expression, she slowly approached him. Even in the golden glow of the lighting, the sharp, ocean blue gaze of the man with him pierced through her. He was tall, this one. Well over six feet and wide, massively wide shoulders and thick, muscled thighs. His brown hair was carelessly cropped short but neatly styled. But those eyes! 

“Number Fourteen, this is your new husband. James Buchanan Barnes, may I introduce you to Rowan Wallace?”

Barnes stepped away from the gloating Frenchman and strode toward her, and she instinctively backed up a step before catching herself. His navy blue jacket and crisp white shirt were elegant, simple. No fuss. When his hands came up to cup her cheeks, Rowan sucked in a huge lungful of air. They were gigantic. His massive hands covering most of her face and fingers sliding into her hair. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones and she was startled to feel that they were calloused. Rich Assholes should have soft hands.

“Hello Rowan,” his voice was deceptively mild for such a terrifying-looking man. “I am so happy to make your acquaintance.”

“I- um, I am pleased to make mine,” she stumbled, “I mean, yours! I’m pleased to make yours. Acquaintance. Your acquaintance.” Her eyes closed briefly. She just could not keep from sabotaging herself.

His laugh made her eyes open again, a hearty laugh, but not unkind. His white, even teeth flashed and Rowan wondered if they’d been lasered that brilliant shade. And so even…

“Mr. Barnes paid sixty million credits for you, Number Fourteen.” Mr. Toussaint’s voice intruded like a bucket of cold water. “It is quite the compliment. You should thank him.” 

Interestingly, she didn’t think Barnes looked that pleased with the pimp, uh, procurers' boast, but… “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” Rowan knew her tone was robotic but it was the best she could manage in the middle of her humiliation and new anxiety. Why did this lunatic shell out that kind of money for her? He could have bought six perfect specimens to have his babies with that kind of currency.

“It’s not necessary.” He cut off her attempt at gratitude.

Mr. Toussaint recovered quickly. “Of course, Mr. Barnes. Well then…” He clapped his hands together, looking genial as he addressed the room. “I know that you will all most likely wish to have some sort of celebration that fits your lifestyle and personal tastes, but it is required, of course, that you are legally married this night. Let’s begin with Number One and Mr. Ransom Drysdale?” 

Of course, Rowan thought.  All the girls - oh, and there were the two men who were sold in the auction as well - they were all in some shade of white and there were even tiny, tight bouquets of blush roses thrust into their hands as they approached the next room, a small, tasteful arch covered in ivy and flowers, candlelight and - was that the mayor? - waiting at the end, hands folded.

Glenna slowly took the arm offered by her new owner and smiled up at him weakly. Drysdale wasn’t even looking at her, clearly intent on Getting Business Done. Pulling her into the room, he spun her to face him. “Get a move on. I have plans for my girl.”

Mayor Nakaya forced a smile. “Of course. “We’re here today to witness the union of…”

When she walked out, confetti and flower petals being thrown by indifferent employees, Rowan grabbed her in a hug. “Here’s my email,” she whispered, “no one else has it, so you can contact me, all right? Please let me know you’re okay,” 

Taking the slip of paper and hiding it in her bouquet, the redhead nodded. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Your guy seems nice.”

Looking at Ransom as the crass son of a bitch was laughing at a dirty joke, Rowan tried to smile, “I’ll bet you can handle this guy, huh?”

Glenna’s smile didn’t look all that confident, but she nodded and hugged her again, reluctantly being pulled away by an eager Drysdale.

Barnes was patient, waiting by her side and occasionally shaking hands with someone, offering a polite word of congratulations. He didn’t seem upset that she was whispering to some of the girls. When Mina was drawn into the room by the scary, tall man with the beautiful face, Rowan quietly asked, “Do you know that guy?”

He looked down at her, “Loki Laufeyson? Yes. He’s been in power for decades.”

Brow furrowed, she looked up, forgetting to be intimidated. “Decades? He’s not that old, is he?”

Chuckling, he drew closer. God, he smells good… she thought, a little dazed. He smelled warm. He smelled like how warm would feel and after at least eight years of below zero temperatures every winter thanks to climate change, it smelled so good to her.

“Laufeyson is at least eighty-five years old.”

“What?” Rowan’s gasp was loud enough that several people turned to look at them. “What do you mean? He looks like he’s your age.”

Barnes chuckled, a low, rich sound that traveled down her spine in an uncomfortable, arousing way. “How old do you think I am?”

“Um…” she eyed him. Plastic surgery and new augmentations meant that no one who was wealthy was consigned to being unattractive, but oddly, unrealistically youthful? “I guess… thirty-ish?”

“Thirty-six,” he answered, watching one of the men who’d been auctioned off receive a lascivious kiss from the woman who now owned him. “But he’s the founder of Laufeyson Genetics. He’s participated in his own research and it’s definitely made him the company’s best advertising.”

“Oh…” watching the pale and perfect man repeat the vows holding Mina’s darker hands in his, she shook her head. “Is he… he looks scary. Is he capable of kindness, do you think?”

She knew his gaze was fixed on her, but she couldn’t stop watching Mina’s vows. Barnes’ hand slid slowly around her waist, smoothing against her lower back. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin silk of the dress, making her sway a little. “He’s brilliant. That’s all I know. But… look at his expression.”

Switching from staring anxiously at Mina to looking at her new husband, Rowan could see that Laufeyson’s attention was solely on her, his pale blue eyes gazing into hers. He didn’t look greedy, like some of the Rich Assholes. Not like Drysdale. He was calm, holding Mina’s hands in his. “Okay,” she whispered, “that looks good. Promising.”

That was the last comforting moment for a while. She watched as the Rich Assholes took her fellow brides to the dais, some pulling them along eagerly, some more or less ignoring the girls, impatient for the production to be done with. One or two of them were greedily groping their auctioned mates, right there in the room and she wanted to smash one of the huge, expensive flower arrangements over their heads. None of the House of Toussaint employees were interfering, even when one of the brides started crying. Rowan felt a flush of heat rush through her skin, turning her face red, and then pale. Her fists opened and closed, she wanted to fucking kill these bastards, these soulless pieces of-

“Marchant.” Barnes was speaking to the groper, his tone ice cold. He raised one eyebrow as the other Rich Asshole huffed and puffed, but he pulled his hand away from the girl’s ass. Rowan tried to smile at her, but her gaze stayed stubbornly down.

And then it was her turn.

Freezing at the doorway, Rowan stared at the mayor, already not so subtly checking his watch. They were the last couple to be married and the reception room behind them was quiet. Her chest heaved, trying to drag in some oxygen. Even after a life of being one of the have-nots, it never occurred to her that someone could actually just buy her. Own her. Barnes’ hand on the small of her back felt like a lead weight.

“It’s time.”

She actually jumped when he spoke in her ear. “Of course. Okay.” He gave her a gentle push and her stiff legs carried her the rest of the way there.

The mayor straightened, giving them a false smile and opening his book. “We’re here today to witness the union of James Buchanan Barnes and…” he checked the card with her information. “And Rowan Wallace in marriage. Today, you will begin a new life together. The promises you make should not be taken lightly. A marriage is more than a ceremony - it is a lasting and lifelong commitment.”

Rowan swallowed convulsively, she felt like she was choking. These heartless assholes, using the traditional words as a mockery. This would be so much more honest if they conducted the financial transaction in front of her and stamped the wedding certificate with a big red SOLD mark.

Oh, he was still talking.

“...Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Rowan Wallace to be your spouse and live together as partners, with adherence to the moral values and standards of the New Americas?”

“I do.” Deep and confident, his voice rang out and she looked at him for a moment. So handsome, so certain.

“And do you, Rowan Wallace, take James Buchanan Barnes to be your spouse and live together as partners, with adherence to the moral values and standards of the New Americas?”

“I…” she licked her lips, trying to shape the word. Two letters. Just get them out and get this sham over with. “...do.”

“Then by the virtue of the authority vested in me by the city of New Manhattan, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Barnes turned her to face him, easily, like a puppet, putting those giant hands back on her face and pulling her in for a long kiss. 

What the- oh, my god… Rowan sagged against the broad chest of her new husband. His full, sensual mouth pressed against hers lingeringly, sliding his tongue lightly along the seam of her embarrassingly slack lips. This apparently went on for a while because eventually, Mayor Nakaya loudly cleared his throat.

“Ah… Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. Good night.”

 Looking out at the lights of New Manhattan from the tinted windows of Barnes’ Range Rover was proof that rich people saw things differently, Rowan observed cynically. They were driving on the pretty streets, like Madison Avenue where all the luxury goods that were decried by the government as “ostentatious” and “unfit for the New American morality” were still brazenly displayed. No stinking grates in the sidewalks or the homeless who lined the corner of her old apartment building. No, there were beautifully lit cafes and little shops, brilliantly flowered baskets hanging from iron street lights.

The man she was suddenly married to was on the phone, deep into some coded sort of conversation because none of it made sense. He didn’t seem particularly happy about it, mentioning once, “I’m supposed to be heading out on our honeymoon, you prick!”

Barnes abruptly ended the conversation as they pulled up outside a stately brownstone, bristling with security cameras and steel sheathing on access points into the building. The wealthy all had reinforced homes now, designed to repel anything but a nuclear bomb. She’d cleaned these kinds of homes with a crew out of New Brooklyn until she slapped one owner’s creepy son for grabbing her ass. Rowan knew getting out of one of these luxurious bunkers was almost as hard as getting into one.

When the driver opened the door, Barnes held out his hand with a smile. “Shall we?” 

Rowan had never felt more like a poverty-stricken urchin when she stood in the foyer of his home. The entryway soared up two stories, with huge, leaded glass windows letting in the warm glow from the street lights. The gleaming mahogany floors flowed down the wide hall, the dove-grey walls lined with huge canvas paintings and sketches, most of the city skyline.

“Toussaint’s people already sent over your luggage.” Barnes was looking at his phone again, but he glanced up to smile at her. “Are you hungry?”

Am I hungry? Rowan couldn’t keep down anything that day, so hell, yeah she was hungry. Also, will it keep him from throwing me on the nearest horizontal surface and fucking me?

“Um… I am if it’s not too much trouble. We were pretty busy today.”

He shrugged off his blue jacket, making the muscles under that starched white shirt ripple. “I had the cook make something for us, come into the kitchen.”

If she hadn’t been so tired, she would have whimpered at the sight of the testament to Cooking Porn that was the heart of his home. A huge farmhouse sink. Vintage cabinetry that rose to the top of the high ceiling, gleaming granite countertops and a restaurant-grade Viking stove. Rowan didn’t know they even made those anymore. The tall paned windows looked out on the back garden, strung with fairy lights.

“So… the lights in the backyard? They seem a little whimsical for you.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment, amused at her sudden burst of sass. “I think you’re a little less careful when you’re tired or hungry, aren’t you, A mhuirnín?”

“What language is that?” Rowan avoided his question.

He was putting trays on the counter, there were cured meats and cheese, carefully arranged kiwis and mangos, luxurious purple grapes, and slices of bread and crackers. She stared, forgetting her question. She hadn’t seen a spread of food like this since her job as a server for a catering company. She’d certainly never eaten anything this decadent.

“It’s Irish Gaelic.” 

“Hmm?” She looked up, blinking before remembering what she’d asked. “What does it mean?”

Barnes chuckled, showing off those even white teeth again. “Look it up. Would you like some wine?” He was already opening a bottle of red, and Rowan shifted uneasily. The feral part of her wanted to drink the entire bottle, just block out what was about to happen to her. Her sane part won. Never show weakness.

“Just water, please.”

 They ate at the kitchen table, a long slab of wood next to more windows facing the back garden.

“Tell me something about you,” he said, leaning back and swirling his wine glass. Rowan watched his long fingers handle the delicate crystal. His right hand, his left was still in the leather glove he’d worn since leaving the auction.

“I think based on what I heard while walking down that stage, that you know more about me than I did.” A flare of sheer fury hit her, remembering the humiliation of the moment. Looking up, she watched the lines of his face harden. Was this his Rich Asshole face? “I had a scholarship to New Columbia University.”

Barnes took another sip of wine. “What was your scholarship for?”

“It was a music scholarship. Piano.”

His mouth curled up on one side again, that half grin. “Just piano?”

“Um. And violin. Cello. Flute.”

Rowan looked up to see his brow rise. 

“And the clarinet and…”

He leaned on the table closer to her. Oh, that warm smell again…

“What else?” Barnes asked, tilting his head to catch her gaze.

“Oh, it’s so silly,” she shrugged uncomfortably, “even my music professors thought it was ridiculous for a tenement girl to play the harp.”

“The harp,” he muses. “I’ll get one. You’ll have to play for me.”

“It was a long time ago,” she shook her head. “Don’t waste your money.”

“Maybe you should get used to spending it,” he retorted, still smiling. “You do have sixty million dollars waiting for you in a highly secured banking system.”

Her jaw dropped. “I… it didn’t even…”

Barnes straightened up, taking the wine bottle and pouring himself another glass. “You won’t need it now, of course. I’ve already opened an account for you to use for whatever you’d like.”

Sucking in a deep breath of air, Rowan was suddenly furious. Fuck these rich, arrogant assholes and their casual attitude about buying stupid shit like a harp when I couldn’t even heat the apartment to keep Ben warm in the winter! Just throwing out money like it was nothing, and-

“Ben!”

His brow furrowed. “Ben? Oh, your-”

Rowan climbed up on the table in her desperation, crawling over to him and grabbing him by his shirt sleeve. “Ben! They took him away - social services - they have him and I need to get him out right away! He’s got to be terrified, please, I-”

“Wait.” Barnes was still calm. But there was a hard edge that shut her up immediately. “I will make a call right now. I’ll send someone to where they’re holding him immediately. All right?”

She meant to thank him but what came out was a convulsive sob. Putting the back of her hand over her mouth, she nodded furiously, like maybe he’d understand her gratitude if she nodded hard enough. Squeezing his arm, Rowan finally managed to gulp out, “Thank you. Thank you so much-” 

His arm. It was hard. Not muscle, despite his powerful build. She’d been squeezing his left arm and it was solid, like armor. Barnes noticed and pulled away, his handsome face expressionless. “Finish your food. I have a couple of calls to make.”

At the mansion of Loki Laufeyson…

“Remove your clothes.”

The new Mrs. Laufeyson was staring at me, those warm brown eyes wide and looking terrified. I sighed, putting my hands in my pockets and strolling around her in a circle. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling. I simply want to enjoy how beautiful you are right now.”

“Yes, Sir.” Mina’s voice was so faint. If my hearing hadn’t been enhanced fifty years ago, I couldn’t have caught the words.

Seating myself in a comfortable wingchair by the fire, I crossed one leg over the other, taking a sip of Macallan Fine and Rare - it was sixty years old, still far younger than I was. Her pretty face was turned away, but I enjoyed her profile, beautifully boned, high cheekbones, and those luscious, full lips.

“Turn toward me, darling.” She immediately moved to face me, an obedience I enjoyed, but I had a strong sense that my lovely new bride was made of stronger stuff, and not just her perfect genetic pedigree. I was looking forward to bringing it to the surface.

At the flashy modern monstrosity of Ransom Drysdale…

“Shit, baby,” I groaned, hips moving furiously, “you’re so fucking good.” 

Glenna’s red spiral curls were bouncing all over the goddamn place, gasping and moaning. Her little hands were trying to hang onto my shoulders but we were both sweating and her fingers kept slipping and she fell against me again. 

This was one of my favorite ways to fuck, sitting back on my heels, knees spread, and bouncing some bitch on my lap. But the new Mrs. Ransom Drysdale was no whore, not someone I’d just picked up in a bar. Glenna was so sweet and innocent. The last girl I’d ever would have been interested in until now. Now that my grandfather was cutting me off unless I got married and popped out some perfect kid within a year. Shit, I could do that. Toussaint's guys gave me an ovulation tracker for her- she wasn’t fertile yet but who gave a fuck? We had a lot of practicing to do.

“Arch your back,” I grabbed her pretty little ass with both hands, bouncing her up and down faster. “Yeah,” I groaned, “just like that, honey. Keep squeezing me with that tight little pussy.” I pushed her harder against my chest and I could tell the minute her clit hit the base of my cock because she finally opened her eyes, looking all shocked and shit. “There you go,” biting her soft neck, “right there, I feel you making a mess on me. You coming, baby?”

She was making some kind of high-pitched noise and it was so fucking adorable that I came with her, her cunt squeezing and creaming all over me.

Goddamn. I gloated, This girl was perfect.

At the brownstone of James Barnes…

 “How’s it going?” 

I could tell that asshole Steve was just hanging on, trying not to laugh. “She looks one loud noise away from leaving a bride-shaped hole in my front door,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. 

“Jesus Buck, what did you do to her?”

“Look at it from her point of view,” I looked out the windows in my study, facing the front street. There was a security patrol driving by, a blue-white spotlight skittering over the buildings and alleyways. “They were holding her brother hostage. I’m lucky she didn’t try to stab me during dinner.”

Now the bastard was laughing. “So she doesn’t know about your military history yet? The fact that you have a rocket launcher on your roof? You have better security than the president.”

Glancing toward the open door and down the hall, I could see Rowan drifting through the kitchen, fingers tracing along the cabinets. “I gotta go. Did you get her brother?”

“Yeah,” Steve was opening a beer bottle, taking a gulp and making me wait. The asshole. “It was a real dump. But he’s all set up and I told him he’d see his sister tomorrow. Nice kid.”

“Maybe not tomorrow,” I was still watching her spinning lightly in circles over the granite floor. She’d spun like that on stage, her hair flying out around her. So beautiful. “I have a lot of bonding to do with my new wife. He can wait.”

Alerting mutuals who I think might be interested, please let me know if you’d like on or off this list. Thank you!

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[rawiswhore]

Sunny, Shawn Michaels x Fem Reader- "Meeting in the Ladies Room"

1997 was arguably the year women in the World Wrestling Federation were becoming more sexualized.

The women's division doing bikini contests at the 1997 Slammy Awards and at a house show---where they were dressed in thong bikinis, Sable's spider bikini she wore at the end of the year that left little to the imagination, Terri Runnels doing that topless photoshoot with Goldust in Raw magazine in 1997 and when she wore that slutty black pleather outfit when Brian Pillman pulled her to the ring.

Sunny was the World Wrestling Federation's most lusted over woman that year by male fans.

On a "Shotgun Saturday Night" episode that aired in the summer of 1997, there was a moment where Shawn Michaels was sitting on a bench in the locker room with other male wrestlers, and Shawn asked what the women's locker room must be like.

When he asked this, he was filmed and broadcast on television with a smirk on his face, and he had his long hair hanging down.

The camera then cut to a shot of you and Sunny inside the women's locker room, where you and Sunny were standing in front of these lockers.

You and Sunny were wearing nothing but towels wrapped around and covering your naked torso as well as her and tucked under each others arms, where the bottom of your towel and hers reached her thighs and yours.

Your body and hair as well as Sunny's weren't wet when you and she wore those towels.  

While you and Sunny stood in front of those lockers, the locker door in front of you as well as her was open, where you pulled out a silky spaghetti strapped teddy (not bear) that had a chemise with short shorts attached to it.

"I thought you didn't need to be in the locker room" Sunny said to you "Since you wear all of those expensive designer gowns and Marie Antoinette dresses"

"Don't you have your own personal dressing room?" you asked her, your hands unfolding your towel and removing it off of you and placing it on the bench.

"Don't you have one too?" Sunny asked. "Why'd you ask me that?"

This catty conversation could lead to you and Sunny removing each other's towels and smacking each other with them.

"I do" you replied when she asked if you have a dressing room, not sounding angry. "I thought you have a dressing room"

"Yeah, but I don't wear those huge gowns like you do" Sunny mentioned.

When you removed that towel off of you, you were filmed above your breasts so your nude body wouldn't be shown on television, much to the dismay of the horny, eager male fans.

You and Sunny whipping each other with towels naked could easily be broadcast, although you and her would be filmed above your breasts to conceal the nudity.

"Those dresses you wear are expensive and took a lot of effort to make" Sunny brought up, her hands undoing her towel and putting it on the bench next to her, where she was filmed above her breasts to block and conceal her nudity. "I thought you didn't want those beautiful dresses to get dirty"

Sunny pulled out a pair of panties with a matching camisole out of the locker in front of her.

The camera was doing a great job of filming you and Sunny above each others breasts despite fans (especially male ones) want to see her bare chest and yours.

"I don't" you admitted. "Don't you remember how angry I was when I got flour thrown on my designer gown?"

As Sunny brought up your expensive dresses, you bent your body down and raised one of your feet up and inserted your foot and leg through one of the leg openings of your teddy, and when your leg was into that , you raised your other leg and foot up in the air and inserted and slid your opposite leg and foot into the other leg opening, pulling your teddy up your body more and more until your teddy was covering your torso, your hands letting go of your teddy once the shorts were covering your ass and upper thighs and sliding your arms and hands into the straps of your teddy.

You were not being filmed when you put your teddy on except for when you slid your arms through the straps of your teddy.

Sunny, meanwhile, sat down on the bench and raised her feet up, where she inserted her feet into the leg openings of her underwear and pulled her panties up her legs until she stopped when her underwear covered her ass.

Sunny was being filmed from her feet up to her knees when she pulled her panties on, and Sunny sat down sideways on this bench.

"Then why are you in the women's locker room then?" Sunny asked, pulling her camisole over her head and inserting her arms and hands through the straps of. "There isn't a lot of room for those gowns you wear"

Sunny was filmed above her shoulders when she put her camisole on, she still sat sideways on this bench.

"I have a rack for my dresses" was your answer back to her. "And I don't mean rack as in my breasts"

Sunny pulled down the rest of her camisole down her torso until it was covering it.

Now that you and Sunny were dressed...partially, you and Sunny were now being filmed, the camera filming you in that teddy and Sunny in a matching camisole and underwear.

Your nipples were poking through the fabric of your teddy.

You were usually never really seen half naked and even completely naked during your time in the WWF in 1996 and 1997, but here was a moment where you were showing more skin than usual.

You could've worn a vintage 1970's camisole with a matching pair of panties.

The reason Sunny was wearing a cami in this moment was somewhat as a tribute to "Three's Company" since Suzanne Somers wore those camisoles with matching panties sometimes---like in that moment where she snuck into the kitchen and Jack followed her.

"You wear those beautiful dresses sometimes" you mentioned to her "That are too small to fit in a locker, there's no doubt you don't want your dresses to get dirty"

Indeed.

"You're right" Sunny replied. "What are you going to wear then?"

"This" you explained, your hands grabbing a dress inside your locker and showing it off to her. "What will you be wearing?"

"What's in here" she answered back, pulling out a T-shirt and short shorts and showing her shirt off to you by holding it in both of her hands as her shirt was hanging down in front of her torso.

"Y'know, Sable wears those black leather skintight catsuits and Marlena wears those golden gowns" you brought up "But you didn't say anything about them being in the women's locker room and worrying their outfits will get dirty"

"Touché" Sunny quipped.

Speaking of which, the reason Sable and Marlena weren't really in the women's locker room during this moment was because Marlena wasn't really much of a sex symbol then (and not really all that pretty) and Sable was mostly secondary to you and Sunny.

While Sable might've looked good sometimes in 1996 and 1997---and in the late 1990's the WWF really pushed the hell out of her, there were times Sable looked old!

Sable could've been in this moment in the locker room and so could Marlena, but Sable wasn't quite the sex symbol yet.

Fans watching this are wondering "Where's Sable and Marlena?".

In fact, where's Chyna in the women's locker room?

Chyna wasn't really a sex symbol in the WWF in 1997---many male wrestling fans used to constantly make fun of her that year for looking manly and ugly.

"Shouldn't you be putting your clothes on?" you asked her.

"Shouldn't you be doing that too?" Sunny parroted back. "I don't think women wear those teddies anymore, it's 1997, not 1977".

Since Sunny said that, and as fan service for the horny guys watching, you grabbed the towel you previously wore off of the bench and whipped Sunny with your towel, whipping the side of her body with it.

"If only this towel was wet!" you exclaimed.

Sunny shrieked when that towel hit her ass, where you and she both shoved your outfits back in the locker and Sunny grabbed her towel she wore, where she proceeded to try to whip you with her towel, her towel smacking you on the side of your hip trying to smack your ass.

You then tried chasing Sunny by whipping her with your towel, where she ran away from you.

As you were chasing after her, your breasts were bouncing under your teddy, and you wore no bra underneath.

The straps of your teddy nearly even fell down.

She shrieked every time you tried smacking her with that towel.

Sunny actually ran to a sink and placed her towel under the faucet, where she turned the sink on and water ran out, soaking that towel.

You could easily run to that sink she's standing by and turn it off, but you didn't.

She then turned the sink off and tried whipping you with the wet side of that towel, but you ran and scurried away from her no matter how much she tried catching up to you.

"Hopefully this towel gets you wet!" Sunny exclaimed as she chased after you with it.

"Watch your step when you run!" you retorted at her, turning your head and looking at her while you ran. "Don't let the water get on the floor!"

"Don't run into the lockers!" Sunny fired back as she ran after you.

"If I stand next to you in the shower" you said "I'll turn the water on either super cold or boiling hot!".

"I should've dropped my towel to the floor!" Sunny yelled. "Then I'd whip this towel that's been on the dirty floor on you!".

Some other insults you and Sunny could throw at each other was how your towel as well as Sunny's touched each others nasty vaginas, but the WWF was still a little bit family friendly.

You can easily spray her eyes and face with hairspray and vice versa or write insults on her face in lipstick (and vice versa).

Soon, you and Sunny stopped running around the locker room and chasing each other.

"Y'know, why does the women's division have their own locker room?" you asked her as you stood in front of her face to face. "Not to sound sexist, but we don't wrestle!"

Sunny's mood changed hearing that.

The camera then cut to a closeup of Shawn's face smiling thinking about that.

"I don't think women whip each other with towels in the locker room!" Shawn decided, his facial expression changing.

Even though he wishes the women's locker room was like that, and considering Sunny and Sable were apparently huge bitches backstage, the conversations Sable and Sunny would say to you in the locker room in regards to the beautiful dresses you wore in the WWF would sound similar to what Sunny said about the dresses that you wear.

Even though Sunny was an infamous bitch that people in the WWF hated, you and Sunny actually were friends.

[mrs2flyn]

| t h e w a r d r o b e b u i l d : t h e u n d e r g a r m e n t s

° when it comes to fashion essentials , nothing is more universal than the all-important base layer : your undergarments , which can either make or break an outfit

° choose pieces that strike a balance between sexy and streamlined . Matching lingerie always makes you feel hot and put together . Make sure its seamless , comfortable , and breathable.

• t h e u n d e r g a r m e n t s

1. CAMISOLES

* camisoles are a quick and easy way to add a little modesty when needed , they can also function as an extra layer under sweaters for chillier days.

* mind the care label on your camisole and pay careful attention to the fabrics before tossing them in the wash.

* the camisoles you should own are :

NUDE CAMISOLE : a nude camisole is perfect for extra coverage under blouses and button-ups . Sticking to a camisole close to your skin tone will keep it barely noticeable.

BLACK AND WHITE CAMISOLES

‌2. SHAPEWEAR

* when storing shapewear, be careful not to bend any structural boning, or you’ll risk ruining the piece. Rather than folding, roll the item carefully keeping the boning flat

* the shapewear essentials you should own are :

HIGH WAISTED SLIMMING PANTS : a good pair will flatten the tummy, lift the booty and reduce any thigh-chafing. Perfect for pencil skirts, form-fitting dresses and slim trousers.

ALL - IN - ONE BODY SHAPER : a body shaper is perfect for smoothing out trouble spots and ensuring a perfect silhouette.

3. UNDERWEAR

* clear out the clutter and refocus your underwear drawer three top-drawer necessities in black or nude colors in order to get you through any look.

* mind the fabric content, wash your underwear with delicates wash in lingerie bags to keep them in circulation longer. When the elastic is shot, it’s time to toss and replace.

* the essential underwear you need are :

THONG : in the case of clingy fabrics versus visible panty lines, thongs are clearly the winner. As with any undergarment, be sure to invest in well-fitting pieces.

BIKINIS : bikini panties typically have a higher leg cut than briefs and are great for everyday wear, like underneath loose jeans and skirts.

BRIEFS : briefs offer a little more coverage and are also a great everyday basic under flowy skirts and more.

4. TIGHTS

* as one of the most visible undergarments we wear , tights can be a little tricky at times . That said , when done well tights are a great functional accessory to add to dresses and tailored shorts.

* hand wash tights with a gentle detergent and hang them to dry to ensure many more snag-free wears to come.

* the tights you should own are :

BLACK OPAQUE TIGHTS : opaque tights aren’t just a cute add-on to fit and flare dresses and a-line skirts – they’re also a chic survival tool for plunging temperatures . Pair them with knee high boots or ankle boots during colder months to keep your favorite dresses in rotation.

BLACK SHEER TIGHTS : black sheer tights work with most looks , but are best for adding a little va - va - voom to a dress and heels combo . They’re also your best bet for a look that goes from the office to happy hour with ease.

PATTERNED TIGHTS : patterned tights are perfect for livening up solid colored dresses paired with boots or chunky heels , but keep it simple . A swiss dot or diamond pattern is all you need to accessorize this look.

5. BRALETTES

* machine wash your bralettes in a lingerie bag and let them hang to dry . They may require a little reshaping and adjustment after.

* the bralettes you should own are :

BLACK LACE BRALETTE

EVERYDAY BRALETTE : keep an everyday bralette for go-comfort under sweaters and other relaxed looks.

6. BRAS

* get yourself properly measured , find the right fit from the start and leave the prodding wires , gaping cups , and overflow behind.

* your bras will last longer if you hand wash and hang dry them . Adjust the straps after washes to make sure you’re still getting the best fit.

* the essential bras you should own are :

T - SHIRT BRA : the t-shirt bra is be a comfortable and versatile basic that works with most of your clothes.

LACY FEMININE BRA : a beautiful lace bra is a must for under blouses and see - through shirts.

PLUNGE BRA : stock up on at least one plunge bra to avoid your undergarment from peeking through under a low-cut top.

STRAPLESS BRA

7. SOCKS

* most socks can be easily machine washed and dried without worry . However , use precaution when drying wool socks or liner socks that feature grips on the ankle.

* the socks you should own are

THICK BOOT SOCKS : save your feet the pain and invest in some cozy , cushy socks intended for wearing boots . They’ll save your ankles from chafing and ensure your toes stay put instead of sliding.

LINER SOCKS : air your ballet flats with barely there liner socks that just cover your toes and heels to reduce friction and extend the life of your kicks.

ANKLE SOCKS : ankle socks are a must for ankles boots and tennis shoes alike . They provide the comfort and coverage that you need while giving the illusion of going barefoot.

8. EXTRAS

SATIN / SILK ROBE : to wear after the shower or around the house.

SATIN SLIP DRESS : can be worn at home or with a blazer/leather jacket for a night out.

[mollytatlisu]

Lookbook Page 1 - Narrative Page

I knew that for my narrative page I wanted to include several models that convey the key ideas within my trend narrative. The first model I selected was wearing a piece designed by Mega Mikaela, and is placed on the far right and found at Unknown (2022). The long flowing dress known as “the slither dress” that almost reaches the floor is a light, minty green colour and was derived from a combination of hand crochet and machine knitting. It has long sleeves, It’s made from cotton and monofilament yarn, and features tassel like pieces of yarn that stem from the bottom of the dresses uneven hemline. The reason I chose this piece and made it the largest feature on the page is its design. The prominent line detailing and its holes along the sleeves and upper half combined with the fact it’s translucent acts as a visual for a decaying leaf, or even plant. The lines representing the veins and the gaps and hanging pieces of yarn conveying a withered, disintegrated look. As well as this, the colour is very fitting and is compatible with the natural theme.

The model on the very left which can be found at Maria (2022) is wearing a composition designed by Bing Xiong. As you can see this is more a piece to be admired than a garment that’s to be worn for a regular occasion. The top half consists of a long sleeved beige/tan coloured top with a low turtle neckline that’s been ruched unevenly in the centre; with a sheer lilac embellished bra layered on top. On her bottom half she is wearing what seems to be a pair of sage green sheer underwear that have a plant themed pattern on them, with a dark dark grey piece of cotton draped from them on one side, and the models hand holding that piece of fabric from the other side. I think in terms of shape, this translates to my narrative perfectly. The way the garment is draped in an almost careless manner and the jagged lilac fabric stemming all the way from the bra to near her knees makes the whole garment look like it’s falling apart, crumbling and eroding; like decay. Not only this but the uneven ruching creates an imperfect feel, which is another key idea within my narrative. However, I think in terms of colour, the original image wasn’t perfect. In order to make it more fitting, on photoshop I reduced the saturation of the lilac and did the same with the dark fabric as well as the hue, to convert it to a brown shade.

The third model I selected that can be found at Maria (2022) was wearing a dress designed by Ciccy Lyu. This extra long dress that puddles together on the floor has a camisole neckline that is uneven due to the bunched together knit texture at the front and back. It has 2 shoulder straps on either side and the entire garment has been knit by hand, with it becoming more distressed closer to the base. The puddling particularly drew me to this piece. It feels as though the dress is transforming into something as it becomes more distressed throughout, and then the bunching at the bottom almost looks like a tree base; which is further accentuated by the muddy brown colour.

I cut out each of these three models switching between the polygonal and magnetic lasso. I used the magnetic option for areas that were more defined and the polygonal one for areas that needed to be more exact; for example the hair on the model on the far left. (I attempted to use the refine hair tool but it wasn’t as effective or neat).

After this, I wanted to focus on the page layout and try to create a verdant feel. I began by using some textile prints produced by Irit Dulman. One of them had more of a flowery look with the other being more leafy, both originating from Dulman (2021). To make sure they enhanced the background as oppose to distracting from the garments I reduced the opacity of both, lowering one more than the other to avoid making everything the same. As well as this I found 2 other leaf themed images to include, which I cut out using the object selection tool as they were very clear shapes and easy for the computer to recognise. The flat leafy pattern was originally a light blue colour, but I edited it to be brown. I think the idea of decay in nature can be really well communicated through the life cycle of a leaf due to its huge change in appearance including colour, shape and texture so I wanted to use them as a key source of mood imagery for this page. Along with the leafy imagrey I placed a block of colour under the pattern on the left; which I created using the colour picker tool and selecting an area of the Mega Mikaela dress, in order to make the page cohesive.

I think the best compositional element of this page is the way the central model is posed standing on top of the leaf. I like the way it adds a 3D look and distorts the scale, making it much more interesting to look at.

In terms of font size I went for 9 on each paragraph throughout my lookbook, to avoid it looking too big and childlike. I decided to make the first letter of each paragraph large just to add extra depth and make sure the dingbats could be included all the way throughout, because it would’ve looked out of place just having them on the front cover. As you can see above I also experimented with placing dingbats around the page, but I eventually went against it because I didn’t think it added anything to the page.

[quindolyn]

subby Jamie fluffy (Smut?) where he wakes up in the middle of the night and sucks on the readers titties to drink from her tits because she's lactating after giving birth to their daughter. I don't know if this makes sense but I hope it does!

Lactation Kink || James Potter

A/N: I'm not even sure if I should include "kink" but I will admit that there are some very smutty overtones so read at your own discretion. I tweaked the request a little bit in terms of the circumstances but the bones are still there. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: lactation kink, light sub!James and Dom!reader, not much I don't think, all acts are completely consensual and if they needed a safe word they'd have one

Word Count: 1851

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were life savers. They could only watch their two closest friends creep closer and closer to death for so long before doing something about it.

After giving birth to a beautiful baby boy seven months ago you and James had come to understand a new definition of the word exhaustion. You were absolutely enamoured with your baby boy, James the same way if not worse, always keeping him cradled in his arms, Harry’s little head nestled into the crook of James’ arm.

Regardless, there is no amount of parental love to counteract the complete lack of sleep the two of you have endured. “Sleep when the baby sleeps” they all say, it's excellent in theory if only the baby would actually sleep.

No, instead you and James were subject to months of newborn induced insomnia,

You’d barely understood what Remus and Sirius were saying when they offered to watch your son for a few days, give you and James some time alone. Even though every part of your being screamed for you to take them up on their offer there was that small, annoyingly persistent, voice in the back of your head. The voice of maternal guilt.

Your friends wouldn’t hear any of your arguments, listening as you insisted that Harry was still far too young for you to leave him, you could barely stand a few hours, how were you supposed to survive days?

Despite your insistence that it was far too early to leave Harry with his godfathers for an extended weekend when the following Thursday rolled around you and James were rather unceremoniously kicked out of your own house, told that reservations had been made for you at an expensive spa and resort and that you were not to return home until the following Monday.

They’d even packed your bags for you.

You and James had successfully made it through the first night away from your baby, your quality of your sleep however was not up to par as you tossed and turned, worrying about the little boy you’d left at home.

Even cuddled up to Jamie’s chest your sleep was more like a light sheet over your consciousness giving you a shallow, unsatisfactory, reprieve.

What you needed was for sleep to hit you over the head with a baseball bat, knock you unconscious for hours and give your body time to recover.

After a long, exhausting day of taking advantage of the resort's numerous spa treatments, your wish of deep, meaningful sleep seemed as though it might actually just come true.

Minutes after laying your head down on the pillow, James slipping into bed behind you, you were out cold. Pulling you closer so that he could bury his face in the crook of your neck James was close behind you.

Finally, sleep.

-----

Your tits hurt, they fucking hurt. You were finally getting some quality sleep but the discomfort in your chest became intolerable and you were lulled back into a dreaded state of consciousness.

You’d been so ready for sleep and the peace that it would bring that you’d forgotten to pump your milk before getting into bed. You find yourself regretting that decision now, you shift slightly in James’ hold, just as tight as it had been when you’d fallen asleep. The clock on the bedside table reads three in the morning.

Fuck me, you think, your thoughts still blurry from sleep, carrying a weight in your temples that lures your head back down to the pillow as you fall back into your spot in James’ arms. You’re going to have to get up eventually, that much you understand, but the prospect of getting up and finding the pump, hooking it up, then actually sitting there while you pump sounds nothing short of absolutely dreadful.

You can only lay there for so long, on your back so as not to apply any pressure to your breasts, staring up at the ceiling before your tits go from hurting to feeling like they’re about to explode.

Eventually you’re forced to begin to fuss in James’ arms, trying to find the seal that will let you get up hopefully without waking your husband.

Even asleep James’ grip is insistent, he’s like quick sand, the more you try to maneuver your way out of his arms the tighter his hold gets, the closer he pulls you to him.

“Jamie, you gotta let go,” You murmur, hoping to appeal to the half asleep man.

“Where you going, angel?” His voice is the crashing of a wave against the shore in your ears, low, rumbling, calming. That voice alone is enough to have you considering just climbing back into bed with him, exploding tits be damned.

“Forgot to pump Jamie, m’tits feel like they’re ready to explode.”

He flickers his eyes open, worry etched into his irises, already blanketed in sleep, “Hurting?” Raising his head his eyes drop to your tits, like maybe he’ll be able to see your affliction.

“A little bit,” You nod, your hands combing through his unruly curls before making another attempt to rise from the mattress, “Gonna pump and then I’ll feel all better. I’ll be quick.”

“No,” He whines, god you miss the sound of his whine. His arms are like steel as he pulls you firmly back onto the bed, “M’thirsty anyways.”

Confusion heightens in you before James turns you so you’re fully on your back before slipping under your arm, resting his head on your chest.

Nimble fingers find the neckline of the silk camisole you’d found in the luggage Remus and Sirius had packed for you, sons of bitches also packed every single pair of lacy panties you own.

With little difficulty he slips the thin strap down your shoulder allowing him to tuck the soft material of the top under your breast.

“Miss my girls,” He whispers as he bares your breasts, they’re swollen with milk but the way he’s looking at you you’d think they were something far more precious.

“I’ll be gentle,” His promise comes just as he latches onto your pert nipple, carefully guarding his teeth with his lips, the last thing he would wanna do is hurt you.

It bears little resemblance to the way he used to suck your tits, fervently like they were the only things keeping him grounded, sometimes they had been. Now he proceeds with a new sense of caution but that doesn’t mean it’s any less pleasurable.

“Jamesie, ‘s for Harry, you can’t drink the baby’s milk,” You regrettably push him off your tit, he looks anything but pleased.

“They were mine first,” He whines, throwing you a dirty glance that falls completely flat given the immense adoration that lies just behind it, “And I told you (Y/N), ‘m thirsty, want your milk. Wanna make you feel good.”

Giving you his most convincing puppy dog eyes he leans back in, he latches on efficiently and sucking with an increased vigor you feel a feeling of fullness swell in your breast as your nipple tingles. It’s a feeling you’ve gotten used to but so rarely has it ever turned you on as when James is the cause of it.

He hums in satisfaction as the warm milk seeps into his mouth, it encourages him in his efforts causing him to latch on tighter. A little too tight.

“Easy there baby,” You hiss, “M’tits are sensitive.”’

He complies immediately, loosening his lips around your nipple the sensation becomes pleasurable once more. The pleasure helps distract from the discomfort which, at least in the tit James it latched onto, seems to be dwindling. The other breast is left aching until you feel a similar sensation coming from your nipple.

“You’re leaking.”

Casting your eyes downward you see that he’s right, you’re leaking slightly out of your unattended nipple. It's not unusual for it to happen but usually you just brush it away with a warm washcloth, not wanting to have a sticky mess on your chest.

Carefully, he brushes the pad of his thumb over the over sensitive bud.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” He brings his thumb to his mouth to suck it clean, the visual is almost enough to make your head spin.

You can’t remember the last time you saw James subby, ever since you’ve had Harry it's been sleepy handjobs and once you fully recovered, him pushing you up anywhere he could and taking you right there. It’s like parenthood awoke something far more dominant inside of him but as he latches back onto your tit you’re reminded how beautiful he is when he submits to you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your fingers dance along the nape of his neck as you feel yourself unwinding with every second he sucks at your tit, bringing you relief.

“You full yet?”

He gently lets your tit slide from his mouth before responding, “Does it still hurt?”

The genuine concern in his voice has butterflies erupting in your stomach, you learned a long time ago just how sweet and caring James is but sometimes it hits you harder than you were expecting and you’re left feeling just as giddy as you did in the beginning of your relationship.

James seems to have sucked you dry, or at least to a point where your tit no longer burns with the feeling of an impending explosion.

“No s’all better baby, did such a good job,” You guide his face up towards yours, “Got a little milk on your lips,” You lean in, kissing the milk off his swollen lips.

It’s sweeter than you expected but maybe everything was sweeter coming off his lips.

You take your time admiring his face, hazel eyes that look a little more brown than they did yesterday, lips an impossible pink. Thick, long lashes you remember envying for as long as you’ve known each other cast their shadows along his cheekbones. He’s perfect.

You run the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip before letting him suck it into his mouth, when he couldn’t get to your tits sucking on your fingers always used to help James calm down. For the life of you you can’t remember the last time he’d sucked on your fingers. If it’d been in the last seven months you’d probably just been too tired to remember.

Letting your digit slide from his mouth James hauls himself over you, careful not to brush against your breasts, to lay on your other side. He moves with a surprising grace considering just minutes ago he’d been in the throws of sleep, you’d forgotten how well he moved.

“Other one now,” He murmurs, eyes glued to your tit as his hands move to cup it, giving him better access to your nipple.

“You sure baby? I can just pump this one and you can go back to bed, s’okay.”

“No,” His brows furrow with his empathic response, if he wasn’t already on top of you you’re sure he’d pull you closer in fear that you might escape, “Mine.”

taglist: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @thatvenusbabe @itsmentalillness @zzzfour @Greenlyblue @emmaev @temporaryissue @gubleryum @msmb @marauderswhore07 @st0nesnglitter  @miraclesoflove @shadesofvelma @drachoesimp @ashlovesthemarauders @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @Ohwowimlonley @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore @swearingsolemnly @Teenwolfbitches28 @lilypad-55449 @jamespotterslover @lilytheally @mo-jean @jeannelupinblack @wh0reforthemarauders @myalupinblack @ashesandstars @daisyyy2516 @siriusmydeer @remugoodgirl @itzstacie @planet-wolfstar @steveharringtonswhore @saintlike78 @thatdummymarie @cedricisnotdead @pretty-pop-princess-hs @saggyb1lls

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: none

word count: 1105

summary: you wouldn’t change anything about your little family, this is the second part of this series

a/n: i named the baby olivia, via for short because i love that name and i would also be totally down to write a part three where the spanish national team meet her so let me know if you want to see that :)

Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed Of

You kick the ball to Ella who smiles at something behind you.

‘We’ve got visitors. Well mostly you.’ She says.

You turn around, a wide smile on your face when you see who they are.

Forgetting the exercise, you jog up to the sidelines where Ona stands. With your baby in her arms.

‘Hi.’ Ona breathes.

‘Hey what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. And you too my love.’

You kiss Ona first and then the top of your daughter’s head. She’s fast asleep and her nose scrunches up slightly when you do. You giggle at the sight, Ona does the exact same thing when she’s sleepy.

‘Just missed you.’ She shrugs, a soft smile on her face. She’s wearing a white hoodie and a pair of black leggings, hair pulled up into a loose ponytail.

There’s a slight longing in her gaze as she looks at the pitch and you kiss her forehead gently.

‘You’ll be back out there soon.’

Ona nods but to her it’s felt like forever. Seven months of pregnancy after the accident followed by her postpartum recovery.

She loves her baby and she loves being a mother but she couldn’t wait to be back playing.​​ The Spanish girl was impatiently counting down the days till her doctor gave her the all clear.

She was lucky enough to have a relatively uneventful pregnancy after getting injured, even going so far as to call it easy.

Still, Ona can’t help but grin at the precious bundle in her arms. She leans in to give you another kiss, careful not to wake the sleeping infant.

Olivia was only three weeks old but she had already stolen both your hearts as well as those of your team.

Said team who were eagerly coming over now.

Jackie’s the first to reach, cooing over the little one quietly. Ona laughs softly, gently handing the baby over to the Dutch midfielder. Your other teammates surround them, awing at the cuteness of it all.

All the while, Marc shakes his head with a fond smile knowing that training was over for the day.

******

The baby monitor crackles, the sound of faint crying coming through. You shut it off before it could wake Ona up because god knew she needed her sleep.

Making your way to the nursery, you pick up your daughter, rocking her back and forth.

‘Hi. What’s wrong Via?’ You soothe, holding her close as her cries taper off. Her diaper was dry so that meant she was probably hungry.

‘Okay. Okay love, we’re going to Mama now.’

The baby quietens almost as if she knew that you understood her and were going to give her what she wanted.

Walking back to the bedroom, you gently shake the Spanish girl awake.

‘Hey mi amor, wouldn’t wake you if I didn’t have to but I can't exactly feed her.’ You whisper.

She blinks sleepily, reaching out blindly to flick on the light.

Yawning, she pushes herself up so she can sit against the headboard before she holds her arms out for Olivia.

‘Here.’

Passing the baby to her, you press a kiss to her forehead as she murmurs her thanks.

You settle beside her and she yawns again, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

Deftly, she pulls down the strap of the camisole she was wearing so that she could nurse Via. It was something she had gotten very used to over the past few weeks.

‘You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll set her down again once she’s finished.’

Adamantly, you tell her, ‘If you’re up, I’m up too.’

Ona smiles before wincing slightly as Via begins suckling.

‘Just a bit sore.’ She assures you, seeing the way your brows furrowed worriedly.

Still, you watch her as she nurses Olivia until she laughs quietly, ‘It’s not nice to stare.’

Despite the early hour, her chocolate brown eyes are bright, a faint blush on her cheeks as she glances at you.

‘Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.’ You say honestly with a small shrug.

She did, the bedside lamp illuminating her freckles and the lighter strands of her long hair. It didn’t help that she was the mother of your child and she was cradling said child in her arms.

Her blush intensifies as she shakes her head.

‘You don’t have to charm me, I’ve already married you.’

Rolling your eyes, you lean in to kiss her carefully, mindful of Via.

‘I’m not, I’m simply telling the truth.’ You mumble against her lips.

Ona smiles softly, resting her forehead against yours with closed eyes.

‘Te amo.’

‘I love you too Ona.’

******

There’s a proud little grin on your face as you spot Ona on the far end of the field. She’s taking shots on goal with Ivana and clearly enjoying herself.

Her doctor had given her the go ahead a week ago and this was her first training back with the team. She had done some light training while pregnant but this was her first official one since that awful day against Arsenal.

You had a mild ankle sprain keeping you out and taking the chance of a day off, you’d brought Olivia to the training grounds.

She’s all wrapped up in an adorable pink sweater and wide awake as she blinks seriously. It was a brisk morning but you think the layers she has on should be enough to keep her warm.

Ivana notices you and makes to tell Ona but you shake your head, using your free hand to put a finger over your lips. You just wanted to admire her for a bit.

The Brazilian nods before letting out a loud cheer as Ona manages to get another ball into the goal.

‘Your Mama’s so talented you know. She’s incredible.’ You tell your daughter who simply smiles gummily in response.

Holding her closer, you point at Ivana.

‘That’s Aunty Ivana. She’s your Mama’s best friend.’

‘And that’s Aunty Jackie.’

‘And over there is Aunty Ella.’

You finish pointing at the respective people just as Marc blows a whistle, indicating it was time for sprints.

Ona notices you both then, her face lighting up as she gives a little wave. She has the biggest smile on her face as she gets back to sprinting.

Blowing her a kiss, you continue telling Via about whatever else was going on, on the field.

The sky was a bright blue, the sun shining, one of the rarer days in Manchester and you’ve never been happier. How could you not when you already had everything you’d ever dreamed of?

Spanish Translations:

mi amor - my love

te amo - i love you

[grxvitye]

slide in and help undress from soft nfsw 1

and #10 from soft nfsw 2 w tasha :)

take it slow

[ pairing/s ✩.° ] natasha x reader blurb

[ summary ✩.° ] it's y/n's first time and natasha makes sure she's comfortable and takes her time to ease her to the pleasure

[ warning/s ✩.° ] 18+, fingering, I think that's pretty much it

[ prompt/s ✩.° ] slide in= reaction to sliding into the muse for the first time, help undress= start undressing the muse, #10= "you're the most beautiful person/girl/boy/ I've ever seen in my life

[ resources ✩.° ] to request check this → blurb requests

[ a/n ✩.° ] I changed some roles to fit it into the story better. Thanks for sending in this request anon<33, and again you do not have my permission to translate nor to repost my writing on any platform. comments, likes and reblogs are always very much appreciated<3

You let out a breath that you didn’t realise you were holding as soon as you saw the soft smile filled with adoration nat showed towards you. “It’s ok sweetheart, we’ll take it slow alright?” You nod as she starts to help you undress you shyly get out of your camisole and shorts and got conscious as you were left in your panties. “Don’t be shy my love, you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen” she breathes out, in awe of how you look. She thought you were pretty, but now she saw you, all vulnerable and shy against her, it made her heart swarm with more love for you. “How do you want to do this y/n?” she asks and you lay against the bed, already desperate for a bit of friction as you noticed you’d already soaked your panties. “P-please touch me already” you say with a whimper. “Alright, when you want me to stop just squeeze my hands alright?” she says, looking at you straight in the eye. “Mhm, I will” you hold her hand and urge her to start. “Just please do something” you say, bucking your hips onto her hand. “Oh dove, you’ve been deprived of so much haven’t you?” she mutters as she slowly teases you open with her fingers. You didn’t need much foreplay, not with how wet you already were. “Nattie, please I need your fingers” showing your pout that you knew she couldn’t resist. “Alright dove, i’m going in, just squeeze and I’ll stop anytime” you take a deep breath and as you do natasha places in one finger and groans at the tightness. “Fuck, so tight around only one finger, how are you going to take my strap, hm?” she looks at you, not expecting an answer as you stare back at her with wide eyes, fully unfamiliar with the pleasure you were getting. “Nattie please, wan more” you beg not knowing where it came from, just that it was like the perfect thing to say. “Only because you asked so politely my dove” she adds one more finger in and you gasp at the stretch. “That’s it, good girl, such a good girl, doing so well for me” she says while continually scissoring and curling her fingers in your tight heat. “Can feel you clenching around me like you don’t want me to end this dove” she smirks, knowing that your high was rapidly approaching. “Na- nattie I think am gon- gonna cum” you say with a squeal as your high interrupts you and has you convulsing around natasha’s fingers. “That’s it little one, take what you want” she urges you and works you through your orgasm. You breath deeply, still in cloud nine because of your orgasm. “Felt so good nattie, thank you” you smile with your eyes still closed. “You’re welcome my love, you look so good falling apart, I’d want to see it over and over but I’ll let you rest” before she even finished her sentence, you were already fast asleep.

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[moon3thereal]

bad girls get punished

pairings” wandanat x reader 

genre: no plot just smut

a/n my first smut fic lmao pls don’t judge too harshly 

summary: Natasha catching you touching yourself

warnings: smut, 18+ content, oral sex (r receiving), swearing, degradation, mommy kink 

word count: 1.3k

Out of your two girlfriends, Natasha and Wanda, Wanda was definitely the soft dom, she let you get away with misbehavior 99% of the time and couldn’t even think about punishing you no matter how much of a brat you were. however, the same cannot be said about Natasha, she’d always put you in your place no matter how small the misstep was and you always avoided breaking the rules when she was around

Which was why you were taking full advantage now that Natasha was on a mission, it was just you and Wanda and though you missed Natasha you were also grateful that she wasn’t around to see you right now, your ass would probably be seven different shades of red if she were. You were sprawled across the bed you shared with your girlfriend, one hand teasing your breasts and the other down your underwear, sliding your fingers over your folds slick with your arousal. Quiet whimpers and moans falling from your lips as you pleasured yourself

Wanda had let you get away with it every time and even helped you to your climax a few times, which is why you didn’t even bother to hide your needy whines that reverberated through the room. Natasha wasn’t scheduled to get home until a week later so you were completely safe.

Or so you thought

You were so lost in your pleasure that you didn’t hear the door open and both of your girlfriends walking in chattering animatedly. The second you realized how much of trouble you were in was one you heard Natasha’s voice calling out for you and the Russian appeared in front of your open door. Your expression of euphoria was immediately replaced with one of fear when you realized that it was the redhead instead of the brunette and hurriedly attempted to hide yourself with your sheets

Natasha’s smile disappeared and her eyes darkened, an expression of pure lust streaked across her perfect features. Wanda was behind her telling you silently that you were seriously and utterly fucked.

After a few moments of Natasha simply glaring at your hand that was still in between your thighs and your sweaty figure, she raised an eyebrow “you thought it would be funny to let mommy come home to her little girl being such a needy whore huh” she was walking towards you while taking her leather jacket off at an agonizingly slow rate. You were staring up at her while shaking your head with your eyes wide.

The sokovian was on your other side raking her fingernails over your thigh. “words kotenok (kitten)” the redhead said gripping your jaw “n-no mommy” you stuttered out. Letting go, she kept her gaze on you “you know i don’t like people touching what’s mine, strip.” She said, her voice cold and you could tell that you were in for it. You hastily stripped off your thin camisole and the pink thong that barely covered anything in the first place.

“spread” Natasha’s voice left no space for any disobedience, Wanda coaxed your thighs apart exposing your glistening folds to your girlfriends. You whined when the witch’s fingers made their way up your torso and teased your painfully stiff nipples. Natasha rested two of her fingers on your bottom lip “open up slut” you whimpered taking her fingers into your mouth and swirling your tongue over her slim digits

Wanda was nibbling on the shell of your ear when Natasha abruptly pulled her fingers out and thrusted them into your dripping cunt pulling a gasp from you at the sudden penetration, she thrust her fingers in and out of you roughly “isn’t this better than playing with yourself krasivaya (beautiful), dumb little slut always needs mommy or Wanda playing with her pussy” you couldn’t do anything else but whimper in response. you whined when Natasha pulled her fingers out and held her fingers up to Wanda’s lips.

The brunette made a display of running her tongue up Natasha’s digits collecting all your arousal, letting out a moan at the taste of you “our pretty girl tastes so good” she said and pulled the redhead into a heated kiss, allowing her to taste you on Wanda’s tongue. Frustrated at the lack of attention, “please mommy” you moved your hips against Natasha’s hand earning yourself a smack to your cunt. Natasha glared at you with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised “don’t push it slut”

Standing up, Natasha headed towards your shared closet no doubt to retrieve the toys that she kept in the top drawer that would’ve scared the living daylights out of vanilla couples. Wanda was now positioned directly in front of your exposed folds, she ran her tongue along them and on your clit and you let out breathy moans of pleasure “oh right there wan” you breathed out  when she thrust her tongue into your hole, clenching around her tongue, you felt the knot in your stomach tighten and just when you thought that you would reach an orgasm, Natasha’s voice rang out “now now, we cant let our whore cum just like that wans” Wanda lifted her head off your now aching pussy “of course, I was just playing with her Nattie” the Russian was wearing your favorite strap and it stole your breath away.

For a few seconds, you simply lay there staring at her, until she snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. You dropped to your knees so quickly it was embarrassing. Eyes straying to the sokovian you saw that Wanda was watching intently with her hand already in her pants “Get mommy’s cock ready for your pussy kotenok (kitten)” almost immediately, you took the length of the toy into your mouth, when it hit the back of your throat you gagged, drooling over the silicon toy, you could hear Wanda's soft moans and Natasha's groans.

Tears pricked at your eyes as Natasha thrust it further into your mouth “look so pretty crying and drooling all over mommy’s cock” she cooed and when she was satisfied, the redhead pulled you up by your hair and bent you roughly over the side of the bed. In a second, Wanda was in front of you, your jaw in her ring clad hand and she captured your lips in a kiss, you were so captivated by the sokovian’s plush lips that you were completely caught off guard when Natasha thrust the length into you and you gasped, your cunt pulsing around the large toy

Barely giving you time to adjust to the size, Natasha was already thrusting it in and out of you harshly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “such a needy slut hm? Just needed mommy to come home and fuck you like the dumb whore you are?” you mumbled incoherently and Natasha slapped your ass leaving a red hand print, forcing you to answer “yes m-mommy fuck feels so good” you released a series of incoherent moans and profanities. Between the combinations of Wanda nibbling on your bottom lip and the toy inside you and Natasha’s finger circling your clit in firm circles, you felt so close to your climax “I’m gonna cum mommy ah-”

You felt the toy leave your aching pussy and gasped. Your cunt clenched on nothingness and you whined desperately “oh come on Tasha, that wasn’t nice, you could’ve let our pretty girl cum” Wanda pouted but Natasha only chuckled “you’ll spoil her then, cant let her get away with being a brat now can we?” the Russian turned back to you “make Wanda and mommy cum, then, I’ll consider letting you cum my little fucktoy”

You were in for a very long night

[wastelesscrafts]

Project: DIY silk camisole

Introduction:

I found a purple silk top in a thrift shop a while back. I instantly fell in love with the fabric but the cut looked terrible on me. As it was only €2, I decided to take it home and revamp it into a silk camisole.

Quick tip: if you're looking for cheap silk, check out your thrift store's scarf section! When I bought this top, I also found two scarves made of pure silk, both 85x85cm. I plan on turning them into lingerie.

The project:

I started out by turning my top inside out and drawing a line along the front and back of the top at the height where I wanted the back of my camisole to sit. I used chalk for this as it's easy to remove afterwards.

I then drew two triangles along the line I'd drawn: these would become the bust part of my camisole. It took some experimenting to get them right. I free-handed a first draft while I was wearing the top, then removed the top and laid it flat on my desk. I then redrew my triangles properly with a ruler, making sure they were symmetrical.

You could just trace a top you already own, but I didn't have any non-stretchy camisoles so I had to improvise.

Unfortunately I forgot to take a picture of what the top originally looked like, but a flatlay of my cut-out pieces should give you a general idea.

[ID: a purple silk top lying on a black and white checkered floor. The original round buttoned neckline has been cut off and is lying behind the top. The new neckline consists of two symmetrical triangles. The picture shows the back of the top which will become the front of the camisole.]

[ID: a purple silk top lying on a black and white checkered floor. The original round buttoned neckline has been cut off and is lying behind the top. The new neckline consists of two symmetrical triangles. The picture shows the front of the top which will become the back of the camisole.]

I then cut all of the chalk lines I'd drawn, and removed the top's buttons which are now in my button stash for future projects.

My next step was to hem the edges I'd cut off. The bottom of the top was already hemmed, so left it alone.

I sewed the entire project by hand because this was my first time working with silk which is notoriously slippery, and I trust my hands more than I trust my machine.

At this point I realised my camisole was much too big for me. That was OK though! I pinned down two side darts at the chest and a pintuck at the front. This made my cami smaller and more form-fitting. Once I was happy with my adjustments, I sewed down them down.

[ID: a purple silk camisole. Two side bust darts and one center-front pintuck have been pinned in place.]

[ID: a purple silk camisole. Two side bust darts and one center-front pintuck have been sewn in place.]

All I needed now were straps. I found an old soft bra in my stash that was perfect for this: the upper part of the bra which connected to the straps was made of lace. I removed the lacy parts of the bra, including the straps, and found out the lace arched out when laid flat. This arched shape turned out to be a perfect fit to cover up my side darts.

[ID: a purple silk camisole. A black soft bra lies on top of the bust area of the top. The bra has lace at the top of its cups. The straps are partly made of lace and have been cut off at the back.]

I also wanted some matching lace at the center-front of my camisole in-between my lace arches. This helped to pull all of my lace details together into one design. I used lace from an old pair of panties for this.

[ID: a purple silk camisole. Black lace bra straps have been pinned at the top of the camisole, with lace extending down to the side bust darts. A strip of black lace now covers the center-front part of the camisole.]

Once I was happy with my lace arrangement, I pinned it all down, then sewed it in place with small backstitches. I then sewed the other ends of the straps to the back of my camisole.

Deciding something was missing, I added a small bow at the centre front of my camisole. The bow originated from yet another old pair of underwear that I'd cut up for a different project at some point in the past.

I tried on my finished camisole: a perfect fit!

[ID: front view of the finished purple silk camisole. Black lace and a small black bow decorate the front, and extend into lacy straps.]

[ID: back view of a purple silk camisole. Black straps are sewn to the back of the camisole. Black backstitching sits inside the garment where lace has been sewn to the front.]

Conclusion:

I now have a new silk camisole! I paid €2 for the original top, and my other materials were free as they came from my fabric stash. Not bad, compared to the price of a new silk cami. :)

Regardless of price, silk is a labour- and resource-intensive fabric so it would be a waste not to reuse it when possible. As a soft and long-lasting material made from natural fibres, it's perfect to make underwear with.

[neoculturetravesty]

The waiting game

Image taken from here.

Pairing: Kun x Reader Genre: smut, pwp, it’s literally just filth with a tiny bit of fluff at the end. Warnings: 18+, Daddy Kun, sub reader, daddy/ddlg kink, praise kink, bondage (handcuffs and ankle restraints), fingering, overstimulation with a vibrator, orgasm denial, anal plug, humiliation, spanking, unprotected sex, squirting, facial, fluffy aftercare. Word Count: 3.2k words of the most pwp I’ve ever written. There is no plot whatsoever.

Summary: “Will my baby be okay to bend over like this for a while?” you hear him ask behind you. You turn your head just a little to reply “Yes, Daddy.” 

A/N: Kind of wanted to write some absurdist, slightly unrealistic, fantastical, pornographic smut. And it so happened that Kun ended up becoming the vehicle for this piece. 

“Daddy, please…” you look up at Kun, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you whimper.

“I know, baby, I know.” He takes your face in his hands and wipes away at your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He leans in and gives you a healing, nurturing kiss. “Daddy knows you can take it. Daddy knows you’re his brave girl.”

You whimper and your eyebrows knit together as you look up at him to sob. You’re pretty sure you look anything but brave... you probably look like the most pathetic girl to ever exist. But you can’t keep your composure any longer and you suppose that is what Kun wanted. He wanted to strip you bare so you weren’t hiding from him. So you were showing him your true self, your most vulnerable self, your most naked self. 

It’s why he had put you in this position for what you’re sure has been an hour. On all fours on a table top, panties pulled down to your thighs, a vibrator attached to your pussy, a shiny pink butt plug inserted in your ass. Your tits were just covered enough by a barely there camisole that said ‘Daddy’s Princess’ across the chest in bright pink letters. Each of your ankles was tied to the corresponding leg of the table. Erotic handcuffs with black leather straps were binding your delicate wrists like bracelets. Your back was beautifully arched and your chest was risen tall because that’s how Kun liked it. 

“My princess looks so pretty like this.” He had complimented when he had finished his handiwork and stepped back to look at you. But it was getting harder and harder to stay pretty for him. The vibrator bound to your pussy was buzzing at an agonizing pace--not moving any slower to give you a break, not moving any faster to give you relief. You had, at one point, ground your hips against it to get some variation in friction and you think you must have lost your posture in doing so because it had resulted in Kun giving powerful smacks to your bare ass which made the plug jolt inside you, making you see stars.

Now your ass was red and hot as you struggled to keep your back arched. 

“Press down to absorb the pleasure, princess. Make yourself pretty for Daddy.” Kun had taught you and that’s what you had been trying to do for the past few minutes. But now it was getting to be too much. The slow, tormenting buzzing on your core was making it drip embarrassingly. You were pretty sure your pussy had engorged to maybe twice it’s usual size. Plus, any time you clenched and unclenched around the plug; it made lubricant ooze out of you, because Kun had used way too much and asked you to hold it in like a good girl. You couldn’t see it, but you felt the mess your holes were creating. The only upside was that Kun had placed soft pillows beneath your hands and knees.

You felt vulnerable like this. Wearing a barely there shirt, with your panties pulled down to your thighs. Maybe you would’ve felt less humiliated if Kun had simply taken them all the way off. But you were so exposed and your need was building but not being fulfilled. You were so sexually frustrated and so fucking needy that it was making you cry. But Kun kept stalking your body. Circling around as if you were a lab experiment he was studying, as if he was taking notes on how your body was reacting to each sensation. Every now and then, he would press his palm to the small of your back to put you back in his desired state. Or he’d wiggle and smoothen your panties so they laid smooth and stretched around your thighs. He’d fix your top when all your squirming had made it ride over your tits. He’d push the butt plug back in if you had pushed it out. When would he stop? You didn’t know and it drove you crazy. Maybe that’s what he wanted. To break you down bit by bit through this waiting game. To get to the deepest parts of you that no man had ever seen. To get you to show your true submissive self where you would want nothing else but your Daddy for relief.

Right now, though, he was by your head and he wasn’t fixing you anymore. All his attention was on calming you. When you let out a wail and cry so much that your chest heaves, he presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead and says,

“Just a bit longer, baby girl. You’re doing so well.” He takes your face in his hands and looks at you with nurturing eyes. But it only makes you look back and cry to him.

“Daddy, pleasseeee… I can’t take this any more! I need to come!” you are barely able to word it out between your sobs.

Kun sighs and grabs a stool and adjusts its height so he is at level with your face when he sits. He takes your face in his hands once more.

“Kiss Daddy to take your mind off of it, princess. But if you want it to stop, you’ll have to say your color.” 

You think about it for a moment. You had come this far. Your pussy was aching and sensitive and your asshole was swollen. Your back was aching a bit and the makeup you had spent nearly an hour doing was probably spoiled. You’re pretty sure the mascara is streaked around your eyes from all the crying. Your hair was probably messy, too, because Kun had grabbed it at one point. But you had come this far. Kun had never been one to hold back his rewards if you’d pleased him in these waiting challenges. And those rewards were always so toe-curlingly bountiful that they made every moment of sexual agony worth it. 

So you end up kissing him though the decision makes you sob into the kiss, like you knew you that you yourself had chosen the torture whereas Kun had offered you a way out. You’re sniffling as you absorb the slow torment in your pussy and Kun kisses you deep. He swirls his tongue in your mouth till you’re drooling down your chin but he doesn’t care. He loved all your messes. He loved that he made you this way: leaking and drooling and crying and submissive. His perfect little princess.

“You’ve made Daddy so proud today, princess.” he coos into the kiss. “Will you be a good girl and stay very still while he undoes everything?”

You nod furiously, your sobs dying down to obedient sniffles as the hope of relief runs through your body. You can feel the mess of tears, mascara and drool on your face, but you don’t seem to care. Kun had already seen the worst of you. No, he had pulled it out of you because that’s what he wanted. That’s what your man wanted.

The man in question walks around to the back of the table now and finally turns the vibrator off. You let out a high pitched, shaky sound of relief, although you don’t feel relieved in any way. You just feel even more sexually frustrated because Kun is taking his time wiping the vibrator off and wrapping the cord and putting it back in it’s right place. Sometimes, you hated his fucking perfectionist guts. Then he methodically undoes the binds around your ankles and you exhale as the circulation returns when you move them around. You place your chest down on the table for a breather when he moves his attention to the huge plug in your ass. He holds it gently and though you know he’s going to be as careful as ever to take it out, you still find yourself gripping onto the edge of the table and holding your breath. But the pain does not come because he twists and turns it so gently, you barely even feel it and only notice it’s absence when the lube starts dripping more freely out of your hole. 

You feel his warm, soft kisses on your ass. “My baby did so well.” he praises and you feel your heart soar. All this pain was worth it if you got to hear him talk like that. Then you find him holding you by the waist and sliding you to the edge of the table, holding your legs and helping you find your footing till you are bent over like he wants. 

“Will my baby be okay to bend over like this for a while?” you hear him ask behind you.

You turn your head just a little to reply “Yes, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” he pats your bum before you hear the telltale sounds of him undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down. These sounds worked on you like the sounds of bells worked on Pavlov’s dogs. Because you find your pussy dripping for him almost immediately. You move the pillows under your chest and place your cheek on the cool surface of the table as you wait for him to take you. Your wrists are still bound by the handcuffs and it makes you feel so bloody submissive that for a while, you’re happy your pussy is dripping so shamelessly for Kun. You wonder if he likes the mess he’s made between your legs.

But that smugness is chased right away when he pushes his cock inside of you and you’re moaning out in no time. He fucks into you so your mound presses into the edge of the table over and over and your moans become more gurgled.

“Your cock feels so good, Daddy!” you mewl desperately and it works because it encourages him to go faster and soon, your chest is lifting off the table because the pressure in your abdomen is building and building. 

Kun grabs your hair and lifts you off the table and hugs your body to him, into his chest. He fucks you like this, standing up and moans in your ear.

“My baby is so good for me. My princess is so good for her Daddy.” He tells you and you think you’re going to burst, so you tell him.

“Daddy, I need to come!” 

“No, baby.” He replies and pulls out of you so quickly that you lose your balance and double over the table, breathing out of your mouth erratically.

“Daddyyyy!” you whine with your entire body at the betrayal.

“Come here.” He invites as he takes a seat on his favorite armchair. Your panties are still around your thighs and you know he wants you to keep them there. So you waddle your way to him, all your pride be damned. He cups your ass right away and helps you get on his lap, looping your bound wrists around his neck as you straddle him.

“My pretty baby.” he says as he looks up to kiss you. “Does my baby want to come?”

You nod and your face contorts again and you don’t realize that your frown has turned into a sob “Please, Daddy…” you beg.

He kisses your shoulder. “Shhh. It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got you.” 

He brings both hands between your legs from behind and pushes down your panties that have ridden up and goes straight for your pussy. His hands rub soothing strokes on the entirety of it, almost like he’s massaging you. Both his hands spread your lips apart then his fingers press against your flesh.

“My good girl…” he coos when he sinks two fingers into your hole while the other hand keeps holding you open for him. He begins pumping and you whimper in his lap, saying ‘Daddy’ over and over like an incantation. But then he curls his fingers inside of you and starts pumping up strongly and you know you’re going to burst soon. You unloop your arms from around him so you can push against his chest.

“Daddy, I think I’m going to squirt.” you warn desperately, worriedly.

He kisses you “It’s okay, baby girl, you can squirt,” he assures you.

“Can I get off you, Daddy? I don’t want to make a mess on you.” you bring both hands to your pussy now, covering because you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out before you have an accident on his pants.

But he uses his free hand to grab your bound wrists and loop them around his neck again. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got you. You can squirt right here.” He kisses your cheek caringly.

“Can I take my panties off, Daddy? I don’t want to make them dirty.” you have no idea why you’re so self-conscious about your messes when your face probably looks like one anyway.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy doesn’t mind if you come in your panties or on his pants. Daddy wants you to come like this, on his lap where you’re safe.” he wraps one arm firmly around the middle of your back while the fingers of the other hand pump with precision because he knows exactly how to make you explode. 

You know you have no choice. You’re whimpering in frustration but you have nowhere to go but his arms. It’s what he wants. He wants you coming undone without hiding from him. And you know it’s bad because your hips are hovering off of his lap, trying to get away from all the pleasure and pressure in your pussy. You bury your face in his neck and wail till your voice strains before it cuts off. And before you know it, you are raining down all over him.

“That’s it, baby girl. Just let go for your Daddy. Let it all out.” He’s rubbing your back, nurturing, which is in striking contrast to what his other hand is doing inside your pussy. You’re embarrassed beyond belief because the squirt is falling onto Kun with a splattering sound and you regret lifting off of him. But you can’t really think because your entire body is convulsing and if he wasn’t holding you, you would’ve fallen off already. When you still, he holds you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, pressing kisses to your forehead. 

“Are you sure you let it all out, baby girl?” He asks, bringing a hand back to your pussy and sinking a finger into your hole as if to confirm.

“I think so, Daddy.” you say meekly into his neck.

“Stand up so Daddy can check.” He says and you almost groan because you don’t want to stand up. You just want to go limp in his arms and never move ever again in your life. 

But nothing good even comes out of defying Kun so you’re up on your feet, supporting yourself with your bound hands on his shoulder. Your pussy is right in front of him like this and he furrows his eyebrows, pushing his fingers inside of you and inspecting you with an almost clinical concentration. When you moan out, he nods like he’s confirmed something.

“I think you can come one more time.” he turns you so you’re standing sideways to him. He brings one hand from behind, under your legs and into your hole, while his other hand splays over your lower abdomen, pressing as if to squeeze anything that’s left out of you. Your toes curl as you moan restlessly because you weren’t sure you could, but once Kun had decided he wanted something, he almost always got it. You let out dry, frustrated sobs and he looks up at you.

“Baby girl. Concentrate and come.” he scolds and he reaches with his thumb to rub circles on your clit as well. You stand there whimpering, moaning, giving into your boyfriend’s desires and soon, you find your body convulsing once again. Kun has to hold you tighter by the pussy because you’re doubling over as your orgasm hits. Soon, he has pulled you into his lap once more, making you sit on his thigh as he kisses you.

“Good girl.” He kisses your lips while his hand goes between your legs to soothe over your aching pussy. “That’s my good girl.” he says in between kisses and you smile lazily because you’re happy you pleased him. 

“Is my good girl going to take Daddy’s cum on her face?” he asks lovingly as he gently pulls your panties up and puts them snugly in place, covering you.

“Yes, Daddy.” You say, in a soft, almost sleepy voice. You were spent.

Kun kisses your temple, tender and long. “Get on your knees for me, baby girl. Take Daddy’s cum all over your pretty face.”

“Yes, Daddy.” you say sweetly as you get on your knees and look up into his eyes from below, like the loving submissive that you were. And he stands up and unzips himself more so he can take his cock in his hands and look at you adoringly as he pumps himself. You rub your palms over his thighs to help him along and soon his breaths have turned to moans and his moans have turned to grunts and he is coming all over your face, hitting your cheek, your forehead, your lips, your eyes. It clings onto your eyelashes; some of it even lands on your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut and keep them closed, staying very still as Kun holds the top of your head and strokes every last drop out onto your face.

He stands back panting “Fuckkk, you look so fucking gorgeous, baby.” he breathes out and you smile gently without opening your eyes.

“Stay like that.” you hear after a while and then feel his thumbs swipe carefully over and between your eyelids. “Open.” he says and you blink your eyes open but soon realize that he meant your mouth because he’s scooping all the cum off your face with his thumb and feeding it to you. You oblige because when he’s done, he kisses you deeply in gratitude.

He walks away for a while and you stay there on your knees, wrists bound, spent to the bone, feeling like your legs have turned to jelly. So you lay your head on the seat of Kun’s chair so you can doze off just like that but he’s back before you’re totally gone. He’s undoing the handcuffs and kissing the skin of your wrists when it is exposed. He is lifting your shirt off of you and your panties and scooping your naked body in his arms and carrying you till he’s placed you in a hot bath. He bathes you thoroughly, massages your scalp when he shampoos your hair, then dries you off and anoints your pussy with soothing balms when he’s done. Then he puts you in one of his shirts that hangs to your thighs like a dress and then pulls you into his arms and tucks the covers around you so you’re snug into him, warm and comfortable and safe.

You feel so good that you decide that you would make breakfast for him in the morning just to thank him for being the best boyfriend in the world. But like all mornings, he beats you to it and you wake to breakfast in bed. 

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Sleepy Sex Series Part 9- William ‘Ironhead’ Miller

A/N: PART 9!? How the hell did that happen?! Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. I’m going to keep writing them if people keep liking them. Next will be Ezra but after that? Who should be next?! 

Pairing: William ‘Ironhead’ Miller x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW (language, p in v tent sex, vaginal sex, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy)

My Masterlist 

Camping with the boys was an adventure, to say the least. They drank all night and then woke you up at the ass-crack of dawn to go hiking. Now, this may be normal behavior for men who served in the Delta Force, but for you, it was just fucking insanity. That’s why tonight you made the decision to go to be early. Leaving the roaring campfire, the smell of marshmallows toasting, and their raucous laughter to return to your tent. Will wanted to come with you, but the sexual teasing from Pope was enough for him to stay with them and catch up.

Will didn’t really drink, only socially and only a couple of beers. With his PTSD, he didn’t ever want to feel more out of control than was necessary for survival. That’s why it was no surprise when an hour later, you felt him slide into your sleeping bag and spoon you. Nuzzling his warm scruff into your neck and whispering “I love you” into your ear. You could still hear the laughter of the boys down closer by the river through the haze of sleep that still clouded your brain.

“Honey,” Will moved closer, and you could feel his erection graze your butt. “Are you asleep?” His hand wrapped around your waist moves under your shirt and up to cup your breast. Kneading the soft flesh between his fingers. You sigh and lean back further into him.

“I was,” you whisper, grinding your ass back. “And I am still exhausted, but I don’t mind if you fuck me, Will, I always want you.” He groans lowly and kisses your neck, planting kisses down to your shoulder. He pulls the strap away from the thin blue camisole and places open mouth kisses down your shoulder.

“You just rest, honey, let your Captain take care of you,” you shiver in his arms at the use of his title, and he knows how much that turns you on. You can feel him smile against your skin as he twists a nipple between his fingers. His other hand moves around you, and he cups both your breasts as you let out a low moan at the feeling of his gun calloused hands on your bare skin.

“Fuck, Will,” you drop your head back onto his shoulder, and he grinds his cock into you.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers.

“I need your cock inside me, baby; I am so tired. Please fuck me so I can fall asleep with your cock inside me. You know how much I love it when you’re close. He nips gently at your neck before moving one hand down and grunting when he finds you bare.

“Honey, where are your bottoms?” He runs his fingers through your soaked folds, and you tremble as he brings them up to his mouth and sucks them clean before going back for more. “Shit, you taste so fucking good.”

“I wanted to sleep with you inside me; how can I do that with bottoms on silly,” he groans, and you feel the tip of his cock against your folds.

“Well, I aim to please honey,” he presses inside you, and you feel his hand come up to cover your mouth as you moan. “Shhh honey, we can’t have the boys hear me make you cum all over my cock can we?”

You shake your head no, and he rocks the rest of the way inside you. Pausing for a moment to adjust to his size. The angle squeezing his cock even tighter than usual, and he bites down on your shoulder on his groan. “Such a tight little pussy, honey, you were made to take my cock.” Each time he thrusts inside, he makes a promise, “I’m going to marry you someday,” thrust. “Buy a house,” thrust. “And then if you want, I’m going to make you a mommy, that way when I fuck you this good, and you call me daddy, it will be the truth.”

He’s still covering your mouth as he thrusts deeper and deeper into your soaked cunt. Your juices obscene as skin slaps on skin in the tight sleeping bag. “Would you like that, honey? You want me to fuck you so full of me you have my babies?” You nod frantically at his hand and stifle a scream as he rubs your clit in time with his thrusts.

“I’m going to pump you so full of my seed and then plug you up with cock so that it takes.” You feel your eyes roll back into your head as he whispers all the filthy ways he’s going to knock you up, and you gush around his clenching tight as you cum. “Ah-yes, honey, that’s it, coat daddy’s cock.”

Oh fuck. Daddy.

“You like it when I talk about making you pregnant? You would be so fucking pretty honey, swollen belly with our baby, tits leaking milk. Fuck, you’re already beautiful.” He picks up the pace pounding into you through your orgasm, and you feel another building right behind it. “ Shit, honey, I’m gonna cum; where do you want it? Hmmm, you want me to cum inside you?”

You nod, and he snaps his hips twice more, and you cum together. Ropes of hot cum spreading inside you and painting your walls as you soak his cock. Tears in your eyes at the amount of pleasure soaring through you. He moves his hand off your mouth and turns your head to kiss you softly. Such a contrast from the man who just wrecked your pussy. “Are you okay?” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes,” your voice is hoarse, “Will...I really want to marry you and have your babies. Is that really what you want?”

“Of course. I am so fucking in love with you. I want forever, just waiting for the right moment. Plus, we’re not ready for kids quite yet; you still need to finish school; you’ve almost got your Ph.D., honey.  Plus, half the fun of having a kid in the making it part. We will know when it’s time.”

“Will, I love you too, so much.” He kisses you again softly and pulls out of you. You whimper, and he turns you around so your half over him and slides back in. You sigh, loving how warm he is inside you.

“Go to sleep honey, we got a big hike in the morning.” You groan, and he laughs, holding you close as you both drift off to sleep.

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