#ordered them back in October

[phantasmal-wizard]

FINALLY have my Jinx Funko Pop figures.

[shopwitchvamp]

So as gauche as it's gonna be, I'm gonna be back to posting & boosting preorders despite everything :[ Like especially because I have all these amazing guest artists who put their hard work into designing for this set & have entrusted me with their artwork.. I don't want to let them down by having the collection fall flat. I wish I'd chosen different timing for these preorders but unfortunately there wasn't realistically any other time that would work since we'll be moving early next year. I hope you'll all understand that I've gotta keep trying to push forward. Thanks as always for your support, everyone 🖤

[nouveaumoon]

my curse of strahd party's (now quite old) tokens! they've come such a long way, and it's such an honor to be the dm for such great players.

the girl on the bottom left died in our session last night in cold barely-premeditated murder by her brother, and her player took over playing escher, so now escher is a full member of the party (but who knows for how long?)

[gobbluthbutagirl]

crazy how if you google “how many job applications per week” (which you probably shouldn’t google anyway) you get one result saying doing 2-3 a day is good, one result saying doing 5-10 a day is good, and one result saying doing 11-20 a day is good. So basically, do whatever the hell you want forever

[robertsbarbie]

I love you someone who’s trying I love you nostalgia I love you bruises I love you the band camino

the band camino can do no wrong musically and i love them so much

[i-love-ptv]

Playing Dangerous ཐི♡̵̼͓̥͒̾͘ཋྀ

Pairing: Police Officer!Boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend!Reader

You get pulled over by the police, but the officer just so happens to be your boyfriend. Will he let you off with just a warning? Part.2!

Wc: 1,822

SMUT (nothing crazy, just a steaming hot blowjob ;)) + winks of fluff

Hi guys!!! Uhm sorry I didn’t get a whole bunch out during October, I had lots of shit going on I fear…So take this as an apology lol. Also I have a (late) halloween fic coming out soon so stay tuned ;)

Feedback is always appreciated! xx

You hear the sirens chirp, and you take a glance at the rear view mirror, that’s when you see the police car riding your tail. You sigh due to the fact that you’re the only car on this road, and begin to pull over.

Were you going over the speed limit? No, you couldn’t possibly be doing so, you always remained cautious on the road.

Your hands rest idly on the steering wheel as you listen to the sound of boots getting closer. Your window is down, making the chilled night air kiss your skin.

The air is filled with cologne that rings familiar; you see his arms resting inside your car window first, the tattoo of your name staring right back at you.

You’re met with none other than your boyfriend, Rafe. He ducks down so his bright crystal-colored eyes are leveled with yours.

“Awfully late to be driving around here, huh Peach?” Rafe teases you with a smirk.

“I was just finishing my errands, Ray. And you scared me! I thought I was actually in trouble!” You try to keep the scowl on your face, but the more you stare at him, the more your face cracks into a smile.

Rafe quirks a brow at you after he takes a few seconds to assess you. “Who said you’re not in trouble? You’re driving without your glasses on, baby.”

You roll your eyes, “You couldn’t have possibly known I wasn’t wearing my glasses when you were behind me,” you replied.

“And besides, you act like I can’t see without them at all.”

Rafe tuts at your comment, “Thought it's already been established that you gotta wear ‘em when you drive, you not following orders now?” His smirk grows all the wider as he takes in your smaller frame.

You bite your lip and gaze at him, “Oh, well everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I don’t think a good girl would break the rules, hm?” Rafe’s face is inching towards yours, slowly leaning more and more into your car.

You pout, feigning innocence, “I wouldn’t do a thing like that, that’s for sure.” Your lips part, going to leave a steamy kiss to the officer’s rosy, yet somewhat chapped lips, but he pulls away slightly, leaving you gaping with glossy eyes.

“I dunno…Think you should step out for a second, sweetheart. Y’know, just to follow protocol.” He whispers hotly against your ear, making your panties dampen.

You quickly exit your car, and as soon as you close the door, Rafe’s pressing you into it.

“I think you deserve a ticket, Peaches, d’ya think so?” His expression darkens whilst he fondles your love-handles, your floral sundress from earlier being bunched up around your hips. You shake your head ‘no’, letting out a soft “uh-uh”.

Rafe’s eyes soften, similar to how you look; he mocks you, exaggerating his pout. “Well, what’re we gonna do with you then, huh precious?”

Your tongue darts out for his lips, your mouth encloses his, and there’s nothing sweet about this kiss. Your tongues battle heatedly, Rafe allows you to think that you’ve won, until he presses his prominent bulge against your stomach, making you gasp in surprise and delight.

Spit dribbles down your chin, his hand cradles your head, leaving no room for you to pull away. You moan and whimper against him, your nimble fingers glide down his chiseled body, and rest against his belt buckle.

Then, Rafe remembers that the two of you are still in fact, on the side of the road. He breaks the kiss, making you chase after him; the string of saliva breaking whilst you whimper for more.

“Mmm, I know baby. Tell you what, how about I have you atone in a different way, would you like that pretty?” His veiny hands raise, resting lightly against your shoulders as his thumbs rub against your throat.

You eagerly nod your head up and down, wanting nothing more than to get your hands on your man wearing his delicious uniform.

Rafe drags you to the passenger seat then dashes to the driver's seat, and he mentally, he thanks every god out there that he forgot to turn both his body-cam, and his dash-cam back on.

He leans the seat back and beckons you over with his index and middle finger. “C’mon Peaches, y’know what to do.” You reach over and begin to unbuckle his pants.

Your body digs somewhat uncomfortably into the center console, but you can’t seem to care— not when Rafe’s cock twitches in his boxers. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight.

You take him out, making him hiss and screw his eyes shut for a moment.

Your manicured finger brushes against his pink tip, rubbing circles as you leave soft, feathery kisses to the base of his dick.

Rafe grunts in frustration, growing impatient with your constant teasing. He grabs your hair roughly, angling your face just above his dick.

“Make sure you breathe through your nose f’me, Peach.”

Your head is pushed down; your lips wrap perfectly around his shaft as it goes deeper into your mouth. Your nose is pressed against Rafe’s hairy thigh, his cock kissing the back of your throat beautifully. You gag slightly at his length, making your boyfriend chuckle.

He pulls you off, then sends you right back down just as quick. You hollow your cheeks as your head continues to bob. Spit gathers around your mouth due to Rafe’s force. He uses his left hand to hold your hair, while his right rubs the back of your neck.

It’s something so soft, so sweet, while in such a dirty, sinful situation.

The wet sounds of your gagging and slurping is all Rafe can focus on. —That and how sexy you look with the blue and red lights reflecting off of your face. It’s a sight he wishes to preserve in his mind for the rest of eternity.

He fully removes you from his dick, allowing you to catch your breath. “Mhm, you got it baby,” he says through his panting.

He guides your head back down; you don’t even get a chance to wrap your hand around what doesn’t fit because he’s thrusting up into your mouth.

Tears pool into your eyes, but Rafe can hardly tell due to them nearly rolling to the back of your head.

You whimper around him, your angelic sounds and the squelching which permeated the car only encourage him.

“You’re my good girl though, right Peaches? You’re gonna take it real good f’me?” Rafe moans at the sensation of your tongue swirling around his cock.

You squeal around him, trying to shake your head ‘yes’ at him but Rafe continues to roll his hips up.

The car shifts when another comes speeding down the road, but he can’t seem to give a shit when the woman of his dreams is nearly sucking him off the bone.

Rafe’s head is tilted towards the roof, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows his spit. His chest heaves, his grip on the back of your neck tightening as he moans hopelessly.

“H-hah, that mouth was made f’me precious,” he grunts through his gritted teeth.

“You. Were. Made. For. Me.” His words are emphasized by his thrusts.

He switches hands, allowing his left to snatch up your hand, so his right can hold onto the open window.

His bucking grows erratic, his rhythm being lost, alongside his mind as he grows closer and closer to his climax. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, another sign of him almost finishing.

Rafe can no longer contain his moans, he’s borderline wailing at this point, his body is lifting off the seat, but you maintain your pace.

“Y-yes baby! That’s it! Make me cum, honey. Make me fucking cum.” He sounds almost pained, which fuels your burning desire.

Rafe’s been reduced to a whimpering mess now, despite his acts of dominance earlier, but neither of you mind. His moans go higher in pitch, then suddenly, you feel his warm load flood your mouth.

The salty taste makes you moan, making Rafe shiver, and his thighs twitch.

You release him with a ‘pop’, and you leave a sweet, yet seductive kiss to the head of his flushed cock.

His load mixed with your hot saliva drips down your chin, you take your index finger and scoop it into your mouth while holding Rafe’s deepend gaze.

You lock your lips with his, and he gasps at your attempt to literally, take his breath away.

He breaks away with a low grumble, and you giggle. You pull down the driver side’s visor and look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is sticking up every which way, your mascara from earlier in the day now dries against your tear stained cheeks, and your lips are kiss bitten and puckered.

Rafe tucks himself away before you climb into his lap, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“I think I atoned for my rule breaking quite well, don’t you, Officer Cameron?” You grin mischievously, pressing your nose against his.

Rafe only hums in response, he smiles at your antics and kisses you softly.

“I uh..I got a few things to take care of back at the station,” he mumbled.

“How about you go home and wait for me there, baby.”

You pout at this, while he exits the car with you still wrapped around him.

He sets you down once you reply, “Will you come home to me?” His expression softens.

He pecks all around your face, making it harder for you to keep up your sullen act.

“Of course, pretty girl,” Rafe whispers.

You cross your arms as he continues, “I’ll wrap up so quickly, babe. Then I can…” He trails off, before ducking down to your ear.

“Return the favor.” He nibbles at your ear, and you press your legs together.

“Mmm, okay. But hurry back..” You peer at him, fixing his wild hair strands. He kisses your wrist.

“Of course,” and with that, he firmly kisses your cheek before allowing you to step back into your car.

After you settle in—after he finished adjusting your seat back, you place your hands on the wheel and spare him a last glance.

“Can you do me a favor, baby?” He asks with a grin, but you can tell it’s far from sweet.

You hum, both in curiosity and excitement.

“Think you can hold onto these for me?” He places the item into your hand, and leans back to head to his car, but not without yet another kiss to your lips.

You lick your lips as you watch him walk back to his police cruiser.

You know he won’t leave until you do, so you eventually pull off.

The set of shining, silver handcuffs resting next to you, and an ever growing heat between your legs.

[bixbythemartian]

usamericans-

this is probably going around here like several times, but you can order 4 more free covid tests starting today. if you didn't order any back in september/october (I hadn't heard about it, so I hadn't gotten more tests), you might be able to get up to 8. it just told me 'hey you can get more' and let me do it again, it was very easy to do.

if you're like 'well, I should leave that for people who need it!' don't. order them. stockpile them. the more the program is used, the more likely it is that it will remain a funded program and send the message that covid-19 is still a concern. use the program. there's no needs testing, no nothing, just put in your name and address. if nothing else, you can give a couple to a friend who has a larger family, since it's a per household thing and some people might need more or less, or a mutual aid group in your area, or something. the more people who do this, the more likely they are to keep reupping this program.

[neighbourscat]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 , nicholas alexander chavez

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . celeb!nicholas c. X non-celeb!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. when watching horror movies with your boyfriend leaves you waking throughout the night, you resort to social media to distract you from your disturbing thoughts. scrolling and scrolling, you find yourself on the steamy side of tiktok; your boyfriend the face of this new era.

+ cw. brief description of horror documentary ( no specific title ). mature language! established relationship, painfully horny reader // somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cock-warming for a bit, multiple orgasms + orgasm denial, creampie.

+ nali’s notes; pure filth. wordcount :: 2.6k+

+ to be played: back to sleep, chris brown. || alternative: p power, gunna ( no drake, ver ).

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

you knew you shouldn’t have gave into your boyfriend’s request for a ‘horror movie’ night. it was the first night of october, so you figured why not ( and you regret that ). you prepared trays of snacks; anything you could find in the pantry: chocolate covered pretzels, leftover tostitos chips and spicy cheese dip — which you couldn’t eat at all, unfortunately. you couldn’t understand how your boyfriend could watch those scenes and continue to stuff his face. like the one with the human man meat-grinding another human man; breaking him down to bits and pieces in order to better dispose of him.

after the second and final movie, you told nicholas to lock up once more — your level of paranoia astronomical. there would be no recovering from those movies, especially not in the month of october — “no one is coming in here,” nicholas said for the fifth time, teasingly, crunching up the empty bag of tostitos. “you don’t know that,” you had said, peeking through the cozy throw blanket. you were sitting criss-crossed, nicholas’s pumpkin-blanket outlined around your face and body.

nicholas laughed to himself, licking at his salty fingers. you saw as he turned his back toward you and started for the kitchen to wash his hands — leaving you all alone in the living area. you tensed, scrunching your knees up to your chest and becoming a tight ball.

on any regular night — when your imagination wasn’t filled with slideshows of dismembered human bodies ( mostly children’s. you swore tv-people couldn’t show that shit on television, even if it was all makeup ) or a creature that melted people and used their gushy remains to grow in height, weight, and strength — you would have the window blinds snapped closed, leaving you and your boyfriend in pitch black darkness.

not tonight. fuck that.

after jumping into bed and diving under the blanket, you demanded your boyfriend to open the blinds — and to leave them wide open. you felt like a small girl again, needing her nightlight and closet doors firmly closed. the jackets that you and nicholas had hooked on the walls were also placed into the closet. the reason why they were out on the wall in the first place, was because there was no room in the closet. but nicholas made room — needing to shut your complaining.

you were in and out of sleep for the next four hours. twisting and turning, latching yourself onto nicholas’ arm or his torso, scrolling through instagram and tiktok; sending your close friends reels and responding to fan accounts of nicholas’ — but you straightened up a bit when an edit took over your screen.

without a second thought, without a slight consideration or hesitation — you hearted the video, added it to your favourites, saved the video to your phone, and commented an excessive amount of heart-eye emojis. and when you scrolled up . .. . you scrolled back down to rewatch the edit. you propped yourself onto an elbow, letting it play and play over and over again. and suddenly, the dark hadn’t been so scary anymore. you kept the volume down low, the lyrics of ���p-power’ by gunna faint; as well as the moaning in the background.

you pulled your eyes from your phone screen, only for a second at the low sound of nicholas tugging the blanket up to his chest. he rolled onto his side and let out a low breath, the moonlight illuminating his features. you raked your fingers through his hair and with your other hand, you swiped over to view the profile and watched more edits of your boyfriend — finding that over thirty minutes had gone; thirty minutes of watching your boyfriend do his job ( hotly ).

nicholas turned onto his backside once again, pushing the blanket downward and away from his bare chest. his sleeping form was always . .. . too tempting not to feel a little tingling on your insides. nicholas liked sleeping with only his briefs on and no matter how normal that was, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander around; even more so after liking and saving all of those edits.

there was something about actually having him here beside you. there’s something in the way his body was ( so toned and muscular ) spread out on his side of the bed and the way his face is as calm as the waters of a lake during a summer evening, or maybe . .. . it was the little tent between his legs that his boxers revealed, that increased your body temperature.

turning off your phone, you felt bad for being turned on just by the way he looked when he was asleep . .. . perhaps it was the effect love had on you or it was just another kink or the velocity edits, you didn’t know yet, but the aching burn in your stomach didn’t stop you from cuddling up beside him.

you rested your head on his spread arm and snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. the familiar scent made you smile and, for a short moment, you thought you could stay like this. maybe this is what you needed; the warmth of his relaxed body calmed you for a while, but then . .. . your hand moved like it had a mind of its own.

you trailed your fingers along his collarbones and he hummed in his sleep, shifting a bit. he looked so . .. . so cute, you couldn’t stop yourself from travelling far south, to caress his chest and abdomen as softly as possible, trying not to wake him up. and in this very moment, you felt like the luckiest woman on the planet; touching on the man that millions were so very attracted to.

you felt every muscle of his abdomen, which made your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth, to prevent a sigh from leaving you. mindlessly, you scooched in closer — your hand needed to go further down, past his sharp v-line, but you weren’t sure. your hand itched for it. for him, but your mind wouldn’t allow it just yet.

and when the slightly lined abs flexed under your touch, you immediately checked his face, afraid that you might’ve woken him —

— but his closed eyes and steady breathing told you otherwise. so, your arm moved to his exposed thigh. his skin was warm, and as you caressed and fondled with his body, the sinful thought of taking his cock out and stroking him, made you press your thighs together. the moans that would fall from his soft lips and the way he’d buck his hips up begging for more, using your soft hand to chase and tip over the edge, only made your breathing heavier.

and the thought of his brown eyes on you as you gently kissed his fiery tip and pumped the rest of him drove you crazy, to say the least. you could picture it . .. . but you wanted to taste it even more; you wanted to feel him shiver as your mouth wrapped around him. you wanted his world to center around you, your name heavy on his tongue, viscous and filling his mouth like honey until he was drowning in a pool of ecstasy.

you wanted him to cup the sides of your head in his big hands — his fingers holding your braids together in a messy ponytail — and start thrusting himself into the slick warmth of your mouth, pathetically using your throat as his own personal fleshlight, the constant flow of his thick precum and your saliva leaking onto the bed sheets. you wanted to hear him groan deep within the pits of his chest . .. .

but you closed your eyes, restricting yourself to only imagine. your mind no longer filled with horrible images of bloody corpses, but of nicholas fucking himself up into your body over and over again — the crotch of your panties were damp and at this point, you hadn’t realized how your grip on his thigh had tightened or how the muscles rippling through his skin had stiffened.

“ . .. . get on top . ..” his sleepy voice, raspy and deep, rang in your ears and you snapped your head toward him, wide-eyed. the burn in your stomach ached even more at the sight of nicholas’ still closed eyes and messy brown hair. you pushed yourself up a bit, staring down at his face. you poked at his cheek and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. he gave his thighs a pat, at which you got the message: come, and straddled his waist without any question or trouble.

“i’m sorry . .. .” you apologized lowly, feeling guilty for being the reason he was no longer sound asleep. nicholas shook his head, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and answered quietly, “don’t be sorry, pretty.” and then, “take what you need,” nicholas said under his breath and the tone made your eyes fall heavy. “you can take me.”

you leaned in and pecked his cheek, but as you pulled away he chased after your lips with a soft pout. a slow, open-mouthed kiss was all it took for the sigh you’d been holding back to finally escape you and when it did, his grip on your hips tightened. his fingers dug and dug into your brown skin, his pulse thumping and pounding. nicholas moved you a smidge, just enough to have you sitting right over his bulge — and his legs trembled, “shhit .. .” breaking the kiss.

you found his mouth again. and as you kissed; his tongue delving between your lips, your hand slid to the grown arousal — his breath hitched as your hand brushed against his hardness through the thin fabric. and you dipped your hand passed the waistband — taking him out of the obstacle that the underwear was.

you gave a clean up and down pump of your hand and nicholas groaned lowly into your mouth. as you gave another and another, he ripped his lips away from yours and tilted his head back into the pillow, the heat and pressure of your hand too delicious. it was almost too much to bear.

his muscles tensed and his breathing became shallow and ragged. nicholas could feel the intensity and pleasure building within him with every stroke of your hand. “need’ta . .. .” he mumbled, his voice low and strained. “holy shitt-oh fuck.” nicholas bit down on his lower lip, eyelids fluttering shut. he needed to be inside of you. he needed to feel your body wrapped around him. he needed you like he needed to breathe.

and when he felt your hand no longer pumping, he opened his eyes — staring up at the ceiling. “wha-what happened?” he had asked, coming to lift up . .. . and his voice died to a scratchy whisper at the feeling of you lining him up between your pussy lips. you moved your wrist; rubbing him side to side, his tip kissing at your clit and just almost pushing into your slit, collecting your syrupy slick — shivers washed your spine.

if it wasn’t for his arms helping, you wouldn’t have started pushing down. nicholas guided your hips down and the sight of his cock disappearing within you was just as overwhelming as the feel of your ribbed walls. “oh. .. . fuckkk.” he groaned deeply, his nails digging into your flesh even harder — the tightness and warmth of you brought tears to his eyes. nicholas could barely keep himself from bucking up into you . .. . but he wanted you to set the pace. he wanted you in control.

“y-you’re squeezing,” he muttered cutely, in a breathless whisper.

you hadn’t realized how needy you were until nicholas was shifting underneath you, burying his cock to the hilt — you felt full all over. you resisted the urge to pound down on him for the sake of his still sleepy daze. your hands landed on his chest for support and you raised your hips slowly.

the wetness of your cunt was enough to slip him in and out with ease — smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touched down — and soon, you picked the pace up, just enough to hear his deep, guttural moans. you rode him slowly, feeling his tip reach deep at this angle while he eyed you with a drowsy stare. nicholas was losing his mind, his eyes now practically rolling in the back of his head. nicholas released a sharp, low breath, staring up at you then, “you’re makin’ it so hard to keep still . ..”

“you don’t even know,” he said, gritting his teeth.

raising your hips, it took quite some effort to pull him out that far because he was so girthy. your walls were literally pulling at his cock as if you didn’t want to let him go. which you didn’t. you did it slowly, terribly slow, every millimetre had your pussy lips tracing another facet of him.

a breathy moan fell from your lips, which made nicholas force you faster down on him and you clenched, instantly. “let me do it . .. .” he pleaded — the wet, squelchy sounds that came from where your body met his, was quiet enough to indicate lazy, early morning sex between lovers, and the rhythm was not a particularly quick one, but one to make the burn in your stomach feel like it’ll soon be on fire.

“let me, baby.” as you were about to give attention to your clit, nicholas planted his feet into the mattress and snapped his hips up, hitting your g-stop instantly. a muffled cry filled the room and the sudden lack of energy made you fall over him. nicholas snaked both arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, holding you firmly against his chest. “nngh-! just like that!” you whined.

your body worked with his, chasing after release.

"f-fuck-nic, please.. ." your jaw clenched so hard, you thought you were moments away from breaking your teeth.

he wanted to kiss you so badly, but the position was too good and he loved seeing the way your lips formed a small ‘O’ with every few thrusts. “baby . .. . shit, i need you’ta cum.” it was his way of hinting that he was struggling and he hoped you would understand it. “want’cha’ta look at me when you cum .. . okay?”

you gave him an eager nod, holding onto his forearms; you felt his arms flex and strain with how fast he was ramming into you. you wanted to hold it in until he came with you, but nicholas got the pump just right — your breaths were short — and you were having trouble keeping your eyes on his. it didn’t take too much longer to have you thrashing and shivering and cunning so hard. he doesn’t stop then.

his heavy breaths got mixed with curses at the feeling of your walls clenching continuously. nicholas continued to move his cock in and out of you, digging and scratching deep — hitting the spots that he knows only his tip can touch. “cum again . .. .”

“need’a feel it again.” the moonlight and his sweat made him shine, highlighting the sharpness to his jaw, the tension in his arms as he lifted you up by an inch; a slight new angle. wet skin slapping was all that could overshadow your moans and pleas. but he could hear you; loud and clear. his attention was all on you.

you might have tried to say something but your incoherent mumbles weren't meant for him to understand. because of his desperate need to keep you tethered as him, he still does not stop. you're howling, and curling into him, and cunt frothing with an orgasm lost into the next.

“s-shhit, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, heaving a breathless sigh. nicholas slowed his hips then; your pussy clenched so hard, so tight, that he could barely move. your clit screamed with the beating and thudding of your heart, loud in your ears and blocking the harsh cries and breathy gasps tearing from your throat.

stifled cries tickled nicholas’ neck, one hand holding your head, you trembled with your nails clawing in his shoulders for strength. he jerked up and gripped your ass tightly, but instead of forcing you to your limits till he came in you, he stilled himself — just sitting inside of you like this burned . .. . so good. nicholas had never felt so close to you, so intimately connected. he could lose himself in you forever.

nicholas was right there, quiet moans escaping him as more time passed. but it was evident that he was still holding out — you could feel his cock twitching. your hands cupped his cheeks, your fingers gently scratching the back of his ears. “why are you torturin’ yourself? hmm?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

he came harder when he denied himself. “th’ build up.” it came out quiet and short and he knew if he stayed like this that he wouldn’t last much longer. “cum, baby . .. .” you pleaded, “please .. .” you squeezed him in just the right way that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. and then he couldn’t hold it in anymore — he was where he wanted to be.

“holy fuck-i’m gonna cum.” his voice was desperate.

the plastic band holding him back from his orgasm snapped as he thrusted particularly deep, and he arched his back off of the bed — letting him reach just a little deeper, just enough to send him over the edge again, more curses spilled from his lips. white filled his vision, red hot pleasure searing his body from head to toe, and you kissed him through it.

you knew you could fall asleep now.

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[scented-morker]

Lovesick fools

Alternatively… enha’s reaction to being on a variety show with their idol!crush

No warnings, 2k words, implied fem!reader.. these took me forever </3

Heeseung

Fourth gen vocalists on the show ‼️

He was so excited to be there that he totally forgot you would def be there too

Until he was getting his makeup done and you walked in with curlers in your hair and coffees in your hand

He immediately found himself smiling at how cute you looked, and it only got worse when you handed him a cup

"Twitter said this was your order, I hope it's right."

The makeup artist starts laughing and opts out of putting blush on him bc he's all red from you

Once filming starts you all sing a prepared cover, and he's so focused on his own that he stays calm for most of it

Except yours is last, which means his mind is fully empty since he’s done and now all he’s able to focus on is how pretty you sound and the way you smile through the words

You sing 'drinks or coffee' from rose's new album and he swears you wink at him

"We don't have to talk, I know that you want me."

Twitter goes crazy bc you absolutely did wink at him, and they have the slow mo replay to prove it

Him blushing like mad also goes viral

He walks up to you backstage

"So... do you want to get drinks or coffee?" 🤭

Jay

It's shuhua's show again, but instead of sunghoon he's paired up with you

Bro gives himself a pep talk in the mirror before filming starts

"You are cool and calm and will not giggle like a school girl at her. Shes going to look pretty and you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Thinks it should be illegal to look good in a work uniform, but there you are

You guys are cooking and you're so impressed by how well he does at separating the fat from the meat

You are so horribly bad at it that Shuhua looks like an expert 💔💔

"Jay I think you need to help her, she's massacring the product."

Ok girl are you a host or a wingman

But he does, telling you to adjust your grip on the knife, reaching over to show you how to do it better which has you blushing like crazy

You guys are partnered up trying to give away samples against shuhua which is where you shine bc people just can't stay away from you especially when you pout and ask 'pretty please?'

Jay doesn't blame them, he's ready to buy everything in the store from you

One of the girls doesn't bat an eye at you when you beg but you're desperate so you yell after her

"Look how handsome my partner is, don't you want to come buy something from us?"

The girl comes back but Jay can't even be flattered bc he's too busy freaking out that you think he's cute

"Did you really mean that?" He asks you after filming

"Of course I did, I'm not blind."

So he asks for your number and ofc you give it to him

Jake

It’s some sort of school setting show

You guys are paired up against Jay and another member of your group as the four of you compete with trivia questions

You’re all English speakers, so they make you answer everything in English and since we’re already being delulu let’s say you have an English accent bc we know Jake loves that

You have to yell at him to lock in because when you start trying to reason out the question he’s so focused on your voice that he isn’t listening to a word you say

You guys are getting whooped by the other team

That is until your member makes a joke about you saying how your ideal type is a smart guy

Bro instantly locks tf in

“October 23rd, 2016”

“That is correct! Team Hot Accents gets another point as they make an impressive comeback!”

Yes that’s your team name, you both have hot accents and you know it 🤷‍♀️

You get so excited every time you guys score a point that you’re practically bouncing in your seat cheering and giving him high fives

You answer a few questions after that but he’s definitely carrying you guys and he could not be happier about it

“Don’t worry y/n, I got you. Just sit there and look pretty.” 😍

By the end you guys are tied and the hosts ask you to give your partner a good luck charm as he and Jay face off for the last question

You contemplate kissing his cheek before realizing that would probably get you murdered on twitter so you settle for giving his hand a squeeze after interlocking your fingers post high five

When he gets the question right he runs over and picks you up to spin you around in celebration

The editors definitely put some incriminating caption like [a very overexcited reaction from the golden retriever] that fans laugh at him for afterwards

But he doesn’t care bc you were in his arms and that’s all that matters ‼️

After filming you’re like “wow Jake you’re so smart do you want to hang out sometime?”

YEP YEP YEP YES HE DOES

Sunghoon

You guys were both ex figure skaters, so they had you guys film an episode at a rink

They got both of you a new version of one of your old costumes, and sunghoon was immediately red at the sight of you in the sparkling dress with a little cut out on the side

You both spent the first few minutes just running around on the ice, enjoying being back

The hosts had a list of skills they read out and then made each of you try

It only made sunghoon's crush bigger watching you move so gracefully, and he grinned so big whenever you'd compliment him

"Woah, he's still really good!"

Towards the end they had you try partner moves, everyone cheering when you guys synced up so well in the turns and twists

“Woah they look really good together! It’s like fate they move at the exact same time!”

They even let you try a stunt, and sunghoon became a stuttering mess when he put his hand on your waist where the cut out in your costume was

"Is- is this ok? I don't want to drop you, but we could skip it if you want."

"Of course it's ok!"

He's so touched at the amount of trust you put in him while trying out partner tricks

And it's rightfully placed considering the time you guys mess up he makes sure to change the angle of your fall so that he takes the brunt of the impact instead of of you

You apologize so many times, including going up to him after filming to thank him again

"Is there anything I can do to thank you?"

"How about a date?"

Sunoo

Who knows why the show paired you guys up

Maybe they saw the media attention from your brief waves to each other at an award show and the viral ‘bite me’ challenge you did together

But they bring both of you to a cafe set and you have to make coffees and such before being interviewed

You’d worked at a coffee shop predebut so at one point you reach over and grab his hand to adjust the way he holds the cup under the milk steamer

The editors zoom in on his red face while you turn around and practically sprint away

Your last task before the interview is to make a drink for the other person while they film a confessional about you

You’re sitting there stuttering over your words as an explanation as to why you ran after helping him earlier and how kind he was when you filmed your tiktok together last time

Meanwhile, sunoo is asking the staff for help to make your super specific and stupidly difficult drink order that he knows from watching your interviews

He pretends it was casual and easy once he joins you at the table, setting the cup down in front of you like he didn’t restart it 3 times

“This is my favorite coffee!! I didn’t even remember them teaching us this!”

“Wow that’s so weird, lucky me I guess”

He tried to be nonchalant but it was NOT working

He literally lets out a giggle as soon as you drink it and do a little happy dance when it’s exactly how you like

When the interviewer asks about your relationship (bringing up the award show wave) Sunoo says that you guys are casual friends but he hopes you can become closer after filming together

To which you respond ABSOLUTELY and promise to wave at him at every schedule you see him

That’s enough for his weak heart for one day so he doesn’t end up following up after the cameras stopped

but you kept your promise and after a few months of excited waves and animated conversations at award shows he secures your number and a date

Jungwon

He’s too responsible to risk anything by talking about his crush on you but once in a live you said you really admired him because you couldn’t imagine having to lead your group while being one of the youngest members

(He saved the video and probably replayed it about fifty times afterwards)

But that was enough to make one of the shows want you guys together !!

Which is how you end up trailing behind him through a creepy dark building while scare actors try to freak you guys out

Bro was not excited for this but he is doing his best bc YOU NEED HIM ‼️

You are so close to his back that he can feel your body heat and when someone jumps out you practically climb on his back

You apologize profusely afterwards, but he waves it off, offering you his arm to grasp onto for the rest of the time

You say in a confessional part that you were scared out of your mind but it was bearable bc Jungwon was there

“He was so brave and cool, it made me feel so much better!”

He isn’t even scared anymore, he’s just mad bc they’re intentionally making you upset so his cute angry face pops out and the two of you make it through the whole haunted house in record time

Afterwards he tells you that he hopes he wasn’t mean or anything, he was just upset they were scaring you

He was mad at them for doing their jobs 💔 rip

But that just made you appreciate him more

“Can I treat you to lunch one day? To thank you for taking such good care of me?”

He MELTS, of course you can

Riki

You and him were both on a variety show to show the difference between maknaes

He was the image of a cool and mature maknae, while you were the giggly pink maknae of your group

He thought it was gonna be awkward bc the whole point of the show was how different you guys were, but you got along so easily

As soon as you started talking he was a GONER

He'd watch you answer a question and get so distracted looking at your face that the hosts would have to repeat the question for him to respond to after 😭

So much for being cool

They ask him how he feels about aegyo to which he describes how passionately he hates it

So they make you do aegyo for him to see if he reacts

HE DOES

Homeboy starts blushing without even realizing it

It puts the biggest smile on his face that they tease him about for the rest of the show

You tell him you'll give him lessons in it if he wants while live and that's how he approaches you after

"You probably need my number to set up those lessons right?"

[dawnscales]

At work today a guy asked where our travel guides are. I was carrying a bunch of things & on my way downstairs so I could only point with my elbow but basically "that door & then straight to the end of the room, my colleague is there if you need help"

that worked out fine but when i was back upstairs at the library & sat down to continue placing orders he asked again, or rather "I can't find the region I am looking for" & honestly our traveling guide section can be a lot. Also if you don't know that we put some places together, it gets even harder. He was looking for some maps about Bosnia so I showed him.

That's when he saw my star of David necklace & complimented it. I said thanks & got ready to return to my spot. All of a sudden, as I am already halfway across the floor, he yells "Oh & I need something else. I need books about the Nakba. You know what this is, right? The ongoing genocide committed by the Jewish people"

I told him I know what he means & if he could wait a moment. I told my co-worker to please take over as adviser for me, told him what the man is looking for & that we definitely have books about the topic.

It honestly was the right timing because my shift would end in 10 minutes & two girls needed help with books about a topic I just had training for so I knew I could help them real fast.

The man ignored my co-worker & proceeded to follow me, shouting. I informed him that I am currently helping other people & my co-worker can help, he is actually in charge of our history & politics section. I got a "I don't want him. I want your help. You know what is going on, don't you?"

It took me somewhat snapping & more rudely informing him that I am currently busy helping other people & getting a bit louder myself. It also took my co-worker putting his body between the guy & me for him to go quiet & then mutter "so you're fucking busy" & leaving.

This isn't okay. This is antisemitism. I do not wear a name tag that shows I have a name more commonly found in Israel. I do not speak with an accent - yes I grew up the first years of my life in Israel & I have dual citizenship. But he does not know that. All he saw was a visibly Jewish person.

My co-worker had me go to our office & informed me I could leave once he went through our library & made sure the guy wasn't outside. Like sincerely this is fucked up. I want to wear my Star of David, I want to be visibly Jewish. I don't want to put myself or my co-workers in danger.

I didn't realize how much this fucked me up until I arrived home, sat down & suddenly just cried.

EDIT 31.10.24: I want to say even if I was visibly Israeli, even if I wore the Israeli flag THIS WOULD NOT BE OKAY . I need people to know that I actually love my home country - I hate the government but I love the place - I have family there, October 7th was a horrific massacre & my family lost friends that day .

While we still lived in Israel my father often took me along to discussions between Israelis and Palestinians, I was raised to hope and believe in a two state solution in which both Palestinians and Israelis can live in safety and dignity. I still hope in that.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[laligraves]

sweet angel agency

dark!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2.3k summary: Joel mistakes you for the escort he ordered. masterlist | AO3

warnings: dark!Joel, TLOU AU, noncon/dubcon (im so serious don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), older!joel/no outbreak, not proofread, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, reader has hair joel can pull, reader can be picked up by joel, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: happy october! i have these three serial killer!joel WIPs i keep jumping between but idk which one to finish 😭 so i wrote this instead lol

“No, no, no. Shit!” 

Your car emits a loud creaking sound and begins to shake. Thinking quickly, you drive into a small cul-de-sac, away from the main road and fast cars. It rolls to a stop with one final groan, shutting off completely. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, “are you kidding me?” 

You grab your phone from the center console, noticing the 3% battery, and shoot a text to your friend that you’ll be late to the Halloween party. 

It dies as you press the send button and you throw it to the passenger seat in exasperation. You look around the rows of houses. There’s a Halloween event in the city, which probably explains the lack of cars in the driveways and the turned off porch lights. 

Well, all except one. 

A pickup truck with tools and materials in the bed, is parked in the driveway of a home. The porch light is on and you can see the flicker of the TV through the closed blinds. 

You hope the family is nice enough to let you use their phone or even if by some miracle, one of them knows how to fix your car. As you step out of the car and smooth down your dress, you pray they aren’t judgmental of your outfit choice. 

It’s a tiny, silk dress complete with angel wings and thigh high stockings. You pull the dress down in an effort to cover your thighs but it only brings it down from your chest, accentuating your tits. 

With no choices left, you ring the doorbell to the house. There’s no noise aside from the crickets and the TV, until you hear the heavy thuds of boots walking towards the door. 

It swings open, revealing a tall, older man. His hair and beard have streaks of gray and his brown eyes are lined with soft wrinkles. The button down he wears stretches over his broad chest and as he leans his arm on the door, the bottom of his shirt rises to show a slight belly and a happy trail. 

In other words, he's handsome. A quick scan of his left hand shows no wedding ring. 

You give him a pretty smile, not above using your looks to get what you want. 

“Hi,” you say as you give him your name, “sorry to bother you. My car broke down and I was wondering if I could use your phone to call a tow truck?” 

His eyes do a slow sweep of your body, lingering on the lacy band of your thigh highs, then back up to your eyes, 

“Didn’t realize you came with a story.” 

Your eyebrows pinch in confusion. “Uh–story? What?” 

“And the angel costume… I guess that’s expected.” 

“May I use your phone?” you ask again.  

He pushes the front door wider, motioning for you to walk in. “It’s in the kitchen.” 

You walk inside and accidentally brush against his body. Aside from his confusing comments, the deep rumble of his voice caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You walk into the hallway, stopping at the entrance of the living room, waiting for him to lead you to the kitchen. 

“Are you… home alone or–” 

You feel his hand snake through your hair and pull you back into his chest. His other hand slips under your dress and cups your pussy, rubbing over the thin material of your panties. 

“What the fuck–” 

You lift your hands to scratch and push him away but he only holds you tighter. 

“Stop playin’ games, little girl,” he growls, “we both know why you’re here.” 

His fingers, rough and calloused even through your panties, glide over your panty-covered slit in rough strokes. You’re frozen in his arms, unsure of what to do. 

Your heart pounds fast in your chest and you feel warmth spread through your body. 

“I don’t–please, sir–” you stutter. 

His fingers slip into your panties and you bite your lip to muffle your moan. He swirls his middle finger at your entrance, gathering the slick that’s dripped out of you, and drags it up to circle your clit. 

You gasp, the sudden jolt of pleasure taking you by surprise. 

“So fuckin’ sensitive,” he growls, “can’t wait to sink my cock in ya’, angel.” 

Your hands try to dislodge his arms from around you, but he slips his hand around your neck and squeezes, cutting off your air supply. Your wings bend in his hold and the plastic middle digs into your back. 

“I told them I wanted you to call me Joel,” he murmurs, loosening his hand to allow you to breathe, “but I like sir.” 

“What are you talking about—” 

Joel interrupts you again, ripping your panties in a stinging snap and spinning your around to face him. You teeter and almost trip on your heels, but he crouches and swings you over his shoulder. 

He brings his hand down on your ass, ordering you to stop squirming, girl, while you feel the cool air brush on your naked cunt. 

Joel walks you through the hallway and into a room, dropping you on his bed. You try to scoot away from him, but he grabs your foot and yanks you back down. 

“No, please,” you cry, “I don’t know what this is–” 

“We won’t be needing these,” he says as he slips off your heels. 

“Sir–” 

Joel grabs the top of your dress and rips it half, maneuvering your body so he can untie your wings, leaving you in nothing but your stockings. 

You don’t like the way your belly tightens with each stroke of his rough hands over your heated skin or the way your cunt drips with need every time he calls you a pretty angel. 

He laughs at your attempts to kick or shove him away, and easily overpowers you. Joel pushes your hands back and nuzzles your breasts, gliding his nose over one, sliding to the other, until he suckles a peaked nipple into his mouth. 

It gets you to stop fighting and instead you whimper in his hold, pushing your chest up so he can get more of your plump flesh into his mouth. 

He makes room for himself between your thighs, grinding down his bulge onto your bare pussy. The rough material of his jeans contrasts the softness of his mouth and your brain short circuits. 

“Always the same with you sluts,” he growls, “beggin’ me to stop but look at ya’, soakin’ my jeans.” 

Joel props himself up, giving a kiss to the tip of each breast, and holds your mouth open with rough fingers to shove your panties inside. With your now torn dress, he uses the silk to tie your hands together. 

“Can’t get away from me now, little girl. You’re all mine.” 

Your knees are bent and thighs spread open, giving him a perfect view of your cunt. He uses one hand to thumb your tiny hole while the other unbuckles his belt. 

“Prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen,” Joel says, “gonna make a mess in it.” 

Joel pushes his jeans down and fists his cock, squeezing the thick length in his hand. A pulse starts in your cunt at the sight and you unconsciously tighten your inner muscles.

You push the inappropriate thoughts out of your head, reminding yourself that this is a stranger, one that you wanted help from–but the dribble of pre-cum on his purple tip makes your mouth water. 

His cock is thick, angry-looking, and curved slightly. A patch of curly hair, silver streaked just like his head, covers his base. 

Joel slips a single finger inside of you and you both groan, him from the snug fit and you from the stretch. Your back arches and you cry out from behind the gag. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, “how am I gonna fit in here, angel?” 

He slides his finger out and notches the tip of his cock to your slick entrance. You cry, no, no, please, through your gag, but your resolve slowly slips. 

Joel holds your thighs open and thrusts in with one firm push, lodging himself to the hilt. It takes you a few moments to react, but you scream behind the gag.

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, “that’s—fuck. You’re fuckin’ perfect.” 

You flutter around his length, trying to accommodate his size, feeling every veiny and bumpy ridge on his cock. 

He stills, clutching your thighs and sliding his fingers beneath the lace band of your stockings.

“Grippin’ me so well, angel,” Joel groans, grinding down. “Meant to be, yeah?” 

No, you scream in your head, but your body quivers in excitement and you breathe in the scent of his cologne and sweat, wanting him but, at the same time remembering how you ended up here.  

“Look at cha’,” he laughs, “impatient little thing. Already fuckin’ herself on my cock.” 

You try to deny it, that you’re currently not swiveling your hips, bouncing with the little room you have, trying to get him to move, but it’s no use. You’re chasing the warmth that simmers in your belly and you purposefully clench around his length.  

Joel moves slowly, sliding out, watching the flicker of emotions on your face. 

It barely fits, and it borders on pain. But the heat in your pussy only grows with each growl or moan that spills from his mouth. 

You’re embarrassingly wet, making it so much easier for him to pound into you. He watches your joined bodies, eyes half closed but focused on the way your inner lips grip him, on how your slick drowns him from tip to base. 

“Should I keep you, little girl?” Joel groans. “Chain you to my bed so you never leave?” 

The image flashes in your mind—you, naked and sweaty, covered in his cum and spit, completely at his mercy. 

He doesn’t need a verbal answer to know the idea excites you. Little slut, he says, as your inner muscles tighten around him. 

Joel pushes your hands above your head and presses his face into the exposed column of your neck. He stretches over you, trapping you under his heavy weight. 

Even if this isn’t the first time you’ve been fucked—it is the first time you’ve been fucked like this. The sounds you make, whines, screams, pretty whimpers that have him holding you tighter and fucking you harder—it’s all new. 

“Deep,” he whispers in your ear, “so goddamn deep.” 

There’s something strangely intimate about this. He stays fully clothed, only giving you his bare cock to feel, while you lay beneath him, completely nude except for the thigh highs.  

Joel, if that even is his name, is a complete stranger. Yet he pounds into you like he owns you. 

His lips trail from your neck, licking the droplets of sweat that gather on your skin, leaving kisses on the corner of your mouth, uncaring of the drool from your gag. 

Your thoughts jumble from the overstimulation and soon you’re sobbing, filled with his big cock, dominated by the sheer force of his entire being. 

“So fuckin’ tiny,” Joel grunts, “take me cock, little girl. Take it, take it.” 

His breathing becomes erratic and he thrusts harsher, hauling your thigh higher so he can move quicker. He’s close. It might be your mind playing tricks or, his cock could actually be swelling inside of you, ready to fill you with his cum. 

His thumb swipes over your clit in fast circles and you ripple around his length, coming in sticky, wet spurts. Your scream, caught by surprise by the pressure of your orgasm. You tremble and cry in his hold, squeeze him hard enough that he groans in pain. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters, “gonna make this pussy mine.” 

And he does. Joel fills your clenching, little hole with his cum, spilling his seed in your unprotected womb. You remember too late that you’re no longer on birth control, but it’s no use. You have no way to stop him from painting your cunt white, so you let him make a mess inside of you. 

His hips piston with enough force to sink you into the mattress. You’re not quite sure if your orgasm ever ended, but your cunt pulses with another wave as Joel fucks the rest of his spend inside of you. 

“All full of me, little girl,” he murmurs, dropping down to lay partially on top of you. 

You won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or maybe for the next few days. Your entire body feels sore and your mind is delirious. 

Joel gently slides out of you and places a kiss on your chin. He unties the silk from your hands and removes the wet panties from your mouth. You hear him walk out of the room, but fall asleep before you’re able to drink the glass of water he brings you. 

-

Joel’s POV.

He’s glad he followed Tommy’s advice and switched to a new escort agency. 

The others aren’t usually so responsive or reactive to his touch. They’ll play along to his fantasy, throw out a few no, please stop, but it never feels real. 

You’re different. 

You kicked, scratched him, drew blood from his skin. It felt real, bringing out the primal side of him that he’s so desperately tried to repress. 

Joel walks into the kitchen to grab you a glass of water and his phone, intending to order you food, when he sees an email from Sweet Angel Agency sent almost two hours ago. 

Dear Mr. Joel Miller, 

We apologize for the late notice but our Angel will not be able to make it to your residence tonight. We will be providing you with a full refund. Please wait 2-3 business days to see that reflected in your bank account. 

For any further questions or to schedule another appointment, please contact us. 

Thank you, 

Sweet Angel Agency

“Who the fuck is in my bedroom?” Joel says after reading the email. 

But as he walks back into the room and sees you spread out on his bed, your inner thighs soaked with your combined juices, marking your heated skin in white and clear streaks, Joel realizes he doesn’t really care. 

He strips out of his sweaty clothes and climbs onto the bed with you. Now that he knows you aren’t from the agency, there’s no reason to let you go just yet. 

- - -

a/n: i know there are probably a few fics out there with similar tropes however if anything in this one is similar in plot to another, it is purely by coincidence! i would never steal someone’s work and i appreciate each and every fic writer out there who does these for free and takes time out of their day to give us amazing fics 🤍

[riddlesrizzler]

Greenhouse Seven

summary: When Hogwarts’ weed supply runs dry, Mattheo Riddle discovers the last place he expected to find salvation-a Hufflepuff characters: mattheo riddle. hufflepff! reader. mentions of theo nott and enzo berkshire. warnings: For clarity !!!! while the terms weed supplier and drug dealer are sometimes used interchangeably, there’s a difference. A weed supplier typically focuses solely on the distribution or growth of marijuana, whereas a drug dealer usually refers to someone dealing a variety of illegal substances. This story does not portray the characters as drug dealers. They’re strictly weed suppliers - nothing more. It’s a lighthearted story with a bit of magical mischief (and maybe some smoke in the air), but no involvement with any other substances. IM A CHILD OF THE DARE PROGRAM word count: 1.1k

It started with Theo flipping the stash drawer upside down like the weed would miraculously appear behind a sock.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice muffled as he dug deeper. “We’re officially f-”

“We’re not out,” Enzo interrupted from across the dorm, kicking his feet up onto the arm of the couch as he lazily stirred sugar into his tea. His curls were damp from the shower, and his tie hung loose around his neck like he hadn't decided whether today even mattered. “We’re just… momentarily low.”

“Theo’s right,” Mattheo cut in from the window seat, his tone sharper, quieter. His dark eyes were fixed on the swirling October fog outside, but his attention was clearly locked on the conversation. “We’ve got maybe a week. Less if the Gryffindors keep ordering those massive bundles.”

Enzo sat up straighter. “Okay, so we improvise. I could charm the next few grams into stretching-”

“We’re not selling trash,” Mattheo snapped. “We built a reputation. You want to throw that down the toilet so we can sell watered-down garbage?”

Theo sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “We’ve got to find a new grower. Fast.”

A tense silence fell, thick with the weight of urgency. The dorm, usually buzzing with late-night laughter and the scent of burned parchment, suddenly felt smaller. Colder. Even the enchanted record player in the corner seemed to hum quieter.

Then, like a switch had been flipped in his brain, Theo’s head shot up.

“Wait. Ravenclaw sixth year - Avery - I overheard him talking in the corridor last week. Swore someone was growing the real stuff. Said something about ‘lush leaves in a forgotten greenhouse.’ I didn’t think much of it at the time…”

Mattheo turned to face him fully now, brow lifting with curiosity. “Which greenhouse?”

“I think he said Seven.”

Enzo blinked. “Greenhouse Seven’s a graveyard. Nothing’s grown there since second year. Sprout keeps it locked up.”

Mattheo stood without another word, grabbing his coat and slinging it over his shoulder with a fluid motion.

“I’ll go check it out.”

He didn’t wait for input. The boys had learned long ago that when Mattheo decided something, he rarely looked back.

By the time he reached the edge of the grounds, Greenhouse Seven was almost completely swallowed by mist and ivy. The structure sagged with age, glass panes cracked and grimy, its metal frame creaking against the autumn wind. It looked forgotten - haunted, even - and yet something about it pulsed with quiet life.

The warped wooden door gave with a reluctant groan, and Mattheo stepped inside.

It was warm - unnaturally so, like the air inside obeyed a different season. A faint golden light flickered from deep within the tangled space, revealing rows of chaos: overturned pots, broken shelves, rusted shears hanging from pegs. But further in, where the shadows grew softer, something else came into view.

Nestled in the back, beneath a canopy of hanging fairy lights and softly glowing enchanted stones, was a pocket of vivid green. Neatly lined rows of thriving marijuana plants stood proud and healthy - glistening under the lights like they knew they were special.

And kneeling between them, humming to herself and dusted with dirt and calm like a walking spell, was a Hufflepuff girl.

You.

Your jumper was oversized and patchy at the elbows, sleeves pushed up to your forearms as your fingers gently examined the soil. Your hair was twisted into a lazy knot, strands framing your face where the light caught them. There was a steaming chipped mug at your side, a battered gardening journal open beside it. The entire scene felt… unreal. Peaceful.

You didn’t notice him at first. Not until the door groaned shut behind him.

“Who-?” you stood suddenly, wand half-raised, alarm flaring in your eyes.

Mattheo raised both hands in mock surrender, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, flower. Not here to rat you out.”

Your brow pinched with suspicion. “Then what are you doing in my greenhouse?”

Mattheo stepped further into the light, eyeing the plants with clear appreciation. “Your greenhouse?”

“Well, Professor Sprout doesn’t exactly use it. I… repurposed it.”

His gaze flicked back to you. Cute. Smart. Kind of dangerous.

“I’m Mattheo,” he said simply, like the name should carry meaning.

You arched an unimpressed brow. “And?”

He chuckled, charmed despite himself. “I came on behalf of my… associates.”

“Associates?”

“You could say we supply Hogwarts,” he said, tone casual. “Used to, anyway. Until we ran low.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him warily. “And now what? You want to steal mine?”

Mattheo shook his head, smile faint. “I don’t steal from artists. I collaborate with them.”

You didn’t laugh, but you didn’t hex him either - which he took as a win.

“Look,” he continued, stepping closer. “We’ve got reach. Systems. Loyal buyers. You’ve clearly got the product. Let’s help each other out.”

You stared at him, brow knit. “You’re asking me to team up with a bunch of Slytherins?”

“Not just any Slytherins,” he replied, voice a little lower now. “The ones who can make sure your secret garden stays exactly that - a secret. You grow. We distribute. We split profits. No risk. All reward.”

You hesitated. The greenhouse was your sanctuary. But you weren’t stupid - you knew how fast rumors spread, how dangerous it could get if the wrong person stumbled in.

“And if someone finds out?”

Mattheo’s expression darkened. “They won’t. Not with us watching your back.”

Silence fell again. A soft breeze rattled a loose pane overhead.

You looked down at your plants, then back at him. “Why should I trust you?”

Mattheo’s expression sobered just enough to make you pause. “Because I’m not the only one who’d come looking. You got lucky it was me tonight.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken.

Then you sighed, brushing a leaf between your fingers. “You’ll keep the location a secret?”

“Cross my heart,” he said, mocking, tapping his chest.

You smiled faintly, then extended your hand, still smudged with soil. “Fine. But you bring me tea every time you come. And no messing with the plants. They like music and gentle company.”

Mattheo stared at your outstretched hand, amused - and just a little intrigued.

“Tea and gentle company,” he repeated. “What a terrifying pothead you’ll make.”

He shook your hand, fingers curling warm around yours.

And with that, a partnership formed - strange, unlikely, perfectly balanced between reckless ambition and grounded charm. A trio of underground Slytherin suppliers and the softest Hufflepuff grower Hogwarts had ever known.

It wouldn’t be the last night Mattheo stepped into that greenhouse - not even close. But for now, the deal was struck. And the smoke was only just beginning to rise.

[hotguycalendar]

Hermit Heartthrobs 2025 Debut!!!

(header by Anndy Oddissey on twitter and tumblr)

Welcome to the first edition of the Hermit Heartthrobs calendar!  

If you want to order the physical calendar already designed by our team, fill out this form and submit your email to receive an invitation to order the calendar from Mixbook. The form will be open until January 5th. If you want to preview the physical calendar, check it out here on Mixbook. 

You can view the physical calendar, here. 

If you want to design and print your own physical calendar or download any images, use the Heartthrobs Calendar Images folder, where you can download the same images we used. You can use a different website or photo printing service to create your own Heartthrobs Calendar. 

If you want the digital calendar you can download the Digital Calendar PDF from this PDF This is a 14-month calendar with the same basic designs and dimensions as the physical calendar, with a few bonus details. 

FAQ and Artist Credits below the cut! 

Q. Do you make any money from this? 

A. No, we do not. While the Mixbook calendar does cost money, none of it goes to the organizers or artists. It only goes to the printers to acquire the physical copy. 

Q. What size is the calendar? 

A. The calendar images are 12”x12”, and the full calendar is 12”x24”. 

Q. What is the price of the physical calendar? 

A. The final price naturally depends on shipping, but the base cost of the calendar right 

now is $44.99. However, Mixbook may have coupons available to make your order cheaper. 

Q. How is the quality of the physical calendar?

A. It’s great! The calendar itself is made of sturdy matte paper. The image quality is fantastic, the covers lovely, and the calendar itself is sturdy and well-constructed.

Q. What if Mixbook doesn’t ship to my country?

A. Mixbook ships to a wide range of international locations, but if they don’t ship to your specific country, you can download the digital calendar, or design your own and print it locally.

Artist Credits: 

Thank you so much to the team of incredible artists and mods who made this project possible! Go and give them some love! 

Artists for Hermitcraft Heartthrobs: 

Front Cover: Black Cat on tumblr, instagram and twitter 

January: NoahIslands on twitter and tumblr  

February: Jayce tumblr 

March: Anndy Oddissey on twitter and tumblr  

April: Myke on twitter and tumblr  

May: Galaxystt on tumblr and twitter   

June: Orphelia on twitter and tumblr  

July: Mooshroomterrarium on tumblr 

August: Eirian on tumblr, ko-fi, twitter, and caard    

September: Kazehita on tumblr, instagram, and twitter  

October: Otse on tumblr, twitter and bluesky    

November: Syneester on twitter, tumblr and instagram 

December: Isjasz on tumblr, and tumblr

Back Cover:  Avi on instagram and tumblr 

Mods:

Teahound on Tumblr 

Medusa on TumblrChrysalizzm  on Tumblr