#squeaking in just barely under the wire!!

[bunnys-kisses]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[kitten4sannie]

backstage back shots with san ♡

a/n: listennnnn im still fighting with writer’s block and it’s winning i’m not even gonna lie to you but …… COACHELLA SAN. i wrote this in twenty minutes so please don’t expect a full fledged masterpiece TT that being enjoy the brainrot babes <333

w.c: around 500 words

warnings: reader’s older in this (she’s their manager shjsdh), dom! san, possessiveness, dirty talk, semi public sex, tit play, unprotected sex, back shot

Once San left that stage, he could feel his heart pounding against his glistening chest, his ears still ringing from the intense surge of adrenaline outlining his wired brain and body, and he could still hear their fans chanting and cheering for them, even as he made his way through the hectic backstage area. All of it concocted an invigorating mix of exhilaration inside San that he couldn’t shake. It almost bordered arousal.

It didn’t help when he saw you, Ateez’s precious manager, opening your arms up to him for a hug with a bright smile on your face, tears in your eyes, and an endless bout of praise leaving your pretty lips.

“I’m so, so proud of you, San…” you whispered into his ear, unaware of the state he was in, until you felt something hard pressing into your lower abdomen.

“How proud, Manager-nim?” he whispered back, running his fingers down along your waist, squeezing into them enough to make you squeak. “Do I deserve a reward?”

“A r-reward? I mean, of course you do, but…right here? Right now?”

San slowly led you backwards until you both were just barely out of sight of the event’s employees and your beloved coworkers. He rubbed his thumbs gently over your hips, angling his head down to see the way his hardened cock pressed into your body through his designer pants. “Right here…right now…”

You gulped, knowing everything about the situation was wrong, but you couldn’t help but to give in, like every time before.

-

San had you just how he liked, with your bare ass on full display for him, watching it bounce each time he pushed himself into you, groaning at the sensation of your hot cunt swallowing his cock up like you were made for him. You practically were, considering the way you always spread your legs for him, even as his boss. But, how could you say no?

San leaned forward, his bare, heated chest pressing heavily against your back, his throbbing cock hitting your sweet spot even easier at this new angle, resting his chin on your shoulder. He looked at you through the corner of his eyes, his lips quirked up into a knowing smirk. “Hey, Manager-nim. Whose pussy is this?”

“I-it’s yours, San,” you breathed out, feeling your cunt begin to squeeze around his length, your legs starting to grow weak underneath you.

“Yeah?” San perused, running his hands up under your disheveled clothes to grope at your tits, squeezing them in between his thick fingers, flicking and pulling at your nipples just to hear you try to hold back your pretty moans. “This cunt is all mine? Mine to fuck raw and fill with my load? Mine to use whenever I’d like, huh?”

Just as San’s filthy words left his mouth, you felt him go into overdrive, fucking into you so hard, you could hardly catch your breath, clawing at the walls of the backstage as an attempt to keep from completely losing yourself in the immense pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes…!” you cried out, knowing from the pleased groans and growls coming from San that you were creaming yourself on his rapidly moving cock.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl. You’re so filthy, Manager-nim…” San exhaled against your ear, dragging his tongue up along it, just as his body began to shudder and his rough thrusts were instead replaced by the slow, concentrated rolling of his hips. “Let me make you even filthier, okay?”

You looked back just in time to see him pull out and rest his thick cock against your ass, admiring his flushed, sweat-covered face, the way he could barely keep his eyes open, and the way his blazer was falling off of one of his broad shoulders. You didn’t look down until you began to feel something hot covering your lower back, watching as he painted the rest of your exposed skin and disheveled clothes with white.

San simply smiled back at you, running his fingers through his glistening hair to keep it from falling into his upturned eyes. “Thank you for the reward, Manager-nim. I’ll work even harder during the next stage because of you.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s wonderful to hear, San.” You shivered, suddenly feeling San’s load drip down your back and along your ass. “Now, if you don’t mind, could you help me clean this mess up?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[diwatopia]

★ lovely ; james potter.

info: comfort, james potter x fem!reader, under 1k.

your head nuzzles into james' neck, inhaling greedily. "you smell good..." you sigh dreamily, nails raking the tiny curls at the base of his neck.

"yeah? i took a shower earlier... used that lavender soap you like," he hums while adjusting at the duvet. he huffs softly, unsure whether the cold touch of the wall that digs into his side annoys him more or the small amount of bedding left.

he tugs at the thick blanket as if attempting to get comfortable but you choose to not think much of it. in your mind, he fancies your cuddles, your affection, like he does every day.

after few seconds of finagling and a growing frown of frustration, "can you back up just a little bit? you've left me no space and this window sill is just stabbing my side like mad..." he groans.

you pout slightly, cheeks flushing a soft hue that closely resembles one of embarrassment. "sorry," you reply softly, body rolling over before scooting towards the opposite end of the bed.

"oh, love..." he makes an awfully sweet crooning sound, lips matching your bitty frown as you hug the bunched up duvet in your arms as if wired to cuddle something, to cuddle james.

james sighs, inching closer till your back meets his front. toned arms wrap around your midriff in attempt to apologize further.

"'m sorry, i didn't mean to be all over you." you speak understandingly, barely there and james feels his heart crack into trillions of pieces.

because here you are, being his undoubtedly sweet girl, showering him in your love that it makes his own affection cower next to yours.

"it's not your fault, baby. i dunno' why i spoke that way, 'm sorry." he speak weakly, as if barely noticing his original tone of voice.

you hum, "you seemed like you had a rough day... cuddles always seem to do the trick, but i guess today's different and that's okay." your voice is nothing but a squeak, soft and meek in a way that makes james believe that you'd rather not upset him again.

he's quick to prove otherwise as he showers your nape and cheek with the sweetest of kisses, soft lips against your supple skin.

"i'm not mad, my beautiful girl. you're so kind, always caring for others, thank you for the cuddles!" he lays it on thick, tone drenched in the finest of honey from the most richest of hives.

you giggle as his kisses grow tenfold, thicker fingers tickling at your waist. "jamie!" you laugh, swatting at his wrists with no real defense, more or less for show.

laughter and tickles turn to soft grazes and a love-sick gaze that makes you melt into the sheets like putty.

"why're you looking at me like that?" you whisper, thumb grazing his hairline absentmindedly.

"'cause you're lovely," he whispers back.

"you're lovely," you quip back with ease.

"nuh-uh, sweet girl. you're definitely loveliest." he coos.

★ diwa's notes: haiii this is my first post in ages and i'm super nervous bc ik my small amount of followers are def gone bc this isn't atwow TT this was just something sitting in my drafts so i hope ppl enjoy it :3 (and ellecdc if ur reading this which is a very low chance, ty for ur advice 🤍)

© hobietopia 2024.

[strangerhottotties]

Just an Eddie thought. Him calling reader Girl Scout or something similar after realizing why they know all these knots that are definitely not used for their intended purpose…

Not me immediately researching knots and rigging 🤣🤣🤣

The first time it captures his attention is in the upside down, or right before you come out.

"Shit!" Dustin curses for the forth time, trying to tie the sheets together above you. You watch the sheets slip apart as the yank, not holding at all.

"Dustin! Throw them over here!" You finally demand through the chorus of groaning. Dustin glances up at you.

"I can do it!" He yells.

"Dustin! It is cold, and gross, and slimy over here! Throw me the goddamn sheets or so help me, I will climb through it without it and you do not want that!"

Dustin yeilds halfway through your speech, using Lucas to help him haul all the sheets up and throw them through in balls of fabric. Eddie watches with amusement as you don't even stall once, dropping into a low squat to retrieve them. Your immediately not just tying the ends together, but using real knots.

It's a practiced motion. You've done this, he thinks, more than once. There's no hesitation and in under ten seconds you have the first two sheets linked together.

Eddie tilts his head as he watches you tug them tight and slide to the next knot. You barely even looking, still paying avid attention to the conversation around and contributing. You are sparing glances at your hands but in under a minute your launching the rope of sheets into the air and Eddie is wondering to himself, exactly how you knew how to do that.

"Good job, girl scout," he comments and in the dim lighting, he watches as your cheeks darken.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." You reply, avoiding eye contact.

Eddie knows in that moment. He doesn't have solid evidence, but he knows. You're either a rigger or a rope bunny. At least until everyone's trying to find something in Eddie's music collection that he catches you staring at the cuffs slung on the wall.

It's inopportune to ask further questions for well... nearly the whole day it ate him. And then when he was hot wiring that RV... oh, did he see the way you were looking at him. That far away look in your eyes, he caught in the wide rear view mirror, made him flash pearly whites your way.

When Eddie hops up to allow Steve to drive, climbing into the back he makes a beeline to the seat you're in. As Steve pulls out Eddie's dropping down beside you, and the rough run out of the trailer park has you toppling right into Eddie's lap.

"Sorry! Shit!" You squeak in a way that goes south in the best possible way for Eddie.

"S'okay, Girl Scout," he purrs in your ear. He eats the flustered glare you give him right up as Steve evens the rig out on the road.

"Stop calling me that," you hiss, "I'm not a girl scout."

"Oh," he tells you with a malicious grin, "I know." He leans into your ear. You blink owlishly at him, and loves to watch your face go all horrorish and flushed pink. "But, uh, when this whole thing is over... You'll have to show me the, uh, other knots you know."

"Oh," you repeat and after a beat of silence, "okay," is your response. For a moment, Eddie thinks the universe might be balancing out for all the shit that it's slinging at him.

He spends the rest of the ride to the store with his hand on your thigh.

[carolmunson]

Thinking about sucking Steve off in the pool house during a costume party, hearing him sigh and groan, and grunt.

“Oh that’s it baby…” he smirks, his jeans barely down past his ass, just trying to cum quick, “Oh fuck mmm — suck it, angel.”

You dressed up like a cheerleader, a 180 flip from your long gone and long forgotten high school days — but even years down the line King Steve was still King Steve. Your hands clutch his big, denim clad thighs while you try to take him deeper but he’s just so big.

“Oh honey you can do better than that,” he chides, his big hand pushing the back of your head further down his massive thick length. You whimper, gagging over it while he keeps his hand firmly in place. You look up at him with glassy eyes, seeing his sweater over his button down, his wire rim glasses.

“You want an A? You wanna stay on the team?” he teases, dressed like a history teacher. You nod, body getting hot at the way he speaks.

“Then get it all the way in,” he says sternly. Your eyes water while you try to your best to loosen your throat, taking big breaths through your nose.

“I know you can, pretty girl,” he smirks. His encouragement riles you, a soft ‘Mm!’ squeaking from your throat. You brace yourself and go further, the tip of your nose hitting his pelvis. You feel him shudder, releasing your head so you get a chance to breathe. Your breath ragged when you pop off him.

He smiles, a smile you know is from your Steve, “Doing so good, angel. You like this? This roleplay thing? I’m doin’ good?”

You giggle, “Really good, handsome. It’s hot, you’re so hot.”

“I didn’t think the cheerleader thing was gonna do it for me but,” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, “God damn.”

“Do you wanna keep going?” you ask softly, looking at his pulsing cock, “I can keep um — I can keep blowing you if that’s —”

“Oh no honey, I’m gonna need you to bend over,” he grins, helping you up from your knees and pressing you over a stack of folded lawn chairs, “You wanna pass, right angel?”

You burn, smirking while you feel him push your panties to the side under your skirt, “Oh yes, Mr. Harrington. I really wanna pass.”

[hellfirenacht]

Plus One Chapter 1

Summary: Once upon a time, you made a deal with the school freak that if he ever got famous then he'd invite you to be his plus one at a red carpet event. Now a decade later an invite shows up at your house asking you to be the +1 to Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin.

Tags: modern!au, Eddie and Reader are in their late 20's/early 30's after the deal is made. Rockstar!Eddie. Friends to strangers to friends to lovers, references to Flight of Icarus characters eventually

The squeak of desks being pushed across linoleum flooring made you wince as everyone adjusted the classroom for partner work. It was too early for this, you hadn’t slept the night before and had almost been late to this class, taking your seat at the last second just as the bell rang. 

First period science wasn’t your hardest class, but it wasn’t exactly your best subject either. You’d been floating along with a solid C and that was as good as you were hoping to get. As long as you graduated by this point, you’d be happy. It was near the end of your senior year, and senioritis was hitting you hard. It was your hope that you could just coast these last few weeks, pass your finals and get the hell out of the public school system. 

There would be no coasting this morning though as you were all assigned partners. No one was thrilled about this development aside from a few peers who had been partnered with their friends. You weren’t exactly unpopular but you didn’t have anyone in this class that you would consider a friend or even an acquaintance. You’d borrowed a pencil once from Randy who sat in front of you, but other than that you kept to yourself first thing in the morning. 

Which is why when the name ‘Munson’ was called out along with your own surname you’d barely registered who that was. A few people snickered and you caught one girl giving you a pitying look as you tried to connect the name to a face. It took your partner sitting down across from you for you to realize who you’d been paired with. 

Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. 

Ah. That Munson. 

“Uh, hi.” he said, with a wave and you desperately tried to reconnect the tired wires in your brain to say hi back. 

“Mornin’” you managed to spit out. He sat in the back of the class on the opposite side of the room. You rarely even saw him in class because you were usually here before him, and he was the first to get out the door when class ended. You never said a word to him the whole semester, but again, you didn’t talk to anyone in this class. 

Worksheets were passed around and you stared at the different questions and equations. You might as well be sitting in Latin class with as much as this made sense to you. 

“I know this is a higher level than what you all are used to, but this is what is going to be expected of you in college next year.” Your teacher explained, followed by a chorus of groans which included yours as well as Eddie’s. 

The two of you stared at the worksheet for a moment before making eye contact. You felt a little nervous under his gaze; you’d seen him around school and had heard the rumors about the leader of the Dungeons and Dragons club. He’d been seen pushing around freshmen wearing the same shirt as him, and was often regarded as a loudmouth and a danger to everyone in school. 

It didn’t help his case that he looked older than you. His broad shoulders were only accentuated by the heavy leather jacket and denim vest giving him the appearance of someone who absolutely should not be in high school. How old was he anyway? 

“Eddie.” 

You blinked, surprised he was the first to speak. You offered your name as well with a nod, neither of you going for the handshake. 

“So... does any of this make sense to you?” he asked, looking back down at the worksheet. 

You glanced down with a small laugh. “Not even a little.” 

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

He looked up at you with a sheepish grin, and you swear it took at least five years off his appearance. You found yourself relaxing just a bit, if he was as dangerous as everyone made him out to be, at least he wouldn’t do something stupid in the middle of class. Hopefully. 

You grabbed your textbook and opened it up and Eddie leaned over the desk to read with you. 

“Sorry, forgot mine.” He said and you adjusted the book so it sat between the two of you. 

The next half hour was a testament of will as the two of you tried your best to work out the formulas put in front of you. The ancient calculators that the teacher had provided only caused more confusion between the two of you and you tried to figure out buttons that you had never had to press before. 

“I’m sure someone, somewhere is using this on a daily basis.” you said as you jotted down a string of numbers that you were positive were wildly incorrect. “I understand that this is important to someone, but outside of a trivia game there’s no way I’m ever going to even think about this ever again.” 

You were mostly talking to yourself, not expecting a response from your partner. He was looking at the calculator, and your string of numbers with equal confusion. 

“Music is as advanced as my math skills go.” Eddie said. He’d removed his jacket at some point where you were staring at your textbook with a blank expression trying to understand how to apply the formulas. You couldn’t stop your eyes from occasionally flicking towards the tattoos that covered his right arm. So he was at least old enough to get tattoos... or to have a parent or guardian agree to let him get tattoos. 

You weren’t sure why you were so hung up on his age. Maybe it was easier to focus on that mystery than the jumble of letters and numbers that was making your brain more numb than it already felt. 

“What kind of music?” The question was out of your mouth without thinking. You didn’t think you’d seen him hang out with the band or orchestra kids before. 

“Metal and rock music mostly.” Eddie said, erasing one of the numbers. His pencil was a cheap one, and only managed to make a huge smudge on his paper rather than clear his answer. You handed over your own pencil on instinct and he took it with a thanks. 

“Do you play an instrument or something?” you asked, already checked out of the worksheet. Fuck it. It’s not like it was going to count for much anyway. 

“Yeah I, uh, I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid.” There was a light in his eyes that made you wonder why anyone would ever think he was dangerous or scary. In the half hour that the two of you had been struggling with this busy work the two of you had been making small talk that you’d found way more engaging. 

“Electric or guitar?” you asked, and it was when Eddie let out a laugh that you realized what you had asked. You pressed your hands to your face with an embarrassed chuckle. “I didn’t sleep last night.” 

“I play electric and guitar.” came the teasing response. “But I lean more towards electric unless my uncle is home or I need to keep it down.”

“Are you any good?” 

“Good enough to have a steady gig at the Hideout.” he shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s a stage. Sort of.” 

Eddie had also given up on the worksheet and was using your pencil to absently doodle in the margins of the paper. 

“I have no idea where that is.” 

“Shady dive bar in the warehouse district. My band and I play on Tuesdays, you should come see us sometime. It’s a shithole, but it’s safe.” The last part was added hastily as he saw your weary expression. 

A shady dive bar on a school night? Not a great chance of that. 

“What’s your band called?” 

“Corroded Coffin.” he dug around his pockets in his jeans and jacket before he pulled out a bent cut out piece of flashcard and handed it to you. It had the band’s name scribbled on it in sharpie and a list of socials on the back. It screamed home made and there was a charm to it that made you smile. 

“I’ll check you out.” you said, tucking it into the book you had been reading for the past week knowing damn well that you were probably going to forget about it the second it was out of sight. 

“Don’t worry about the worksheet being perfect.” the teacher piped up from their desk. “Just do your best, and it’s only being counted as pass/fail. I’m just trying to see that you’re all able to use your critical thinking skills to look up information.”

“I’m about to use my critical thinking skills to bullshit the rest of the worksheet.” Eddie muttered and you laughed. 

You grabbed his worksheet and scribbled down a formula and some numbers and handed it back. “Long as there’s something written down she doesn’t care.” 

That was good enough for the both of you as you set the papers aside. There was still a good fifteen minutes left in class, and you expected that the two of you would just sit awkwardly in your grouped desk facing each other until the bell rang. You almost laid your head down on the desk and try and get a power nap in, but curiosity was getting the better of you. 

“So, you wanna do music for a living?” you asked, looking at him again. 

“Ideally.” Eddie said, fidgeting with your pencil still. You decided that it was his pencil now, you had others in your bag. “I know it’s a long shot and most of my band is still gonna be in school when I graduate this year but we’ve got a few songs that we’ve been working on.”

“So you’re gonna be famous one day?” It wasn’t a sarcastic question, but a genuine one. Maybe this guy could be famous one day, you didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t even want to be famous. 

Eddie shook his head and laughed. “I’ll be lucky to keep the lights on with my music, but I’m gonna try.”

“You’re going to be famous.” you told him with a firm nod. The lack of sleep was catching up to you. It’s not like anything in this class was going to matter in the future anyway. “I’ve decided it.”

“You decided that I’m going to be famous?” he asked slowly, as if trying to decide if you were fucking with him or not. 

“Yeah, why not?” You replied. 

He stared at you and his gaze turned intense as he sat up straighter. Eddie’s gaze swept over your face, looking for any sign that you were speaking with ill intent, when he found none, he gave you a smile. 

“I’ll hold you to it then.” he said. “If I don’t get famous I’m holding you personally responsible.” 

“Alright, but there’s a catch.” your smile widened. 

“A catch? You won’t let me get famous on my charm and talent alone?” He tilted his head with a grin. 

“Nope. I need payment. Deciding things isn’t cheap, you know.” you were delusional from lack of sleep, and you probably sounded crazy to him.

“Alright, what’s your fee?” Eddie leaned back in his chair, looking as if he were trying to start a business deal. His demeanor change starkly contrasted the long dark hair, band t shirt, and heavy metal rings he wore and you had to stop yourself from laughing. 

You thought about it for a moment. “I want to be your plus one to at least one of your red carpet events.” you said. “I think that’s payment enough.”

He rubbed his chin in thought, as if carefully considering your offer. “And if I don’t.”

“If you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.” you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing now at how ridiculous you sounded. 

“Holes? Really?” Eddie snorted. “Alright, I know how that story ends. You have a deal.” 

He offered you his hand and you two shook on it. 

And because you two had at least ten minutes to kill, Eddie took out a beat up notebook and started drawing up a contract to make it official. The two of you debated on the wording, and how it should be drawn out. In the end, it was decided that Eddie would have at least five years after his first red carpet to invite you to an event (your idea) or else he’d be cursed and he’d end up on TMZ in a scandal involving a goat and a runaway parade float (his idea).

You each signed the fake contract, dated it, and had the teacher notarize it. 

“Did you two even try to do the worksheet?” they asked, signing and stamping the notebook with a ‘GOOD JOB!’ stamp.

“We tried.” Eddie smiled at the teacher, taking the notebook back and trading it for the worksheets.

The bell rang and you two shook hands one last time. The last few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of spring break, prom season, and graduation. You barely talked to Eddie after that class, occasionally saying hi to him in the hallway, or the odd small chat during class. You’d managed to get him to sign your yearbook, but he hadn’t asked you to sign his. You felt a little sad about it, looking back. He’d been nice to talk to, and his reputation hadn’t lived up to that hour that you’d been forced to spend with him. 

Graduation was the last time you’d seen him, when he’d run across the stage, flipped off Principal Higgins and ran off like a bat out of hell. You had looked for him passively in the chaos and sea of graduates and their families taking photos and congratulating each other. Okay, maybe you’d looked for him a bit more deliberately than you’d let on. 

Maybe you had developed a small crush on Eddie in that hour that you’d spent working on that stupid worksheet. Maybe you had hoped that when you gave him your email in that contract he’d reach out to you to say hi. Maybe, yes, you did eventually remember the handmade business card for Corroded Coffin and had looked up their information a month into summer to find them as dead and dry as the Sahara desert, with only a muffled .mp3 of one of their songs to go off of. 

There were a lot of maybe’s that came with being in high school. 

But life moves on. You forget about the man with the long dark hair and boyish smile. Your yearbook gets tucked away in a box, out of site and out of mind. The homemade business card gets lost under the bed and eventually tossed in a deep clean as you get ready to move to college and move out. The muffled .mp3 sits in your computer for years until you get a smartphone and stuff a ton of your old music on it, shuffling it into your streaming playlists. 

The song gets skipped over more often than you’d ever admit. 

And now there you were in your new apartment a year after graduating college, living on your own for the first time. No dorm, no family, no roommates, no partner. 

It was the middle of your work week, and you were outside checking the mail. You flipped through the envelopes of junk and bills for anything that would have been worth the walk from your apartment to the community mailbox. 

A thick envelope with your name and address was in the middle of the pile. Your name was hand lettered in fancy script and you glanced at where the return address should be. 

WR RECORDS 

Who?

You pulled the envelope out and glanced at the rest of the mail to make sure there was nothing important there before tossing it into your neighbors recycling bin. You ripped open the envelope. 

Inside was a thick black card, and your name was once again written in beautiful red ink that reflected off the dark card stock. 

WR Records would like to invite you to be the +1 to Mr. Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin to this year's annual Hellfire Awards.

And below that in chicken scratch handwriting that wildly contrasted the careful lettering of the rest of the card: 

A deal’s a deal.

You stared at the words and read them over and over and over again, trying to make sense of them and only one question passed your mind. 

“Who the fuck is Eddie Munson?” 

---

Please comment and reblog <3

Tag List: @hellfiredarling @crocwork-clockodile @hitoshislut @kurdtbean @kennedy-brooke @daisyridleyyyy

[joelmillershole]

dark but just a game

raider!joel x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni! raider!joel, rough sex/smut, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before u tap it folks), fingering, choking, hair pulling, probably dubcon but it’s not really?, deep throating/face fucking, spanking, joel is mean, joel is a bad man (but such a hot one), pet names (baby, sweetheart), no use of y/n

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i am depraved. also I wrote this in like 1 sitting and had to post. omg. i’ve never posted smut before and of course when I do it has to be fucking nasty! enjoy

You knew you treaded on a thin tightrope. No net, no balancing pole, nothing but the ground a hundred feet below and a short landing thirty feet away. The only consolation was the lack of a crowd, empty stands around the circus tent, only yourself and the lone figure on the other side. Waiting for you. Faceless, nameless; but you knew in the back of your mind that wasn’t true. Maybe your subconscious wanted you to believe that when you had this dream. You knew better. 

 You knew better than to trust yourself not to fall. 

 You weren’t even around too long before the outbreak happened; never even been to a circus. Only read about it in books. But the metaphor seemed apt, and as you climbed and gripped every rung of the ladder to the starting spot, you cursed and cursed yourself for the inevitable fall. Like clockwork, though -- like a machine with no off button -- you made the climb again and again. 

 And again. Creeping around the decimated town, you closed your eyes. Imagined taking the first step onto the taut wire. Felt it lag under your weight. Inhaled slowly, bracing yourself for the second step. And just as you swung your other foot out, just as you tightened your core and prayed to any God that would listen, your arms pinwheeled wildly and you lost your balance. 

 He’d snuck up on you, pinned you face-first to the wall with his large, heavy hands. The sharp inhale, the gasp, that you sucked in, overshadowed by a dark, languid chuckle from behind and somewhere above your ears. 

 “Can’t get enough of me, huh, baby?” You almost forgot about the drawl. The hint of some origin from long ago. Shivering, you felt his words fan against the shell of your ear, breath hot and sending goosebumps down your arms. “‘Li’l pathetic, don’t’ya think?” 

 You barely heard yourself respond, some breathy denial, maybe a squeak. Something truly pathetic, just as he said. 

 Joel used one hand to grip your hair at the root, yanking your head backward. His nails dug into your scalp. It was painful -- your eyes filled, against your will, with tears -- but then again, you knew it would be. You expected it to be. 

 He peered down at you, scowling. He looked strange from this point, upside-down and blurry. His other hand wrapped around your body, no longer used to shove you against the sharp bricks of some building wall. It found its spot at your throat. You swallowed against it, eyes fluttering shut as he applied pressure. 

 “Haven’t seen you in a minute,” he whispered. He pressed his lips against your temple. “Been hidin’ from me, baby?” 

 You shook your head. It was difficult to do with his hand wrapped around your throat and his vice-like grip on your hair. Miniscule, almost, but he got the message. “No?” He nosed down your cheek until his lips found the junction between your chin and your neck, just above where his thumb squeezed. Joel sucked the skin in between his lips, rolled it in between his teeth. 

 You gasped. You squeezed your legs together against the sharp ache between them. You grit your teeth. You didn’t think to do each one of these actions, the only thought in your head the feeling of Joel sucking on your neck. And plummeting a hundred feet down. 

 “Joel-” you tried but only choked as he tightened his grip with both hands. “P-please-” 

 “Please, what?” He mumbled into your neck. He let go of it to slide his hand down the length of your body, grabbing roughly at your breasts first, before trailing it down your belly and between the waistband of your pants. “Use your words, baby. Been so long since I’ve gotten to hear your pretty voice.” 

 Against your better judgment, your stomach flipped at his words, his praise. God, you craved this. It was the only reason you’d snuck out of your QZ to go searching around the abandoned city around it, far enough away from the FEDRA soldiers that you didn’t worry about getting caught. Unless there were some other raiders around; not an impossibility, but unlikely enough that you weren’t worried. Joel kept to himself. Even if someone did manage to find you two, you knew Joel would take care of it. You’d watched him kill before. He was violent and scary. There must be something wrong with you if it turned you on so much. 

 Joel, in a rough motion, let go of you to spin you around to face him. You barely got a glimpse of his face before he had his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down. Your knees hit the pavement with a painful jolt. You watched him undo his belt, deft hands quickly unbuttoning and pushing down his jeans and boxers. And then there he was, his thick cock hard and weeping with precum. 

 “You gonna suck me, baby girl?” Joel said. He fisted his hand in your hair again, pulling you closer. “Or am I gonna make you?” 

 You swallowed, looking up at him through your lashes. “I will, Joel,” you murmured. You leaned forward to take the tip of him into your mouth. He tasted salty, the precum rubbing against your tongue. Joel stared down at you, eyes dark and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He pressed his hips in further and you obeyed, opening wider to swallow him deep. As his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged around it, eyes watering, but not missing the way his closed, nor the exhalation of pleasure that left his lips. 

 “Fuck,” he swore lowly. “Mouth feels so fucking good. Love the way those pretty lips look wrapped around my cock.” 

 Your stomach flipped again, even as you gagged once more. Still, Joel pressed in further, his long cock inching down your throat. Your breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly. You didn’t know how you were going to keep taking him, not when you kept gagging. 

 “Relax, baby,” he cooed, free hand brushing against your cheek. You looked up at him, breathing heavily through your nose. “Relax your throat. Don’t panic, you can take it.” 

 You tried your best to listen to him. You relaxed your throat, eyes squeezing shut as he pulled your head down his length until you had taken everything. Every inch of him stuffed down your throat, nose pressed into the small mass of curls above the base of his cock. You knew you must be dripping, clenching agonizingly around nothing. 

 “Look at you, fuck,” Joel said. He let go of your hair to run his fingers through it. “Keep breathin’ through your nose, baby. Gonna keep my cock in that mouth.” 

 You moaned around his length. When you closed your eyes, tears fell down your cheeks; but you listened, nails digging into your palms painfully. You knew he would be angry if you raised them and grabbed his legs. You’d played this game before. 

 Joel slid out of your mouth almost all the way, enough that you could finally breathe around it. You swallowed in large gulps of air before he pressed in again, slowly, all the way down to the hilt. You only gagged once before you relaxed and let him fuck your mouth. 

 After that, his pace increased. It was almost too much, the in and out, your throat spasming around his thick cock. Your lips and throat and knees ached, strings of saliva hanging down your chin, but you sat there dutifully, tears streaming out of eyes that you kept trained on him. You watched his expression, dark and flushed, as he used your mouth for himself. Your core ached. You kept falling, down and down, not having yet hit the ground. 

 “Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel panted, sliding all the way out of your mouth. Your throat felt empty at the loss. “So fuckin’ good. Little slut for me. You a slut for anybody else?” 

 You shook your head, turning to wipe your mouth on the shoulder of your shirt. “No, Joel,” you croaked out. Your voice was fucked. “Only a slut for your cock.” 

 Joel swore. Staring down at you, he thought for a moment, then dragged you standing by your hair. You winced at the crack of your knees, the strain of them straightening after being bent for so long. Joel pushed your cheek against the wall again, his hand slipping in between your waistband once more. 

 You gasped as he ran a thick finger across your folds; Joel swore again at the wetness, sinking two fingers in to the knuckle. 

 “Joel,” you begged, eyes fluttering. You groaned out something incoherent, your body twitching at the feel of his fingers curling inside of you. They were so much longer than yours and could reach so much deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel…” 

 “That’s it, baby,” he whispered into your neck. His thumb flicked your swollen clit roughly and you almost screamed at the feeling. Your knees could have buckled and he would’ve kept you upright just from the force of his body pressing you into the wall. “You like that? So wet from just sucking my cock. You really are a slut, huh?” 

 “Yes,” you sobbed. “Came looking for you. For this.” 

 Joel groaned, nipping at your neck. “I know, baby. So desperate for this cock.” When you nodded, he chuckled, extracting his fingers from your pussy. “So fuckin’ desperate… guess I’ll give you what you came for.” 

 Joel yanked your pants down to the knees. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you back against him, then pushed your torso forward so you were bent over. He pinned both of your hands behind your back with one hand and used the other to rub the tip of his cock against your soaked pussy. 

 Without another word, Joel thrust his full length into you in one swell move. You screamed, tears pricking your eyes at the burn, the fullness. He sighed from behind you, the hand not gripping your wrists moving to slap your naked ass. You yelped at the sting of it.

 “Missed this pretty pussy,” Joel mumbled. “Who does this pussy belong to, baby?” 

  You shuddered throughout your entire body as you got used to the stretch. It’d been months since you had him inside of you, and it was something your body forgot. Too caught up in the feeling of his cock inside of you, you didn’t answer. He slapped your ass again, harder. 

 “I said, who does this pussy belong to?” 

 “You,” you cried out, clenching around him.

 “Say it.” Joel dragged his cock out inch by inch, slowly, then sheathed himself back to the hilt with a grunt. “Who makes you this fuckin’ wet?” 

 “You, Joel.” You barely even registered speaking. “This pussy belongs to you… I’m this wet for you…” Heat bit at your cheeks, embarrassment, but you kept blubbering as he began to slide in and out of you slowly. You felt the drag of every inch, every centimeter. “Please, please, please fuck me-- harder, please--” 

 Joel laughed mockingly behind you. “Harder? If you say so.” 

 Your vision blurred as Joel fucked you, hard and deep and almost painfully. That familiar heat built up in your core. You wondered if it was even possible for you to come without him touching you, just from his cock alone. You never had before. But it’d been this long, and if you shut your eyes, you envisioned the ground steadily raising to meet your plummeting body. An acrobat you most definitely were not. 

 As if on cue, Joel shifted ever so slightly. His cock hit some spot inside of you, soft and spongy, and you unraveled with a start. Eyes rolling back into your head, you slumped, cheek scraping against the sharp edges of the brick wall. You barely noticed the pain and only distantly did you feel Joel pull you backward by your hair, your back arched, and heard him groan at the feeling of your pussy spasming around his cock. 

 “Shit, baby!” He bit down on your neck and used two fingers to rub your clit. “Didn’t even touch you. You gonna come for me again?” 

 Just as you started coming down, the quick circles he drew around your bundle of nerves sent painful overstimulation shuddering through your body. 

 “No,” you cried out, body jerking. “‘S too much, Joel-” 

 “Shut up,” he said, voice bland. “Take it, baby.” His hips jerked harder. You shrieked with each thrust into your sensitive core. His fingers didn’t let up, and in less than a minute, you felt your peak rising quickly again, this time muddled and almost feverish. 

 You came again. Harder. It felt like it lasted forever, like you were never going to come out of it, like you were stuck eternally in this high. Joel’s thrusts became erratic and off-kilter and then he was coming, too, with a grunt, filling you up. You didn’t even have the mind or energy to protest, just shook around his cock as he filled you with his come. 

 It took a minute, but you finally came down, bones sagging like jelly in your post-orgasmic state. Joel slid out of you. When he let you go to pull his pants up, you crumpled to the ground. 

 He squatted down to your level, rough hands lifting you at the hips and yanking your pants up. He set you back down and stood up, peering down at you with a blank expression. 

 “Keep telling you not to come back,” he said. 

 You stared back up at him, mind blank. 

 “Keep telling you ‘m not a good man, baby,” said Joel. “I ain’t gonna cuddle you after, just gonna take what I want. But you don’t listen.” 

 He bent down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Then he gripped your chin in between his fingers. 

 “I know you ain’t gonna listen if I say it again,” he said. “So I’ll see you next time.” 

 You watched him walk away, turning the corner and leaving you alone in the alleyway he’d found you in what seemed like forever ago. 

 After a few minutes, you managed to pick yourself up, wincing at the ache between your legs. You started on the way back to the QZ, wondering when the next time was you’d decide to make the climb again. 

[noturlondonboy]

Round two! How about #3: hiding face in neck 👀

Touching #3- hiding face in neck

This one is sooooo cute grrrr thanks for sending in another one ❤️🥰

——

“Are you doin’ okay, babydoll?”

Yelena jolts softly in surprise when she hears her girlfriend’s soft voice so close, her head snapping up to show wide, glassy eyes. Kate immediately frowns, stepping a little closer into Yelena’s space to see how she’ll react. The blonde doesn’t step away, so Kate coos gently, letting her hand hover over her shoulder.

”Can I touch you, honey?”

Yelena nods after a moment, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Kate rests her hand on the junction of her neck and shoulder, squeezing in the way she knew helped ground her.

Her Widow shudders softly, leaning into Kate’s steadying presence with a soft whine. Kate is quick to wrap her arms around Yelena’s shoulders and hug her close, rocking them softly as she makes gentle noises into her hair. “I got you, baby. I’m here.”

The low hum of everyone bustling around at Steve’s 107th (108th? 109th?) birthday party was a dull roar in Yelena’s burning ears, and she let out a small sigh as Kate Bishop’s gentle hands pressed over them, blocking the sound out for her. She kept her hands tucked between their chests, crossed over her sternum with her fingers gently hooked into her collarbones underneath her shirt.

Yelena had been doing fine until just a few minutes ago, she swears- but the day had already been long, and the amount of people in one space, no matter how open it was, combined with the constant low hum of voices and dishes clinking and the electrical wiring of the ceiling lights, had become too much. The moment Kate had removed her protective arm from around Yelena’s waist in order to greet Wanda and Pietro, Yelena had felt herself slipping, and now her mouth was dry and fused shut as uncomfortable heat pressed into the back of her eyes.

“There's a lot happening in here, huh,” Kate coos, her lips pressed to Yelena’s cheek and her words just barely audible through her own fingers over her girlfriend’s ears.

The assassin dips her chin in a small nod, suddenly lurching forward to press her face into Kate’s neck with a low, distressed hum when Tony lets out a particularly sharp laugh, Thor’s bellowing voice joining in. Kate quickly but gently maneuvers her girlfriend through the gathering of their family and friends, one hand cupping the back of the blonde’s neck to keep her face tucked under her jaw while the other presses to her lower back.

When they finally reach the quiet safety of the kitchen, Kate shifts to carefully grab the back of Yelena’s thighs and hoist her up onto the cool marble counter. The assassin lets out a soft squeak and immediately clings to her archer, legs wrapped tightly around her waist and arms securely caccooning her head.

Kate hums and coos tenderly, hands going back to run through Yelena’s slicked back hair. The blonde lets out a pleased sound as her girlfriend slowly scratches away the stiffness of the gel holding the blonde strands back, her scalp stinging pleasantly.

“That a little better, babydoll?” the brunette murmurs, her cheek pressed to Yelena’s temple as the assassin nods against her neck. Her little nose brushes over Kate’s pulse and she inhales softly, relaxing further into the comforting scent of leathery cinnamon and wood polish.

The pair is silent for a few gentle minutes, Kate’s nimble fingers continuing their movements of carding slowly through Yelena’s choppy hair. The blonde takes the middle knuckle of her girlfriend’s pointer finger into her mouth at one point, and her teeth make small indents as she gnaws carefully.

The archer hums and nuzzles under Yelena’s ear, breathing in her steady scent, sighing contently as vanilla cologne and honeycomb shampoo mix together to flood her synapses. “I got you, babydoll,” she murmurs, keeping her hand propped up for Yelena to softly chew on as much as she needs.

Yelena hums gratefully and keeps the knuckle in her mouth as she nestles back into Kate’s neck, the contrast of her warm cheek on the archer’s cool shoulder a balm.

They stay that way for several minutes, Hawkeye and Black Widow tangled up together as they loved, until Yelena felt ready to return to the party. Kate kept their hands tangled together the rest of the night.

[strawberry-smog]

Did Ford go through the portal in 1984?

Ok, so. If you’re in the Gravity Falls Timeline fandom, you know that, for an event that was strongly implied to have happened in 1982, there’s a surprising amount of evidence that Ford’s little portal accident happened in 1983, and that, even more surprisingly, one of the stronger pieces of evidence for this is the release date of Eurythmics’ single Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This). The song was released in January 1983 and was their first commercial success, just barely squeaking in under the wire to make Ford’s statement in the blacklight Journal 3 that he wants to hear the band’s “latest chart topper” make sense. Except… it still doesn’t?

While Sweet Dreams was first released in January 1983, this wasn’t a worldwide simultaneous release. Eurythmics was an extremely obscure British band, and the song didn’t come to America until May 1983 and didn’t peak at number one until September, both the wrong time in the year for the lake to be frozen. To be fair, the song hit number two in the UK in March and was played on Top of the Pops in February, so if you assume Ford is a British synthpop chart-watching superfan this still checks out, but we do have to consider that 1) Ford was being tormented by a demon 24/7 after McGucket’s portal incident, and was probably not in great shape to be intercepting UK TV signals and buying imported 8 tracks, and 2) Ford is a fake Eurythmics fan who always puts a “The” in front of their name even though the band is just “Eurythmics”.

The test happening in 1984 also helps make sense of a minor bit of show-journal timeline snarl, where McGucket in his memory gun tapes says that he’s been working with Ford “for the past year”. While this is just kind of obviously a retcon since he also calls Ford a “visiting researcher” despite him having lived in town way longer than McGucket, if you do try to incorporate the “year” thing into the timeline you hit a bit of a snag: McGucket arrived in July, and if this video depicts the first ever time he made the memory gun that would put it at most two months after his arrival, as the Gremloblin incident happened during the summer-fall fair season; even if you take it to be after he quit the project, this is still only a six-month timespan.

To have at least a year working on the portal, he would have to arrive in summer 1982, make the video in summer 1983, and then get his head stuck in the portal in winter 1984, which just so happens to also make sense of the Sweet Dreams thing, and from what I can tell doesn’t really conflict with anything else? The 29-years-and-several months timespan of Ford’s disappearance still makes sense to round up as thirty years, and while it makes McGucket’s assertion that he can’t remember anything prior to 1982 kind of weird, it is also kind of weird with the 1983 portal date, and there’s simply no way the portal incident could happen in 1982.

Here’s a bullet point list of the 1983 timeline vs. this 1984 timeline

1983 Portal Incident

1982

McGucket arrives on July 29th

He and Ford begin working on plans for the portal and go on their expedition to Crash Site Omega

The Gremloblin incident happens in August or September

McGucket creates his memory gun and begins recruiting for the Blind Eye shortly after, and possibly makes his first video recounting his experiments

The bunker is built and the Shifty incident happens, also still in August or September based on it being hot

Ford makes his deal to hand his body over to Bill sometime in the fall

Ford and McGucket defeat the Krampus on December 5th (Krampusnacht)

1983

The portal test happens on January 18th

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) comes out in the UK on January 23rd

Sweet Dreams reaches number 2 on the UK charts in February

Some unknown period of many weeks pass and Stan arrives in a snowstorm to push Ford into the portal

1984 Portal Incident

1982

McGucket arrives on July 29th

He and Ford begin working on plans for the portal and go on their expedition to Crash Site Omega

1983

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) comes out in the UK on January 23rd

Sweet Dreams reaches number 2 on the UK charts in February

Sweet Dreams comes out in America in May The Gremloblin incident happens in the summer or early fall

McGucket creates his memory gun and begins recruiting for the Blind Eye shortly after, and makes his first video recounting his experiments

The bunker is built and the Shifty incident happens, also still in summer or early fall based on it being hot

Sweet Dreams reaches number one on the US charts in September

Ford makes his deal to hand his body over to Bill sometime in the fall

Ford and McGucket defeat the Krampus on December 5th (Krampusnacht)

1984

The portal test happens on January 18th

Some unknown period of many weeks pass and Stan arrives in a snowstorm to push Ford into the portal

[gabessquishytum]

Alpha dream in rut dubcon claiming his mate? 🐈‍⬛ anon, ily.

Dream is an alpha, obviously. He’s going through a rough divorce and so he is already on edge and struggling to keep it together. It’s especially hard because his ex-wife, Calliope is moving for Greece with Orpheus. But losing his family has his hormones screaming and salivating to lay claim someone, anyone to fill the void.

Dream throws himself into work (he is a professor) instead.

The day Calliope moves out, he is especially wired. He’s snappish and hot under the collar. A student knocks into him on the way across the green and he nearly takes their head off. He gets through class with gritted teeth until he can sink into the sanctuary of his office and stew. He doesn’t realize it yet but his body is reacting to the broken mating bond with Calliope and reaching out desperately for a replacement.

And in walks Hob, one of Dream’s students with questions about his final paper. He’s one of Dream’s most active and engaged students, with lots of insightful questions and critiques of Shakespeare. He’s also an omega.

Hob sits down, unaware of what’s happening in Dream’s body, of the red haze taking over his sight, of how Dream can suddenly only smell Hob’s sweet scent, tinged with just a little sex, because Hob is nursing a crush on Dream. It fills his mouth, his mind. He can’t think. Dream’s last coherent thought is that he should tell Hob to run. But Dream knows he’d just chase him.

Dream drags a shocked Hob out of his seat and pins him down on the desk, scenting him desperately, hands clawing at his hips.

Hob is equally alarmed and aroused. Dream snarls if he so much as twitches and can’t seem to hear Hob. But Hob’s body is happy to submit and he can’t help but offer his neck to this gorgeous, overwhelming alpha.

Lost in a rut, Dream fucks his student rough on a pile of his classmates’ papers while Hob cries and writhes, torn between begging for mercy and begging for more. Dream’s frenzy doesn’t end until his new mate is claimed, marked and coming on his knot.

Alsksksfkgkhj yeah, I also haven’t stopped thinking about Dream pulling squirmy, sobbing, sniffling Hob back onto his cock as he tries to escape. And if there’s one great thing about a knot, it’s the fact that Hob can’t get away…

Poor innocent omega Hob comes in in his little tweed jacket and thick rimmed glasses with questions about his essay for his favourite professor… not knowing that he’s just about to walk in and be absolutely railed by the man he’s had a massive crush on for the whole term.

Before he knows what happened to him, he’s face down on the desk having his trousers ripped down. He squeaks and whimpers and tries to get Dream’s attention, but Dream’s attention is very firmly elsewhere: he’s got his big, thin hand between Hob’s legs, shoving long fingers into his dripping hole. He tries to crawl across the desk and at least, ya know, talk about this! But Dream pins him down by the small of his back and holds him there.

Hob goes limp for a moment when Dream first fucks into him, and then he’s back to squirming and kicking. Dream barely seems to hear him or see him beyond the tight wetness of his hole. It’s not until his teeth sink into Hob’s neck and his knot begins to swell that he actually even says anything - and all he says is “mine.”

Hob lies across the desk, having just cum massively all over a pile of essays, knowing that he’s just been claimed by his favourite professor and there’s nothing he can do about it. Maybe he should be more upset, but all he can do is squeeze his hole around Dream’s cock, milking it for all it can give. And Dream is very much still in rut brain, and all he wants to do is lick Hob’s neck and lie on top of him. He’ll go through a whole range of guilty feelings later, but right now he just wants his omega.

When the knot deflates, it’s Hob who kinda scoops Dream up and ends up carrying him back to his accommodation. The rut is still coming and going in waves, and Hob is very concerned about taking care of his alpha. For the next few days they fuck in Hob’s tiny student bed, surviving on protein bars and red bull. When it’s finally over, Dream doesn’t even have time to go into the awful self hated of what he’s done because Hob slaps a hand over his mouth. Tells him to hush, and that all he needs to do is give him a good grade on the next assignment and let him move into Dream’s fancy townhouse and out of this shitty student flat. Also… Dream can be the one to tell the university that they’re mated, now :D

[namujoon9401]

Alpha F!OC x Omega!Hoseok

A/b/o au

He just barely manages to get his keys and open the door to his apartment with how Yunha’s positively devouring him.

The alpha is kissing him so aggressively that it’s honestly a little ridiculous. The scent of bergamot is thick in the room, almost like she’s putting out more of her scent on purpose.

“Yunha,” he huffs between kisses, a giggle bubbling up in his throat. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You're mine,” she murmurs against the omega’s throat.

Oh.

“Of course I am. What’s gotten into you-” he gasps against her lips, suddenly flustered.

“Didn't like the way that guy was looking at you.”

“What- ah, what guy?”

His head is spinning, she’s kissing him with such vigor that it’s hard to concentrate on the words coming out of her mouth.

“On the train. That guy was definitely checking you out.” She growls, nipping at the hollow of his throat, the spot blooming red.

There had, in fact, been a guy on the train, an older alpha with a receding hairline that was standing behind them on the crowded train. But he hadn’t been leering at Hoseok. Had he?

Ah. So that’s why Yunha had stood behind him.

He's pulled out of his thoughts as she kisses him again, grabbing his shoulders and walking him backwards until she's pushing him against the wall of the entryway.

She kisses him deep, her tongue licking into his mouth. The heat between them is intoxicating.

“Didn't take you to be- the possessive kind.” He pants.

She pulls back, pupils blown wide, her eyes suddenly worried.

“Too much, baby?”

God.

“No, no- its. Good. I like it.”

He tucks his face into her neck, blushing in embarrassment.

“Wanna show everyone I belong to you.” He whispers.

She growls, rough, kissing him deeply. She grips his hips hard, nails digging into soft skin and thumbs rubbing underneath his shirt as he gasps into the kiss.

“Yunha- ah-”

She kisses roughly, with bruising force, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue licking incessantly into his mouth.

Hoseok feels like he’s melting, the sensations overwhelming. It feels a little like he’s a live wire and all of his insulation has been stripped away, one raw nerve.

Kissing her feels so fucking good. He’s desperate for it, licking into her mouth like she’s the only water in the desert for miles and he’s dying of thirst.

And, god, she smells like- like desire and arousal and… dominance. Hoseok has the urge to just submit to the alpha, his instincts making him pliant and submissive in response to her pheromones.

If he wasn’t drunk on her scent before, well. He certainly is now.

She shoves a knee between his legs, savoring his responding gasp and whimper. He grinds down onto her thigh, mouth agape at the sparking pleasure that shoots up his spine, pooling low in his belly.

“Fuck! Yunha…”

She manhandles him to the couch and immediately pins him down, kissing him deep, all the while her chest rumbles in a pleased growl. His arms come up to wrap around her neck as they kiss hungrily.

“My pretty baby,” she rumbles. “Want me to mark you up? So you can show everyone how you belong to me, hm?”

“Yes- ah- want that…” Hoseok squirms, back arching and mouth open in a silent moan as she presses her knee up into him, hands skimming under his shirt, long nails scratching lightly at the soft skin.

She resumes her attack on his neck, biting and sucking marks in the delicate skin.

Hoseok feels dazed. He tilts his jaw up with a soft sigh as the alpha sucks red marks into his neck.

He’s still grinding on her, he realizes with a start. The hot trickle of pleasure licking its way up his spine hadn’t stopped after they moved to the couch, and now his hips are making pathetic little circles on her thigh.

Yunha hikes his shirt up, suddenly, bunching the fabric up to his armpits.

She lowers her mouth to his chest and he squeaks as she laves her tongue over smooth skin.

He knows he’s probably flushed pink down to his chest, but that doesn’t make the involuntary sound any less embarrassing.

He covers his face with his hands, flushing an even deeper crimson. If that’s even possible.

She pauses to move his hands away. Her eyes are dark, but soften as she sees the embarrassment written all over his face.

“Dont hide, baby. Wanna see you.” She smiles softly at him.

He just whines, looking away.

He gets so shy sometimes, feels self-conscious about his body, his lack of experience. It makes him feel inadequate, like he’s lesser somehow.

Hoseok does his best to dismiss those thoughts, and Yunha’s endless praises do help some, but.

It's hard.

she senses the shift in his mood and stops her ministrations, smoothing out his hair. He leans into her touch.

“Hey. You with me?”

“M’ sorry. I just-”

Horrifyingly, he realizes there’s tears welling up in his eyes and-

“Shit.”

He hides his face in his hands again and turns away as he sniffles.

“I’m sorry, I dunno- why I’m crying, this is s-so stupid-”

“Baby…”

She pulls him into a hug, burying her nose in his shoulder.

She doesn’t pressure him into talking about it, just lets him cry while silently supporting him.

“It’s just… I feel so insecure next to- to you, ‘cause you’re so pretty and-and I'm just-” he gestures at himself, his skinny body and average face.

He sniffles wetly. “A-and we were doing so good and- now I’ve ruined the mood.”

“Hoseokie… I know you don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful but trust me. You are.”

She strokes his hair soothingly.

“And you didn’t ruin anything.”

The tears have stopped by now, but he's left red-faced, swollen and congested and gross.

“And I love you no matter what.”

“I love you too.” He wipes his tears, wraps his arms around her neck.

Her tone turns teasing.

“Does the baby need some emotional support cuddles?”

“Yes please.” He has no shame in asking, still soft and vulnerable.

Yunha laughs softly.

The omega snuffles into her neck as she carries him to her bed.

He takes a whiff of her pillow while she steps out to the bathroom to get ready for bed. The scent of bergamot and fresh linens fills his nose. He sighs.

He moves the pillows, some strangely innate urge prompting him to ruffle the sheets a little bit. Then he does it some more. He pulls the duvet so that its bunched up at the head of the bed-

He’s nesting, he realizes with a start.

He blinks.

When was the last time he felt comfortable enough to do this in someone else’s bed?

“Getting comfy?” she says from the doorway, leaning against the wall.

Hoseok blushes, looking away.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No it's not. It’s perfectly natural.” She smiles softly.

“Look at you. Making a nest of my bed.” She coos, climbing in, giving the omega a soft kiss on the cheek.

Hoseok just buries his face in his hands.

She cups his face.

“You're so precious, babe.” She chuckles softly.

He just whines.

They snuggle for a bit, exchanging soft kisses. She wraps her arms around his waist and he slowly dozes off, feeling truly loved for the first time in a long time.

••••••••••

The next morning is. Eventful.

Hoseok wakes to the alpha snuffling in his neck. Her cold nose jolts him more awake and he huffs. She yawns, sleepily blinking up at him.

“Mornin’.” Her voice is raspy and Hoseok can't deny that it's kinda hot and their legs are tangled together, and her arms are wrapped around his waist and her soft chest is pressed against his back and he has to actively resist the urge to reach down and-

Wait. What?

The realization that his dick is hard comes down on him like a bucket of ice water.

He squirms, trying to get away, to do literally anything to put physical space between them.

Of course all this does is make things more awkward.

She pulls him in closer, sniffing at his hair. He panics slightly, eyes wide, forgetting that of course she can smell you freaking out, idiot, you’re so stupid-

“You okay?” Her voice is still raspy, deeper than usual, and-

God.

She can smell you getting turned on, too. Dumbass. “I'm sorry!”

“No no, this is good we can work with this.”

What.

She flips him over, pinning him down, grinning wide and he is suddenly overwhelmed with the surge of feeling in his chest.

He kisses her softly, suddenly feeling tender and loving for some reason.

Clearly she has other plans.

The alpha quickly deepens the kiss, licking into his mouth incessantly, like its the last thing she’ll ever do.

He hums into the kiss. He feels a bit lightheaded but he doesn’t care, he just savors the kiss, the taste of her lips, the memory of her tongue.

He kisses back, suddenly hungry for it, every press of her mouth and stroke of her tongue. He’s desperate, grabs at her shoulders and jaw and kisses her like he’s dying.

She breaks the kiss to climb on top of his lap, the heat from her skin suddenly burning through the thin layer of her pajamas and sending sparks of pleasure down his spine at every grind of delicious friction.

He pants into her mouth, moaning low every time her hips drag against his. He pants, licking into her mouth, desperate and needy.

Her eyes are dark with desire, lidded and glittering and looking like she wants to devour him.

“Can feel how much you want me, hm? You're so needy, baby. It's adorable.” She chuckles dangerously, not stopping her slow grind.

He gasps as she wedges a knee between his legs, pulling him into a more intense grind. The pleasure is white-hot, sparking the liquid fire pooling low in his belly.

She strokes at his hair.

“Please…” he whines, mouthing at her lips, the underside of her jaw, nuzzling into the decadent scent at her neck, all juicy bergamot and fresh laundry.

His mouth waters, opening his mouth to lap needily at the scent gland at the side of Yunha’s neck, whining softly.

“Shit, Hoseok-” she curses, growling low in her chest.

Her hand comes up to his neck, forcing his head to the side so she can sink her teeth into the tender flesh right below his scent gland, mere inches away from what would have been a mating bite.

“Fuck-” the bite feels way too good, it’s so much all once and it makes the omega dizzy, drunk on the scent of her desire.

[melonba11s]

Fox Bait (MC/Ren Hana Fanfic)

A writing commission for a friend!

Contains: AFAB MC, Cosplay, very mild pred/prey, knotting, clawing, rough sex, underwear ripping.

The lace edge of the skirt tickled the top of your thighs as you pulled up the delicate sheer stockings. Just by bending over, you already knew that it exposed absolutely everything. Out of instinct, you reached back and tried to flatten the skirt to cover your bottom. It didn’t really work, but you kept it there, trying to hide what were practically strings covering your nether regions from a gaze that wasn’t there. 

You pulled up the stockings as quickly as you could. The corset around your waist may not be stiff with wires, but bending over still made it squeeze your stomach in a way that made it hard to breath. Paired with a plunging neckline and a flimsy maids headband, the outfit was the very definition of  a cheap costume for fetishists.  You paused in smoothing your outfit out though as a door opened, then clicked close, the sound of a lock turning seemed to echo throughout the quiet house.  

“Honey! I’m back!” There was no going back now. Even if you managed to strip yourself down, you’d never be able to get dressed again before he found you. And being naked around Ren would probably be just as risky as this move. 

You tried to suppress the blush rising up your face and snuck into the hallway, coming halfway down the stairs before seeing him. He was smiling, but as he took your outfit in, it slid off his face as he began to process the situation. 

“W-Welcome home, Master.” You did your best to bow at the waist, hands folded neatly over your thighs, legs shaking as you stumbled through the line. 

Ren was holding a shopping bag in one hand. Your first warning of what was to come was the fact he dropped it, a few apples rolling out. 

“O-Oh fuck.” the words slipped out of your mouth as you turned, beginning to fly up the stairs as Ren became little more than a flash of fur rushing towards you. 

The stockings slipped against the hardwood floor as you began to stumble through it, glancing back just in time to see one hand extended for your throat. A squeak erupted from your chest as it latched around you, sending you falling forward. Your bare thighs slid painfully across the floor as Ren took you down, panting. You could feel blood welling up around his claws, latched into the delicate flesh of your neck. 

“Stay still.” his voice was heavy, husky, hot in your ear as he grabbed your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. You didn’t have much choice in that matter though, as he put half of his weight into a hand on your back. You could hear him beginning to shuck his pants down. 

“Ren! Wait!” your hands scrambling against the floor for anything to grip. 

“Come on, you must have known what would happen if you dressed like this.” Ren’s voice sounded whiny, impatient, and your protests were quieted by the feeling of his cock slapping against your ass. “You want it just as much as I do, don’t try to pretend otherwise.” 

A single finger hooked into the underwear, pulling on it. It chafed, cut into your delicate skin, until finally- SNAP

In an instead the stretch shredded it in two, the bits falling to the floor and leaving you completely exposed. The sting of the cheap elastic snapping against your skin made you yelp, lurching under him in your body's reflex to get away from what caused it pain. 

Months living with him, you were able to recognize a pattern to Ren’s actions. Pulling your hips up again, but his hand on your back keeping your cheek pressed into the floor. What had once been cool hardwood was now sticking to your face from the heat built up from your cheeks. 

Face down, ass up, Ren’s favored breeding position. Your arms were free but he was a lot stronger than you, so there was no use in fighting back… And he was right. About you wanting this as much as him. 

You wanted to make him happy with it, true. But you hadn’t been oblivious to what Ren would do to you the moment he saw you all dressed up. 

Instead of fighting back, you moved your arms to help prop yourself up, leaning back just a bit so his cock bumped against your sex again. You couldn’t help it, it drew out a small moan from you. 

Ren wasn’t one to have patience, so he didn’t spend long rubbing himself against you. Maybe two or three strokes before he slid himself into your tight cunt, growling as he pushed himself into the hilt. It hurt, it caused tears to prick at your eyes, but despite this, you let out a low keening sort of moan. Any feelings of hesitation you had at the predicament were now gone, you just wanted to be closer to him, feel every inch of him inside you. 

“That’s it, just like this.” Ren’s voice was heavy with lust, you couldn’t see his expression but you knew that it was just as it always was whenever he was inside you. Cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded, mouth open as he panted. “Rock your hips against me, let me know with your body language how much you want me.” 

Your bare skin was squeaking against the floor as he began to rut into you, his claws digging into the flimsy material covering you. You could feel him pricking, puncturing your skin. There’d be blood stains on the outfit. You probably wouldn’t be able to wear it again. 

“Worth it…” you thought to yourself, using a hand to cover your mouth as you moaned, embarrassed at the sounds you were making.  

With your arms no longer focused on keeping yourself propped up and still, you were sliding against the floor with every thrust from him. You were definitely going to have a friction burn, already feeling the sting. 

You had other things to focus on right now though. Like that big knot of his beginning to inflate, slamming against your already overly stuffed cunt and clit. 

“Come on, fucking take it.” Ren’s voice had a needy whine to it, and you threw your hips back as best you could, trying to help him fit his knot in. There was a small “pop!” as it slid in, and you arched your back, cumming with a loud cry. 

His seed was filling you up, he always came so so much. You could feel it leaking out around his knot as he let out a howl, claws digging in deeper, adding to scratches that would definitely scar. 

“D-Don’t pull out just yet.” you managed to gasp, sweat dripping too the floor. “I-I want to feel you in me just a bit longer…”

[undertheopensky]

Keep and Carry 1

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless

Characters: Four, Twilight

Trigger warnings: Kidnapping, non-consensual drug use -----

Four is so small. And though his eyes are dark - the fall of his hair looks so much like Colin that Twilight’s heart lurches.

“Four?” he tries again. “Four, c’mon, can you hear me? Gimme a sign, bud, please?”

Four doesn’t so much as twitch. Sprawled on his side in the dingy cell, it’s hard to make him out - thank Ordona for a wolf’s night vision, or Twilight wouldn’t be able to see the slow and too-shallow movement of his chest. His eyes are no help, dull and hazy. He’s barely blinking.

There’s no blood, no bruises save the one blooming at Four’s throat where they’d tried to force him to swallow. Four had spat most of it out, fought them with everything he had, but the bandit leader just laughed.

(Don’ worry, he’d said, ‘e’s ‘ad enough. And Twilight had felt a chill because just what had they dosed him with?)

Worse, he was right. Mere minutes had passed before Four was slumping sideways, too weak to hold himself up, unable to respond to Twilight’s frantic questions. Hair falling in his face, arm caught awkwardly underneath him, he’s in no condition to fight back or escape. He’s helpless.

Twilight wants to pace. There’s an energy caught under his skin, hot and cold and itchy by turns. Sadly the cage is too small for him to even stand up in. Four might have managed, with his head ducked, if he hadn’t been drugged insensate before they shoved him in the next cage over.

…is it his imagination, or is Four’s breathing slowing down?

Twilight can’t reach far - the mesh is spaced too tight and the corded muscle of his forearm can’t squeeze all the way through. Still, he just barely manages to hook a couple of fingers into the edge of Four’s sleeve. Four doesn’t respond to the light tug. It’s not like he’d been expecting him to, but Twilight’s heart sinks.

How much time does he have?

…with how fast Four had gone under, he can’t rely on rescue. He’s gotta get them both out of here. That means looking for weak points - these cages look pretty new, but they also look like they’re supposed to hold things smaller and less crafty than Hylians.

He still hesitates to lose contact.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, in case some part of Four can still hear him.

The lock is shiny and new, and the hinges have been reinforced to prevent easily popping out the door that way. However, the original welds holding the cage together? Those are unobtrusive - and easily missed when looking for things to reinforce against escape.

Suddenly it’s a good thing the cages are too damn small, Twilight breathes. He risks another glance at Four - unmoving - before planting his shoulders against one side and his feet the opposite.

He heaves.

The muscles in his back and abdomen go tight, supporting. It’s his thighs doing the real work: slowly dragging his legs straight while the wire mesh squeaks and squeals, white-hot threads burning from his knees to his hips. There’s no sudden stop, of giving way all at once. Just the slow, stubborn work of bending steel, until the wall of the cage has peeled away from the floor far enough that he can wriggle free.

His legs ache. Even after the pressure is gone he can feel the strain all the way through his hip joints, the force needed to drag metal aside echoing through muscle and bone. He’ll be feeling the reminder for days.

Stupidly, the keys are in easy reach, once he staggers to his feet and can snatch them from their hook. There’s only a handful that will fit the cage locks so it’s a matter of seconds to get Four out.

Four feels just as small in his arms - too small, too light and fragile. His head lolls completely limp on his neck until Twilight gets an arm under it. He doesn’t so much as blink at the movement, at the contact, at Twilight carefully hauling him out of the cage so he can cradle him like something precious. His breathing is so faint Twilight can’t feel it through his tunic - he has to keep glancing down to be sure it’s still there, still making Four’s chest rise and fall with that one critical sign of life.

Four can’t move - can’t speak - can’t even blink. It has to be terrifying. Is he even aware Twilight’s here - that’s he’s not alone? Or have the drugs taken even that small comfort from him, too?

“I have you,” Twilight breathes, and prays it makes it through the haze.

[riftclaw]

that one person in the comments of the sans vs Cecil vote going "people only want Cecil to win bc it's funny" has to be like 12 bc there's no way they experienced tumblrs actual sexyman heydey

sans just barely squeaks under the wire. most characters later than him aren't "tumblr sexymen"-- we just don't *do that* anymore. people like reigen bc of who reigen is in canon, not a fanon extrapolation that's made entirely to be eye candy based on assumption or lacking lore (Cecil was most popular in wtnv's early days, the onceler has like no canon personality, bill cipher is suggested to have a lot going on but it's pretty thin to keep him mysterious)

Cecil beating reigen isn't funny, it's bc he's a proper tumblr sexyman and reigen is a twitter sexyman. he's still valid, just a different variant, and bringing the polls *to tumblr* always had the possibility of drastically altering the twitter outcome

bc this is actually tumblr and not a bunch of people only familiar with the sexyman trend from reposted memes

[spice-olympus]

This Overwhelming Feeling of Joy

Summary: My interpretation of Hades and Persephone's wedding night, past the fade-to-black. Loving married sex, some height difference technicalities, and a lot of laughing in bed.

Content Warnings: brief mention of past sexual trauma, size difference

Rated: E (18+ Only, Please!) / Read It On AO3 Here!

Persephone all but collapses onto the couch when they reach their room, giggling in spite of herself from the pure unreality of the last twenty-four hours. The early morning light of Olympus is coming through the wide windows, but Persephone’s body is still buzzing with excitement. She’s already running over memories of her wedding day as she watches Hades cross the room to pick up the telephone and order them beverages. Eros dancing with her, spinning her until she was dizzy: Hera’s smile as she congratulated them: Hades’s whispered vow, the words crawling up the nape of her neck before his public words of love and support.

“Thanks,” Persephone says when Hades hangs up the phone. Her throat hurts from singing and laughing and crying, and hot tea sounds like just the right thing. Her husband (!!!) comes to kneel beside her, his hair in disarray from a night full of celebration. He’s even more beautiful like this, in the dim morning light, the same giddy disbelief on his face.

“I’m still so wired, but so tired at the same time.” Persephone gets a foot out from under the many layers of her wedding dress and Hades accepts it with both hands, his skin always so cool against Persephone’s. “My feet hurt from dancing.” Hades slips off her shoe, one finger running along her heel.

“Did you like the party?” He sounds almost nervous, as if he couldn’t tell that Persephone was having the best night of her life.

“Yes, it was perfect.” Persephone grins over the ruffled layers of her skirt. Her shoe looks like a doll’s toy in Hades’s hand, his fingers easily wrapping around it. It takes her a moment to see just how unsettled he looks by his own question, and the uncertainty on his face hasn’t been dispelled by her answer. His eyes are still on her foot, and he doesn’t look up at her to meet her eyes.

Persephone pushes herself up, fighting against the dress to get closer to Hades. “Please don’t overthink it,” she says, pleading.

“Didn’t I stop you from ‘doing all the things’?” Hades asks, still looking to one side.

“Hades look at me,” Persephone says, and his eyes snap up obediently. “If I did not want to marry you, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Hades’s shoulders finally drop from their anxious arch, and Persephone smiles, relaxing back against the arm of the couch.

“And we can still do all those things. They’ll just be even better because you’re my husband now.”

“I like the sound of that.” Hades playfully scoops up Persephone’s bare foot and presses a kiss to the ball of her foot, right where the ache of dancing has settled. Persephone closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his attention.

“There’s only one problem,” she says, hiding her smile as she unhooks the garter belt under her skirts and pushes her stocking partway down.

“And what is that?” Hades asks, clearly picking up on her mood as he gets to his feet and pulls her stocking the rest of the way off. Persephone wiggles her toes, finally free from all their layers, then pushes her dress down so she can roll onto her stomach.

“Well, you see… I had bought some lingerie for tonight, which I intended to change into. But I can’t all these buttons undone myself…”

“I can help you with that.”

Hades picks her up in one swift movement, making Persephone squeak and then throw her arms around his neck. Again she laughs from the pure joy, as he carries her to the bed and shoulders aside the sheer curtains that surround it, setting Persephone down on the mattress. He’s so careful with her, brushing the skirts of the dress down so it doesn’t fold the wrong way, then running a hand down the curve of her back, where the thirty silk buttons run from her neck to the ruffle of skirts.

“So, you’re not going to rip my dress off?” Persephone asks, propping herself up on her elbows so she can look backwards.

“Maybe another time,” Hades promises, laying one hand on her back. She can feel it through the dress, the way it spans her shoulder-blades. Smiling, Persephone closes her eyes and surrenders herself to the feels of Hades working his way down her dress, one button at a time unfastening and letting the cool air of the room whisper across the skin of her back. Hades’s fingers trace little patterns on every inch of exposed skin, a quiet worship that reminds her of the vow he whispered to her at the altar, of power and respect.

“You know, it’s very hot in the mortal realm all the time,” Persephone finds herself saying, as Hades reaches the small of her back, the last of the buttons, and spreads her dress open. “Even when it rains, it’s still warm.” She wriggles out of the sleeves and lets the bodice fall around her waist, twisting up to face her husband. He looks almost dazed, his eyes focused on her face as if he’s trying to absorb her words with all of his attention. “But on a rare day, the temperature will drop briefly.”

Persephone hooks her fingers into her husband’s pants and undoes the clasp, tugging his shirt up so she can touch the hard planes of his stomach, then turn her attention to undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s still looking at her with all of his attention, as if he doesn’t notice the way she’s opening his shirt, exposing the lines of his chest and the scars that slash across it. His arms are still at his sides, letting Persephone slide the straps of his suspenders down and then throw his shirt back off his shoulders.

“I don’t know what it is about the sudden chill, but I would always get this overwhelming feeling of joy.”

The intensity of his gaze makes Persephone feel transcendent. She pulls her hair out of the bun, runs her hands through it and flicks a few stray bobby pins onto the floor beside the bed. “It was always marred by ambiguity… but I think it was about you.” She rests her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers out to feel the coldness of his skin. Just like the Underworld, just like those brief cold patches that caught her unawares in the mortal world, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

As if finally released from a spell, Hades moves, pulling her against him and tilting her chin up to press their mouths together. Here, Hades is warm, and his tongue is a demand against her lips, his hands holding her tight. Hades pulls away from her only to press a kiss to the side of her neck, and then down to her breasts. Her bra stops him from reaching lower, but he places lingering kisses along the swells of her cleavage, his hands reaching around to undo the clasp and pull it away.

“You’re beautiful,” Hades murmurs, and Persephone is dizzy with it all.

“I’m yours,” she answers simply, and Hades buries his face in the curve of her neck, his hands on her waist holding her even tighter for a moment. Persephone hopes she has bruises tomorrow, although she knows her divine skin is made of tougher stuff than that.

After the moment to regain his composure, Hades reclaims her lips. Persephone has never felt so wonderfully overwhelmed by someone’s touch before Hades: she feels wild when he kisses her, like she could tear his clothes off and crawl into his ribs just to be closer to him. It scares her and excites her in equal measure.

Hades presses her gently back against the pillows, and Persephone lets it happen: Hades doesn’t break the kiss as he pushes her wedding dress down and down and off her legs. Persephone hears the soft sound of it hitting the floor beside the bed, and now she is just in her underwear and Hades is running his hands over the curves of her sides, the swell of her hips, the divots that separate her hips and thighs.

It’s lovely, and then Hades leans down close enough that their chests brush, and Persephone flinches.

Immediately, Hades draws back from her, hands held up as if in surrender. 

“No, come back,” Persephone protests, reaching out for him. “You startled me, come back.”

“Am I too cold?” Hades asks, hands still hovering.

“Of course not. Keep kissing me.” Persephone manages to reach Hades’s face and pulls him back down, cupping both sides of his jaw and guiding their lips back together. Hades allows it, but his hands stay on either side of Persephone’s head, no longer touching her, and something about it doesn’t feel right. She feels trapped.

“Can we-” Persephone mumbles, pulling back from the kiss. She’s frustrated with herself and this feeling. Her wedding night is supposed to be perfect, isn’t it? “Could I, uh-” She can’t say it out loud but she flips her hands around and raises her eyebrows at Hades.

“Oh! Of course.”

Hades picks her up and twists around so that his back hits the pillows and drops Persephone on his chest. She makes a little sound of surprise at the maneuver, but once she’s sitting on top of him, it’s definitely much better. She stretches her arms, reasserting her freedom, and looks down to see Hades staring up at her with awe-struck eyes.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and Persephone aches with love and need in equal measure.

“Please.”

His hands are back on her before she can breathe, settling on her hips in quiet appreciation, then running up her sides with a light enough touch that Persephone twists and giggles from the touch, too ticklish. Hades’s lips quirk, clearly saving that information for later. For now, he cups her breasts in his hands, running a thumb along their curve and then in dancing circles inwards until it brushes over her nipple and Persephone arches with a gasp. It’s a light, exploratory touch, yet she feels it down to her toes.

Her hands come up, searching for something to grab, and settle around Hades’s wrists, keeping his hands where they are. He scratches his nails gently on the sides of her breasts and Persephone can’t breathe. Hades doesn’t stop touching her, switching between light touches and sweeps across her nipples, keeping her on-edge and writhing in a new symphony of feelings. It’s so much and not enough, and she realizes she’s grinding down on Hades’s chest, trying to get friction.

On the verge of overstimulation, Persephone breaks his grip by leaning down and kissing him again, enjoying the new angle and the way he has to tilt his chin up for her, instead of the other way around. Mirroring Hades earlier, Persephone presses more kisses to his jawline and his throat, down to his pectoral, where she gives into temptation and presses her teeth into his skin.

Hades jolts and groans and one hand comes up to cup the back of her head.

“Harder,” he tells her, and Persephone obeys, biting down until Hades hisses through his teeth, then peppering the area with gentle kisses to make it better. There’s something satisfying about seeing the double-curve of her teeth in his skin.

Persephone has to scoot back to press a kiss to Hades’s stomach, then the curves of his hips, and she impatiently tugs at his pants to try and get the out of the way. Hades laughs and pulls her forward again, cupping her butt with both palms and dragging her up to his chest. Then he lifts his hips and pushes down his pants, kicking them off the end of the bed.  

Persephone wants to see all of him. She reaches back and hooks her fingers into his underwear, tugging at them just as demandingly. Hades laughs again and obediently removes them, then slides a finger under Persephone’s waistband with a questioning eyebrow. Persephone catches his hand and brings it to her mouth so she can kiss his open palm, a silent answer: not yet.

Then she makes her way backwards, so she can straddle Hades’s thighs instead of his chest. It’s not the most elegant manoeuvre she’s ever done, but her mountain of a husband necessitates a little bit of climbing, and they both laugh a little.

Once Persephone is settled, she runs her hands over Hades’s thighs and just looks.

She’s seen Hades’s scars in the pool, but now she can see how they wrap around his hips as well, spanning his body from head to thigh. They shine with the reminder of his immortality: injuries that would have killed anything that could die. Evidence of trauma and evidence of the fact that nothing can take her husband from her.

Beyond that, Hades is an oasis of indigo against the white sheets of the bed, his cheeks faintly dotted with blushing stars as he lets Persephone look her fill. Mortals could write endless poems about the lines of his hips and the ripple of his muscles, and all of them belong to her now.

And then Persephone looks down and is absolutely stunned.

How is that supposed to fit inside me???

She reaches down and gingerly touches the base of his cock, a light press of the fingers to assess that she is, in fact, looking at the real thing. It jumps under her fingers, a slight reaction, and Persephone pulls her hand back, surprised. This is new territory for her: she doesn’t know how to make this good for him. Remembering some half-forgotten porn videos, watched on the phone Artemis had given her, she steels herself and reaches out again.

This time, she wraps her hand around him, finding that her fingers can’t reach all the way to her thumb. She makes an involuntary noise at this realization and Hades laughs, though the sound is strangled.

He reaches up, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promises.

Persephone feels herself blush. “How does it… will it hurt?” She can’t imagine that it won’t, but she wants Hades to reassure her.

“It doesn’t have to,” Hades answers. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“How?” Persephone runs her fingers along Hades’s cock, fascinated by the texture. She can’t tell if he’s fully hard or just getting there, but the contrast of soft skin and tensed cords is hypnotizing. The skin is loose at the top and she wraps her hand around him again, pulling down the foreskin and revealing the flushed head, a darker indigo than any other part of him. She wants it to fit. She will make it fit.

“Well, first you’ll need these off,” Hades says, and again he tugs her waistband. This time Persephone takes the hint, tugging her panties off and tossing them into the pile of clothes scattered along the side of the bed. “Can I pick you up?”

“Now he asks,” Persephone teases. “Yes, my King.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Hades says, and lifts her by the inside of her thighs, making her squeak again in surprise. Before Persephone knows up from down, her knees are on either side of the pillow, and Hades is looking up at her with an expression that is far too pleased.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Persephone is frankly worried that she’s going to drip on his face at this point.

“May I?”

“Anything, but- ohfuckHades-” Persephone curls over at the first pass of his tongue over her entrance. She thinks she might pass out, but instead she puts her hands against the headboard and does her best to hold on. “Are you really- ah-”

She doesn’t get through the question but it hardly matters because the answer is yes, he really is. His tongue is wicked, spreading her open and swirling around her clit, an endless back-and-forth that builds her higher than she knew was possible. His hands curl around her thighs, gently encouraging her to rock against his mouth, and Persephone didn’t know she was capable of making the noises she’s making. She rides the waves of pleasure, each one a new surprise, and when she looks down, Hades has his eyes closed and seems to be in ecstasy. His tongue traces circles around her clit, then teases at her entrance, and Persephone feels empty every time.

“Can you- can you-” She wants to ask for something inside of her, a tongue, a finger, anything, and Hades seems to know the rest of the sentence because on his next pass, he curls his tongue into her and she’s shaking apart, reaching down to circle her clit so that he doesn’t even think about moving. He flexes his tongue inside of her and she’s not stopping her own rhythm, and the orgasm takes her further than she expected, leaving her shaky-legged and hungry for more.

She shifts back so she can prop herself up with her arms, gasping for air. Hades is there, kissing her, and she can taste herself in his mouth, bitter and sweet at the same time.

Hades shifts them so that they’re lying beside each other and Persephone collapses on her side in relief, pressing herself feverishly against Hades. She’s so warm, his skin a relief against her breasts and her cheek. She can’t help but throw a leg over him, wanting him closer.

She feels Hades run a hand down her back, then over her thigh, up her inner thigh so that his fingers are close to where she wants them.

“Yes,” she gasps against his chest.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and rubs a finger against her lips for a moment before slipping it inside of her. It’s much deeper than his tongue, and she tenses for a moment. He stops, and they both hold still against each other until Persephone breathes deep and relaxes again.

For a moment, Hades presses a finger to her clit, but Persephone winces from overstimulation and he gracefully switches his attention to the finger inside of her, pressing against her inner wall and making her spread her legs further to get more sensation. Two fingers at her entrance make her tense again, but he runs them up and down until she relaxes, and then he slowly slides them into her, and Persephone is on fire again.

She pulls at his shoulders, making him roll on top of her, which makes the angle better. He stays below her, his nose at the level of her chest, and she doesn’t feel trapped at all this way. His fingers rock into her, and he mouths at the curve of her breasts, as if he can’t help it when they’re right in front of him. After a few moments, he swipes his tongue across one of her nipples and Persephone’s back arches off the bed, forcing herself harder onto his fingers. Persephone makes out the corner of a self-satisfied smile before Hades puts his head down and starts to lavish attention on each of her nipples in turn, taking the opportunity to slide a third finger into her.

Persephone didn’t know that the stretch could feel good, but it does, something deep inside her taking pleasure from the sensation of being so full. The dull pleasure of his fingers and the sharp pleasure of his tongue flicking across her nipples is a contrast that has her rocking between them, her pleasure turning to near-silent gasps as she nears her second climax.

She’s sharply disappointed when Hades takes away his fingers, her hips rocking into nothing, but then he’s rolling them over again so that Persephone sits on top of him, and something better than fingers is bobbing in front of her, flushed and waiting.

The loss of her second orgasm makes Persephone desperate, and she wraps her fingers again around Hades’s cock, pumping it to get a feel for its width. Hades groans at her touch, head tossing back against the pillows.

“Remember- ah, take it slow.”

Persephone brings herself up on her knees, balancing on his hipbones, and positions Hades underneath her. She can’t help but feel it out, pressing the head against herself and then rubbing against it, a roll of her hips that has Hades grabbing the sheets on either side of himself. Once she’s sure that they’re both wet, she starts to drop down on him.

And oh, she didn’t know what full felt like before.

Hades is everywhere, inside of her and underneath her, one of his hands grabbing desperately at her thigh. The first orgasm did its work, the stretch almost lost in the slide, but before she gets very far, it starts to chafe. Working on instinct, Persephone pulls off and then settles back down, getting a little further the second time. Hades’s breath catches, but he lets her do what she wants. His hand tightens and relaxes on her thigh, her measurement of his self-control. She has to re-settle herself four times but then something feels right and she can take him deeper than before, gasping with pleasure as she finally reaches his base, legs splayed out onto the blankets.

Persephone can’t help but reach down and touch the place where they’re together. She can’t imagine it, even though she’s here, and the brush of her fingers against her clit make her gasp, throwing her headlong back into the need for her orgasm.

The only problem is that her legs are wide enough that she can’t get into position to ride Hades properly, so she tries rocking back and forth a little.

“Ah-” she gasps, just as Hades groans, and both of them reach out for each other, their hands colliding and tangling together.

Persephone experiments with the little purchase she has, rocking and twisting her hips, and Hades is a man undone beneath her, hips shuddering up against her now that he is no longer trying to keep still.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Persephone gasps before he can finish, and Hades untangles his hands from hers, cups her hips and moves her. He picks her up just as easily as all the other times he’s scooped her up, and then he drops her back down against his hips.

He’s so deep inside of her, she can feel it everywhere, her whole body singing with it. He lifts her again and Persephone is desperate for it, wriggling against his grip to get him fully back inside of her, where he belongs. He doesn’t deny her, pressing up into her with his heels against the bed, and this way Persephone can feel him moving, thrusting into her like he’s just as desperate, just as wild.

“Yes,” she says again, and Hades holds her there above him, as if she weighs nothing, and he drives himself into her, their hips meeting again and again, and Persephone scratches her nails down his chest because it’s the only thing she can reach. His fingers cup her ass, thumbs digging into her hips, and she is flying in his grasp, running her fingers across his chest, his nipples, her own breasts, and finally giving in and touching herself, playing frantically with her clit as Hades sheathes himself in her over and over again. She can’t tell if she’s nearing climax or far over the edge, entirely lost in the arc of pleasure.

It seems like forever before Hades tires, but eventually he flips them over again and Persephone finds herself back against the cushions. Hades lifts her hips so he can kneel on the bed, not leaning over her but pulling her onto him. Persephone reaches up and braces herself against the headboard with one hand, using that to push herself back onto Hades with frantic need. His hips snap against hers, and she can hear them moving together.

He's trying to stay upright but he’s bowing towards the headboard, groaning each time their hips meet. Persephone pulls him down, so he can rest on his elbows. Her nose brushes against his chest like this, but she doesn’t care anymore, too lost in the exquisite pace of their bodies together, the way Hades is starting to stutter in his rhythm. Persephone drinks in the hitch of his breathing, the groan when she flicks a revengeful tongue against his nipple in return. His thrusts grow more forceful and Persephone puts both hands against the headboard again, in danger of being pushed against it but instead meeting him, strength for strength.

“I--- I love you, I love you,” Hades groans into her ear. “I love you.”

“Ah- Hades, Hades.” Persephone wants to say that she loves him too, but his name is the only thing that spills from her lips.

The sound of it seems to send him over the edge, and he pulls her against him with a moan. She can feel him twitching inside of her, the flood of warmth in her core, and it makes her desperate for her own release. She manages to get a hand down on herself, and it only takes a few desperate movements for her to be over the edge as well, Hades crying out as she ripples around him.

They rock against each other for a few more seconds, the waves of pleasure carrying them further. Their chests are both heaving against each other, and Persephone has to put her head to the side to catch her breath, Hades half-collapsed on top of her but still supporting his weight on his forearms. Finally, he runs a hand through her hair and pulls back, making Persephone wince as he leaves her. It’s a strange feeling of emptiness, no longer marking a need, now just a temporary ache of absence.

Hades rolls onto the mattress beside her and pulls her against him, curling around her back and tucking one arm over her so that Persephone is entirely covered by him.

“…we didn’t get under the blankets,” Persephone observes after a long pause, and both of them start to laugh.

“Let me fix that.” Hades manages to pull the blankets down so they can both scoot underneath, and then tugs them up to Persephone’s shoulders. “Better?”

“Mmm, cozy.” Persephone cups Hades’s forearm where it lies across her stomach. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Persephone smiles and nuzzles her cheek into the pillow. She’s exhausted and still humming with pleasure, and married.

She can’t imagine a better wedding night.

[lootzest]

Heads, Constant

Maybe I should let this marinate a little longer but I've started and abandoned multiple bits of smut this month and now I've finished one I just want to bite the bullet and post it.

SO this is my first bit of absolute filth, tread gently because you tread on my filth etc.

Robert and Rosalind play a game (and then fuck.) OBVIOUSLY nsfw.

“You already undressed.”

She was sitting on the edge of their bed, her back to him, brushing her hair. Through the thin fabric of her nightdress, he could just trace her soft edges, normally fixed and firm by the clothes she had already cast off.

“You object?”

“Only to my timing.” He pulled his jacket off, followed by his waistcoat. Rosalind glanced back, her eyes lingering on his deft fingers unpicking the knot of his tie. Those layers shed, he checked his trouser pockets for the detritus of the day; how often he had pulled out crumpled notes, short lengths of wire, endless bloody handkerchiefs. His hand landed on something cold - a silver dollar.

He tossed the coin off his thumb and caught it on the back of one hand, covering it with the other.

“Heads constant, tails variable.” He lifted his hand from it.  “Heads.”

“Fingerprints.”

“Hair.”

“A little obvious, don’t you think?”

He tossed the coin again.

“Variable.” She paused; her withering commentary had set the bar high for her next answer.

“Broke left wrist aged eight.”

“Broke right wrist aged eight.” Robert wrapped his fingers round said wrist as he undid his shift cuffs. “And much worse off, that’s both our dominant hand.”

“We aren’t doing constants.”

“Alright then, constant, both right-handed.” He shrugged off his braces and removed his shirt. Rosalind continued brushing her hair. “It’s your turn.”

“You didn’t toss the coin for that one.”

“Variable, Rosalind is incorrigible.”

“That’s not true.” She turned to smile wickedly at him. “That’s a constant.”

“You wound me. I am wounded.” He knelt behind her on the bed and took the hairbrush from her, brushing her hair with a gentler hand than she used herself.

“Variable, hair.”

“You already listed that under constants.”

“Yes but yours is nicer.”

“Nice is not a standard unit of measurement.” He stroked his fingers through the strands, catching his fingertips on her neck, tracing a line of the flecks that dotted her shoulder.

“Constant and variable, freckles.”

She tapped the top of her shoulder and a particularly dark scattering.

“Only I have these ones.”

“But we both have the same grouping on our inner left thigh.” He leaned in closer to her. “Although only Rosalind squeaks when the other bites it.” His teeth grazed against her neck. She pointedly made no noise although he detected an added intensity to her exhale. 

“You appear to be changing the game in play.”

“Only introducing new rules.” He set the hairbrush aside and ran a slow trail of kisses across her shoulder, pushing the strap of her nightgown down when it got in his way. “Constant, both devastatingly attractive.”

“Obviously. Variable, primary and secondary sex characteristics.” Robert laughed against her bare shoulder.

“Rosalind, how am I to control myself when you use such filthy language?”

“Are we playing Constants and Variables or are we seducing one another?”

“Both. It’s a very clever game.” Robert moved his hands across her, his palms skimming over her breasts, his fingertips floating across her collarbone. “But you are correct; variable, Robert has a strong, broad, manly chest that his sister finds utterly compelling, and Rosalind has the loveliest breasts in Columbia.” With this, he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them, his thumbs running down to pinch at her nipples.

“And you’ve seen many breasts in Columbia to make this assertion?” They could both feel her nipples hardening under his touch but she still wouldn’t give in that easily.

“Must you make this so hard for me?”

Rosalind reached behind her to feel the front of his trousers.

“It does seem to be quite hard, doesn’t it?”

“That’s it!” he said, and he took her by the shoulders and pushed her onto her back, with mock roughness, kneeling over her, pinning her to the bed. He held her arms and dragged messy kisses across her shoulders and chest, then, as she tried to get her breath back, licked the side of her neck with the point of his tongue.

“Robert, that tickles!” she said in outrage.

“Variable, Rosalind is ticklish.” He did it again; she squirmed under him.

“Variable, Robert is terribly mean.”

“Rosalind is constantly mean.” Robert pulled his undershirt over his head. Rosalind bit her lip at the sight of the slight sheen of sweat across his chest and shoulders. He was right, not that she would admit it in words; his body fascinated her. Where her flesh was soft and yielding, his chest was a wide, firm plane she could press her open palms against and feel her heart beating within. 

She reached up for him, pulling him back down to her, finding his mouth with hers. She kissed him hungrily, easing his lips apart with her tongue, chasing his. His hands found her nightdress at her sides; he drew it up her body, exposing the apex of her legs. To everyone else she was so proper, so formal and rigid and he revelled in seeing her, half-dressed, her skin flushing at his touch, a secret only they shared. 

“Why am I still wearing trousers?” He scrabbled at the buttons, losing his balance slightly and rolling off her onto the bed.

“Must be a variable.” Rosalind stroked his chest while he pulled his trousers and underwear off.

“And why are you still wearing anything at all?” Robert threw the last of his clothes onto the floor, creases be damned. He grabbed at her, pulling her to him, his erection pressing insistently, thrillingly against her stomach. His desire was never anything but total; he wanted her so much and it made her feel alive, an electric circuit completing when they made contact. He pulled her nightgown off; he looked as thrilled as he did the first time she let him see her naked, an awed grin that was soon pressed against her body.

His mouth was at her breasts, her stomach, and then between her legs, his tongue opening her, her knees falling wide for him. She moaned as his tongue flicked over her clit, sucking gently at her. He moved to a particular spot on her inner left thigh and nipped at it with his teeth. She squealed as he sucked at her flesh, marking her for him - although the matching set of freckles on his leg already did so.

“See” – he kissed the spot, soothing the red mark he had left behind – “I told you you squeaked.” He crawled back up to, letting her taste the trace of her wetness on his tongue.

“Constant,” he said between urgent kisses. “I constantly want you.”

“That’s not what that means.” She sucked hard on his earlobe.

“Alright, we both constantly want each other.”

“Better.”

He slid the head of his cock against her slit.

“Variable. I am very hard and you are very, very wet.”

“Robert, there’s no need to be–” but the end of her sentence was lost to a cry of pleasure as he plunged into her. Nothing in either world he had inhabited felt as right as being buried deep within her. They had lost whole nights to slow burning passion, trying to put themselves back together as one, but this would not be one of them; Rosalind was rolling her hips against his thrusts, already whimpering in a way that suggested neither would last long.

Their hands met as they both instinctively reached between them to stroke her clit. 

“Shall I toss a coin?” Robert panted through a smirk. Rosalind, her eyelids heavy with pleasure, smiled luxuriously and withdrew her hand, letting Robert do the work. She lay back, her arms above her head, her breasts on even finer display. His brows knitted together, his breath shaking with lust and he was pounding into her, his thumb pressed against where she needed him.

Twin tension coiled deep within them both as they got closer, their breath growing more ragged in unison. He growled against her neck, his movements becoming messier, less precise, and with one more jerk against her, they were coming, together. If either could speak they would have called it another constant but Rosalind was arching against her brother, crying out, and Robert’s face was buried in her shoulder, gasping her name.

Through half closed eyes she could not see the edges between their bodies. They were one form, flowing together, a tangle of limbs, her hair flowing out under both their heads. He kept his arms around her as he lay back down on the mattress. He liked to hold her. She liked to be held. Another variable.

He combed his fingers through her tousled hair.

“Would you like it brushed again?” She shook her head. That would involve not being in his arms and, anyway, she could feel sleep creeping over them both. He kissed the top of her head.

“I love you,” he murmured. 

“Constant.”