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neonovember · 9 months

Note

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least.

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public.

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white.

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant.

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed.

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you.

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen.

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls.

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric.

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?”

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me”

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours”

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff.

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly.

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending.

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips.

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds.

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you.

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter.

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you.

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head.

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?”

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows.

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically.

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for, but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending.

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 2 months

Text

Play It As It Lays

[taehyung x reader] [1.5k smut: mirror sex, creampie, unprotected sex, virgin kink??, really just porn with a lil bit of plot; Taehyung is a famous Cellist who was hired to tutor OC.

Just a self-indulgent fic.

People said to never meet your heroes.

You'll be let down, they say.

But you would beg to differ.

And beg, you do.

With your bodies sitting naked on the couch, Taehyung has you facing the mirror and the sight of your petite frame slotted between his bulging naked thighs shoots up your arousal. Your perfectly intertwined limbs could inspire a whole series of shunga artwork.

Calloused hands grip each of your knees and push them wider apart before a hand returns to cup your dripping sex.

"Please," you whine. The words that fell from your swollen lips were almost incomprehensible because of how breathy and timid it sounded.

But that was just one of Kim Taehyung's effect.

The man lives up to his reputation in the Classical music industry—charisma just as alluring as people described and his presence calls for attention, not because he, himself, demands it, rather there is something lingering in his aura that just lures and pulls you into him. And when he looks at you, it's a mixed feeling of intimidation and desire to keep his eyes on you.

And to you, it makes you want to defy him. You itch to see if you can crack that calm and stoic demeanor of his.

Taehyung only hums in response to your plea and you feel his chest rumble on your back. It's close to an hour and yet all he did with his finger was tease you. Everything he has done was all build-up, never the climax.

"You're so delicate." His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you. His body is so close, you hear the wet smacking of his tongue inside his mouth as he speaks. He dips his fingers inside your pussy as he presses his thumb on your nub, leaving you shuddering in pleasure. "And so sensitive. My pretty virgin," he tsks. "You're making a mess, darling."

You mumble out a half-hearted apology to which he snorts at. You struggle to keep your tears at bay. Frustration and defeat are obviously written on your face. If only you knew how to touch yourself, you would've done the job yourself. But no. You can play with yourself all you want, but you've never experienced an orgasm. And none of what Taehyung does to your body now matches the pleasure when you touch yourself.

And so, you remain at his mercy.

It was torture to be teased, but the way Taehyung's arm muscle clenches and your body twitches has your attention stuck to the mirror. It was as if his hand was a bow and your body held the strings that create the most beautiful melodies.

His right hand pushes in and out of you in timed intervals and his left hand grips your neck, arms across your body to hold you close to his. It was oh-so-intimate.

But of course, this was also a way for Taehyung to restrain you.

"Take it," he lectured when your body thrashed around from sensitivity. "The pleasure is tenfold if you endure it. Just like playing the cello—a sublime piece is achieved from laborious and seemingly endless revisions. So, take it."

The growing warmth between you has you both sweating—the smell of sex in the air grows potent by the minute, pushing you further into your shared haze.

You don't mind that all Taehyung does is play with your body. He can do whatever he wants to you for all you care. But you also have this feral need to learn about his body—play with his cock and grip it as tight as you hold your instrument in place between your thighs. You want to hear the sounds he makes as you play with his body. He has been hearing you chant his name with moans and sighs in different pitches; it's his turn to sing.

You focus on Taehyung's hand disappearing and reappearing from your cunt. The velvet couch that carries your bodies is vandalized with your slick and his precum. His hands are truly just as skilled in playing the cello as it is in flitting around your body. You can almost taste it again—your sweet peak.

But you can't come like this. Not yet.

Your hand halts Taehyung's movement, tongue darting to wet your lips, "S-stop," you stutter. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising in question. And so, with your senses still muffled with lust, you try your best to answer clearly, "Wanna cum on your cock, sir.”

Your legs wobbled as you changed positions—you're now kneeling on the floor with his thick dick right on your face. You gulp at Taehyung's size but also swallow the pooling drool in your mouth.

You ought to thank your parents for hiring Taehyung to give you private lessons. Albeit this isn't the lesson they had in mind, you personally think this is more… beneficial for you.

Without wasting another second, your hand grips his base to erect his cock and you run your warm tongue from his balls to his slit. The man above you throws his head back as air is expelled from his pretty lips. He leans his body backward, arms propping him up and he sets his eyes on you. "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

You only respond with a smirk; smug eyes refusing to look away as you make a big show of sucking his tip like it’s the sweetest lollipop.

You're halfway there, you encourage yourself. You want to see the moment you break him.

Mimicking a move you watched on porn, you wet your hands with your slick before returning your hold on Taehyung's dick. With one hand stroking him up and down, your other hand caresses his balls within your palms like two delicate marbles.

Taehyung curses. You were sin incarnated.

Determined to get more from him, you push your head closer to his crotch, deep-throating his cock.

Unexpected and unprepared, Taehyung makes a guttural wail; his arm shoots up to hold you by your hair and his body reflexively sits up and pushes his cock at another deep angle inside your mouth which pulls another moan from the man.

You fight the urge to gag, and your eyes start to flood with tears. You could only claw at Taehyung's thighs.

Taehyung was quick to gather his wits and then chuckled at your state. His hand on your hair moves to cup your face before smudging your mascara as he wipes your tears before they fall.

"Come up," he instructs as he pulls his cock from your mouth. A plop is heard, and a string of your saliva mixed with his precum lingers from your lips. Taehyung's hands take control of your hips—his bruising hold guides you to sink down to his cock until you take all of him, pulling a pained moan from you.

Taehyung is a tight fit, and you fight through the initial discomfort as you move your hips. You teeter between the stinging stretch and warm addicting pleasure.

With a satisfied groan, Taehyung gently guides your head to level your sight with the full-length mirror and holds you in place. "Take a look at yourself. You look as heavenly as you sound," his voice in your ear is so soft and saccharine, you believe him. "And see how well you take me like a good girl," he praises, the tone switching to a little bit strained as your pussy clenches—the pain morphing to lust and desire. His hand goes back to your hips to help you ride his cock. The minimal movement gives you both pleasurable tugs, you can't help but moan.

With his thighs now caged between your own, you momentarily bend down to kiss his knees. Your action has him throwing his head back once again. But his eyes trail down to your curved spine all the way down to your ass perched on his hips.

Deciding that you've adjusted to his cock, Taehyung bounces your hips on his cock. The sight of your arousal creaming around his crotch has him salivating. As much as he wants to lick you clean, he badly needs a release. It's a miracle he lasted almost more than an hour.

You plant your feet on the ground and start moving at your own pace. Each slam of your ass on his thighs reverberated in the room as if cheering you on as you bounced faster and harder on his cock.

A contrast of warmth and shivers washed over your body as Taehyung laid open-mouth kisses on your back. As he reaches your neck, he sucks on the soft flesh to claim you, mark you—so you remember this night which will be the first of many. He promises.

You grab and tug at his hair to pull him toward your puckered lips and he obliges. The echoing sound in the room is no longer just your skin slapping but the smacking sound of your lips as you breathe each other in.

"Sir-r, I-I’m close," you stutter out between kisses amidst overwhelming pleasure. Taehyung meets your thrusts halfway. And as your pace increases, so does the frequency of the moans of the man behind you.

With a powered thrust, your body trembles as you climax. Taehyung follows not long after—your pussy spasming around his dick has him shooting up his cum inside you as he wraps you in his arms.

People who warned you to never meet your heroes, clearly never had the privilege of meeting Kim Taehyung.

#taehyung fic #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #bts fic #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung x y/n #bts v x reader #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #smut fanfiction #bts fanfic

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kikis-writing-service · 4 months

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Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: Pro-hero Dynamight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 ? ? ? ? ?

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Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Silence claws at Katsuki like smoke. His usually buzzing apartment, filled with pre-patrol jitters, now amplifies frustration. Benched from hero work is a new kind of hell – not the fiery adrenaline blast he’s used to, but a simmering resentment that chokes him dry. The sleek case for his new hearing aids mocks him from the table, tiny plastic soldiers against his towering rage.

Water sloshing in his throat does little to quench the fire within, leaving only bitter embers on his tongue. A sharp, insistent rap at the door pierces the suffocating silence. He groans, bracing for his well-meaning mother's lecture. He flings the door open, ready to bite back, but the words die on his tongue. Mina grins, a playful hurricane shoving past him. He shuts the door with a sigh.

Mina talks. He knows that much. Her voice, muffled like a radio stuck on low, washes over him. He wishes he could take back that bitter "nothing to do" that scorched his tongue. Being alone with his despair is preferable to this clumsy charade.

Mina's head tilts, a frown blooming on her face. Katsuki scowls back, irritation prickling his skin. Did she ask a question? Was he missing something? She marches closer, stopping right in front of him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"Hearing aids?" she asks, her voice pushing through the muffled haze. Katsuki's ears strain, catching snippets, just enough to understand.

He grunts, the sound like sandpaper against silence. Dealing with this is the last thing he needs, but Mina's stubbornness is legendary.

Scoffing, the sound hollow even to him, he mutters, "Doc's orders. Needs to... heal." He gestures vaguely at the aids nestled in their velvet cradle.

"But you haven't been wearing them all day, have you?" Mina's voice cuts through his fog. "So put them on. Let's hear the world whine with you." Her golden eyes, usually sparkling like fireworks, hold him captive, a silent challenge in their depths.

Katsuki scowls, jaw muscles clenching. Mina, sensing his resistance, pouts. "Why not?" she presses, her voice a nudge.

He grumbles, staring at the hearing aids, delicate birds in their velvet nest. "Not like the others," he mutters. "Don't sit all the way in. Not as..."

"Discreet?" Mina offers, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," Katsuki grunts, the sound rough in his throat.

Mina's sigh is a rumble of understanding. "Come on, Kat," she says, tiptoeing to touch his face, but he swats her hands away. Mina puffs up, simmering with anger. "Stop worrying about what people think."

"It's not about them," Katsuki growls. "It's about me. And I—," He stops, choking the rest back, running a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't get it."

"Not if you don't tell me!" Mina fires back. "This is exactly why we broke up!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, ready to retort, but the words snag in his throat. He pauses, sighs, and looks away. In a quiet motion, he pulls out the hearing aids, one by one. Placing them over his ears, the world snaps into focus, a cacophony of welcome and unwanted sounds. He catches sight of himself in the window, the tiny tube snaking into his ear a jarring clash against his usual stoic image. He hates it, the vulnerability it forces upon him.

"Tiny! Barely see it," Mina's voice, amplified and clearer now, pricks at him. He knows she's lying. The tube, the wire, stares back at him accusingly. He hates them. Needs them. More than ever after this recent slide. No choice, the suffocating reality presses down on him, and he pushes the frustration back down.

He turns to face Mina. "You came to drag me out, didn't you?"

Mina laughs, a bright spark. "Yup! Sulking butt and all, you're coming to lunch with me!"

"M' not sulking," Katsuki mumbles, but Mina ignores the comment, already grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.

Mina's words tumble against the cafe walls, bouncing off like pebbles on cobblestones. Fragments snag on Katsuki's silence – a new flame, a promotion, a weekend trip – but vanish before taking root in his thoughts. Every clink of cutlery, every muffled murmur, feels like a needle jab. The world hums like a faulty hive, every buzz amplifying the inadequacy gnawing at him.

He craves the silence, the haven you offered just nights ago, where the symphony of the world couldn't reach him. Water cools his throat, a fleeting respite from the sensory overload. "Hey, you still with me?" Mina's voice slices through the fog.

He scowls. "Don't care about whoever your fling is now."

Mina's laugh, like wind chimes, jars with cheer. "Aww, still hung up on me, Kat?"

Water sputters down his throat as he glares. "Shut up!"

Her laughter fades, replaced by a familiar, reassuring smile. Food arrives, a welcome distraction, but a blur. Katsuki eats on autopilot, flavors dulled, the restaurant's din a muffled roar he can't escape. Every amplified breath, every distant giggle, grates on him.

Sensing his withdrawal, Mina's chatter tapers off. Unspoken understanding hangs heavy, a familiar blanket she offers without pretense. He knows she cares. They're battle-scarred comrades, memories woven into hero training days. Yet, a chasm gapes between them, their languages disparate, his silence a fortress she can't crack.

His hearing loss isn't just muffling the world – it's a vine twisting through his life, draining energy, leaving thorns of frustration. Garbled conversations like whispers behind a wall, the exhaustion of piecing it together, the phantom echoes of missed words – the fear of being left behind gnaws at him.

He builds walls, fortresses of silence that keep others out and himself in. But translating his world, bearing the weight of their understanding, ignites a spark of fury.

His thoughts drift towards your shop, where silence isn't a chasm but a shared melody. With you, anxieties and frustrations exist in unspoken spaces, your empathy a bridge spanning the gap, allowing him to breathe, unburdened by explanation.

Mina's voice breaks through his reverie. "Hey, Katsuki," her eyes dim with concern. "We care, but you gotta let us in. Remember what we always said? Communication is key."

He knows she's right, but dissecting his experience, making deafness the story's center, feels like ripping open a wound. He's Katsuki Bakugou, a damn supernova, and reducing him

to this struggle feels like a cosmic injustice.

The nervous waitress hovers, her gaze darting between them. He sighs, recognizing Dynamight's face, Mina's fame. This isn't hero worship – it's tiptoeing, a hesitant question hanging in the air. "Anything… uh… else you need?" Her voice, loud and slow, grates.

Confusion mixes with something sharp and hot in his gut. The hearing aids, not-so-discreet, click into place. Assumptions made, lines drawn, a new script written in the blink of an eye.

"Need air," he rasps, the simmering rage bubbling over. He shoots out of his chair, the world a muted hum as he rips off the hearing aids and shoves them into his pocket. Mina's confused call is lost in his wake.

He slams through the door, the cool air a slap against his burning chest. Pavement pounds under his feet, each step a beat against the thrumming anger. No destination, just the blind urge to outrun the sting of pity in that waitress's eyes.

His feet, on autopilot, lead him to the familiar alley, the comforting scent of spices a beacon. He hesitates at the shop's entrance. He craves you, the quiet haven you offer, the understanding that blooms between you without needing words. But seeking solace after his outburst feels… desperate and childish. He's about to turn away, to retreat into the city's anonymity, when the door swings open. You emerge, laundry slung over your shoulder.

You meet his eyes and the world stills. A sunrise smile chases away his shadows. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, fluttering against the bars of his self-consciousness. He feels stupid, a schoolboy caught loitering outside a forbidden playground.

Your head tilts, brows furrowed in unspoken concern. Then, with a gentle smile, your hands bloom, signing hello and his sign name – five fingers unfurl like a budding supernova, echoing the embers in his heart. Warmth floods his cheeks. He mirrors the gesture, fingers stiff yet fierce, signing your sign name back.

You scan the shop, searching for something. Not finding it, your brow creases.

"Doctor?" your hands inquire, urgent whispers in the air.

He nods, explaining his mother's intervention. "Ruptured eardrum. Should heal in a few weeks."

Your apology hangs in the air, a feather against his annoyance. "What for?" he asks, voice gravelly.

"My quirk couldn't help you more," your hands explain, a downcast gesture mirroring his chest.

He scoffs, exasperation mixed with gratitude.

"You've done enough," he mumbles, dismissing your worry.

He watches you wrestle with the laundry bag, a familiar knot twisting in his gut. Without thinking, he steps forward, effortlessly hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. You freeze, surprise etching your features.

"What are you doing?" your hands inquire, confusion flickering in your eyes.

"Heroes help those weaker than them," he muttered, the words gruff but the sentiment clear. "Got nothin' else to do on leave, might as well lend a hand."

Your surprise melts into a grateful smile, a blossom under his unexpected kindness. Just then, a shriek shatters the peace. Kouichi, a miniature hurricane of excitement, bounds down the stairs. Katsuki's gaze shifts toward him, the resemblance to you not lost.

"Dynamight?" he shouts, eyes wide with hero-worship. You step in front of him, your hands weaving a tapestry of sign language, too swift for him to decipher, but he catches "calm" and "quirk."

Kouichi, initially frowning, complies, closing his eyes and taking breaths.

"Sorry," you sign, turning back to Katsuki. "He's, uh, your biggest fan."

Katsuki scrutinizes Kouichi, curiosity igniting. Kids liked his quirk, sure, but favorite hero? That was usually Deku with his infuriatingly sunny smile. "Really? Not usually anyone's favorite," he says, surprise lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen, disbelief flickering. "What? But you're so cool!" The unfiltered admiration floods his cheeks, a blush he can't control. He can't help but be disarmed by your genuine awe.

"Think I'm cool, huh?" he teases, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Your cheeks warm, and you bite your lip, a nervous but genuine smile playing on your lips. "The coolest."

"Mom!" Kouichi's shout cuts through the moment, drawing their attention. Katsuki's eyes widen. The laundry bag settled onto his shoulder, a familiar weight that suddenly felt heavier, tinged with a new awareness. Katsuki's gaze flickered to the boy, a knot of something akin to recognition twisting in his gut.

You rise, your gaze meeting his, an unspoken inquiry in your eyes. "Can I introduce you two?" your hands sign, pleading and hopeful. Kouichi stands beside you, eyes alight with unspoken questions. Katsuki, drawn by the twin flames of curiosity and a strange sense of responsibility, can only nod. Your smile brightens with an infectious joy that amplifies because it involves your son and his curiosity. Katsuki thinks it's the smile of a good mother.

"This is my son, Kouichi," you sign, your voice barely a whisper against the roar in Katsuki's ears. "Five years old and a ball of sunshine." You ruffle his hair playfully, eliciting a wide, gap-toothed grin. "He's deaf, so he'll use signs to talk to you. Unlike you, he's been at it since before he could walk, so watch out. He can zip through those signs like nobody's business.”

Katsuki blinks, surprise flickering across his face. His gaze shifts between you and Kouichi, a new lens settling over his perception. Understanding dawns, re-framing your connection.

“Don't worry,” you sign. “I told him to keep it slow for you." Katsuki gives you an appreciative look.

Kouichi walks beside Katsuki as you lead the way to the laundromat. They trail behind, silent questions dancing in the air.

#spicy curry #bnha imagine #mha imagine #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou imagine #katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki angst #bakugou angst

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rippersz · 10 months

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𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝑰𝑰

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

A Larissa Weems x F!Reader three-part mini-fic. Read the first part here: Heat ; (NSFW: Vulgar, Breeding Kink, All That Jazz) (TW: Intrusive thoughts/actions) (The next part will include explicit consent amongst other things. Thank you and enjoy.)

✩⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠✩

“That’s a good girl… doing so well for me sweetheart…”

You replied to her purr with a groan, already helpless from the way she teased and nipped at your body. So quick, she was. And so nimble; fleeting with touches that had your eyes rolling back into your head because the amount of pleasure that buzzed through you was like a shock of lightning. And it simply- honestly- really never stopped. Skating soft caresses over your hips, dipping between your thighs, never touching you in the way you wanted her to. Licking at your neck, biting softly along your waist, curling her fingers into your hair… all sweet evil little tactics keeping you keening and submissive.

You felt like you were somewhere else. You felt like nothing but her mattered.

You could barely speak. You could barely breathe.

“Oh I know… I know, darling. Just so cruel, hm?”

Terribly cruel. Absolutely cruel. She knew you needed it the same way you needed air and water - but nothing so sweet came without a price. That was your price. That was your punishment. Shivering beneath her body, shaking under her touch, dripping against her soft fingertips - giving yourself up to her like a ritual for the gods. She was no god, but she was still the object of your everything. And her lipstick prints, her velvet tongue, her eyes so dark with lust they turned into midnight, all of her… it was there to drive you mad. Insane. Out of your mind. So beautiful and so wicked you could do nothing but nod your little head and allow your bottom lip to quiver. You had no other reply. She had stolen your sense.

“Poor thing,” came the sinful whisper in your ear. “Poor little thing…”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Will you forgive my teasing, darling girl?”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Will you be good for me?”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Will you give in?”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“-s Larissa!”

You woke with a jolt.

Your room was dark, you noticed first. The curtains were drawn but there was no familiar glow of the bright world outside slipping through the cracks. And none of the lights were on. And you were pretty sure there was someone outside of your door.

Just what on Earth….

“I can come back later or tomorrow if you’re not feeling well, Y/n.”

…Larissa?

You frowned, sat up, and immediately let out a sharp hiss.

Your libido, awakened like a ravenous predator, constantly ready to tear and eat and bite, reared its ugly head. For a few blessed moments there you hadn’t felt a thing, but you should’ve known that such bliss never lasted long. Oh no, the confused fog of sleepiness was broken- cracked- shattered- as soon as your body stirred and your functions came back online. And once it did that, once it remembered its purpose, you were a goner. And its purpose - oh its purpose… to mate, of course. The answer was obvious in your lustful haze. You were meant to mate. And mate. And mate and mate and mate and bear children and to be bred over and over and over again until every corner of your womb was flooded with warm sticky life that came right from the tip of Larissa’s co-

“Stop,” your own voice surprised you, nearly making you jump in your spot.

Goodness you were going mad. You had to stop. You just- had- to stop.

And if it were any other day and you were actually sick, you would’ve just pushed those thoughts out of your head, pulled yourself out of bed, and gone to greet Larissa. Or perhaps even welcome her in. But it wasn’t any other day - and you weren’t sick in any way other than mentally. And the second you opened that door, she’d know. She’d know instantly. And then you’d be terribly embarrassed and you’d take the forms and slam the door in her face and never ever be able to talk to her again. And through it all, the only thing you’d want- the only thing you’d be able to think of or look at or obsess over- would be her. Just her. Just Larissa.

Just Larissa…

Just Larissa, Larissa, Larissa…

Larissa’s upper body pressed to the headboard of your bed. Larissa’s legs beneath your thighs. Larissa’s hands around your neck, Larissa’s hands digging into your waist, Larissa’s hands holding your ankles, Larissa’s hands cupping your cheeks. Larissa’s fingers dipping into your mouth. Larissa’s fingers christening your tongue. Larissa’s eyes staring down at you. Larissa’s sweet gaze making you shy. Larissa’s voice dipping into an evil purr. Larissa whispering dark sins into your ear. Larissa calling you good. Larissa calling you hers. Larissa’s lips against your neck. Larissa’s hands between your legs. Larissa pushing your thighs apart, sliding between them, smiling at your desperation. Larissa leaning down - Larissa making eye contact - Larissa pressing a slow- slow slow slow loving kiss to your cl-

“I suppose I’ll just email to reschedule, Y/n. I hope you’re alright in there,” her strong voice spoke through the door, instantly tugging you out of your daydreaming. It was faint, barely there, but there was something lacing her tone - something like worry or concern or even… disappointment…

Panic welled up inside of you. You couldn’t be a disappointment. You could never disappoint her. You could only please her. Only make her happy. Yes, only please her and make her happy. Only please her and make her happy with your mouth… and your tongue… and your fingers framing her waist and her hips on top of your head and… F-focus! God! Jesus! Get a grip!

“No!” You blurted out, scrambling and reaching toward the door with one hand, instantly cringing at the hoarseness of your voice. “N-no, stay - sorry! One sec!”

The sooner you got it over with, you figured, the quicker Larissa could leave. And then you could return to your (currently wet) bed and indulge in more pleasure and pain and try hard to wait out the struggle of the following few days.

“Oh… alright,” you heard her low murmur before the world fell silent.

Alright. Okay. Good. That was good. Time to face the music. Time to tug yourself out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet when your legs began to wobble; time to whimper beneath your breath at the pathetic stain on your sheets; time to shuffle your way over and glance into your full-length mirror and take in the way your body responded to its helplessness.

Such terrible terrible helplessness…

With hard nipples, yearning for friction, and thighs that rubbed together, slicked with desire - almost unconscious in their need; and with hands that shook slightly at your sides and a sheen of sweat that caused the thin nightie you threw on to stick to your skin. It was the only thing within reach, being that it was thrown to the floor some days prior. Pink and pretty and rather feminine, showing off your curves on any other occasion, but honestly just seeming ‘whore-ishly’ indecent within the moment. You couldn’t possibly answer the door like that… but you had no choice. The burn from earlier, that you tried getting rid of in the shower before you fell asleep and promptly forgot about Larissa’s visit, was already swelling up again. Like a red flare. Like a warning. Telling you to be quick before the band snapped! and the clock struck midnight and the metaphorical village realized you were actually some lustful greedy succubus that yearned to fuck their wives and drink their blood and-

A tremor in your left leg had you nearly gasping for air. You shook your head. Getting carried away was bad. Leaving Larissa waiting was bad. You glanced at the door. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

You ignored the lightheaded feeling that came over you once you reached for the doorknob and took one last deep breath. It was just Larissa. It would be fine.

Gods help you.

“Hey, sorry about that!,” you smiled as soon as you saw her.

“Don’t apologize, I’m just concerned. Are you quite alright?”

Uh… Nope.

Nope, absolutely not.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

In fact, you were the very opposite of fine. The very antithesis of fine. You were actually so un-fine that you couldn’t really think of a word to describe how un-fine you really were. Yeah. Very not alright. Very much… how could you put it to her? Very, oh you weren’t sure, very ‘Oh my god you look so fucking hot right now I need you to spit in my mouth and fuck me raw and silly before I pass out from desperation.’ And that was the truth. She looked as glorious as always.

So tall, you reminded yourself for the billionth time, and so smooth… with long arms and sculpted hands and red painted nails that would look so nice dragging along your skin… and that outfit - something different, for once… like she was trying to kill you. Purposefully accentuating her waist, keeping that white blouse tucked into the band of a light pink pencil skirt, complete with white kitten heels and a silver watch and silver earrings and oh gods you were so close to falling to your knees for her. In fact, your body was urging you - pushing you. It wanted to submit to Larissa just as much as your soul did, and it nearly vibrated with sick pleasure as your eyes followed the rounded curve of her jaw and the strong bridge of her nose and the carefully crafted curls of her white locks. Getting your fingers tangled in those would be heaven, you were sure of it. And each nasty little whisper in your ear, courtesy of the heat you were suffering though, wanted you to reach up. To run a palm gently over the smooth surface of the bobby-pinned coif… and to take the pins out and scrunch the hair up in your fist… and pull her head back and- no. No. No. You couldn’t. The sliver of common sense that lingered within the back of your fucked up little psyche was holding on by a thread, tugging on the reigns with a huge grunt, and somehow managing to pull you back to reality.

It seemed to do a damned good job because you found yourself responding as though nothing was amiss.

“Yeah yeah, just um- I dunno what it is actually. Just going through it,” you smiled sheepishly, clutching the door as hard as you could.

You probably looked mad peering out from behind the wood in the way that you were, shielding most of your bedroom from those deep penetrating blue eyes, but you didn’t care. It was simply too big of a risk. Thank goodness she didn’t really seem to notice anyway as she nodded and shot you a sympathetic smile. There was so much warmth in her gaze as she looked at you, casting a brief glance over your sweaty hairline and flushed cheeks and nervous smile, that a pang of guilt suddenly ran alongside the lust in your veins.

Larissa was there doing her job, willing to wait for you to come to the door after she stood outside like an idiot for however many minutes. Larissa was there doing her job, offering to give you the necessary paperwork because she was kind and figured you wouldn’t have the energy to get them yourself. Larissa was there doing her job, checking on her employee and making sure she was okay… And said employee was being a fool and daydreaming about licking up the column of her boss’s neck and kissing the warm skin there and whimpering into her shoulder. Lust had never been something you frowned upon, but in that moment you felt like the worst person on Earth.

‘It can’t be helped,’ your mind murmured, providing you with the truth. Of course your subconscious wasn’t wrong - it couldn’t be helped - but hopefully it could be prevented. Hell, it wasn’t even supposed to happen in the first place!

And as you looked over Larissa, watching her present the paperwork and shift through what she needed to show you, your thoughts wandered. …Would she be able to help? Not in a sexual way but in a professional way…? Would she be able to tell you what the fuck was going on? Why a human being, one born without a peculiarity, was experiencing a ‘heat’ for the first time? Perhaps she knew something you didn’t - she was always very good at research, after all. And graduated nearly top of her class, right beside Morticia Addams neé Frump. So she could know…

You blinked at the sight of a piece of paper being handed over to you.

“Do you have any idea how long you’ll be out, Y/n?” Larissa asked gently as you swallowed and slowly reached out to take the form.

Instantly, you shook your head.

The warmth was starting to spread through your legs, making them tingle and shake. You had to hurry things up.

“N-no, no I don’t think so. It’s pretty bad, I’m sorry.” And you were sorry. You felt very very sorry - but you also felt very very good.

It was like a painful, uncomfortable, lust-filled vacation. No work, just desire. An unbelievable amount of it. So much desire, in fact, that you could barely focus as Larissa responded.

“What did I say about apologizing?” she shook her head before giving you two more papers, “Don’t worry about it. All I ask is that you do me a favor and fill these out for me, please? Just so we can have your absence on record and still pay you accordingly.”

You nodded and glanced them over, only noting that the words were blurred and all ran into each other and didn’t make much sense - at least not in the moment. To be fair, you didn’t really expect them to. You figured you’d just fill them out when the burn wasn’t growing steadily, spreading along the lining of your abdomen, bursting into sudden flames within your empty womb.

“Of course, yeah I’ll just- I’ll- oh- oh gods!” You breathed, doubling over as your eyes went wide. Crazed, your hands scrambled to find purchase on your lower belly.

It was like a flip had been switched. From off to on. The burn, that damned simmering ache that heated you up from the inside out, that plagued you for days, morphed into the unfortunately familiar stabbing that you felt earlier. Warm pulses of intense heat and longing, one right after the other, filled you relentlessly. Over and over. Again and again and again - in the span of a few moments. Helpless, you watched the papers escape your shaking grasp and float to the floor. You couldn’t reach for them. You couldn’t reach for anything. It was like something in you, something innate and primal and hungry, sensed Larissa’s presence and needed more of it. Needed her closer. Needed her pressed to you, on top of you, inside of you. In and out- deeper and deeper and d-

“Agh!” You hissed, nearly crumbling once your knees began to buckle as the throbbing got worse.

The door to your room slid open when your hand banged against the knob, eager to cradle the ball of desire that formed in your abdomen, eager to release the terrible sensation of longing. If you weren’t going mad, you would’ve grasped the door and pulled it shut and kept Larissa out - but you were going mad and your mind was fuzzy and oh gods you needed her so fucking bad-!

“L- Laris-sa,” you whimpered, trying to calm the internal battle between your common-sense and your desperation.

‘Oh come on,’ your libido murmured, ‘take what you want. Just this once. She’s right there. So pretty- look at her.’

Your eyes, glazed and half-shut and welling with tears, peered up through your lashes to see Larissa’s shocked expression. Her lips were moving, but she sounded far away. Underwater. You missed the sound of her voice. Gods, was she always that beautiful?

‘Yes, look. Glorious, no? And all yours. She can be all yours. Just grasp her hand- go on- and show her what you can do. Show her what she needs.’

And your hand, pulled by a force you couldn’t control, slid away from your belly and reached out into the space between you. Your fingers were twitching, your palm was clammy, you were shuddering - but Larissa took it anyway. She put her arm out and grasped near your elbow and stepped closer, unsure of what to do.

“Do you need my assistance? Should I- do you want me to call the authorities? The nurse?” Oh she looked so nervous. She looked so scared.

‘Now is your chance. Go on. TAKE her. Now. Now now NOW NOW-’

“N-no,” you gasped.

‘NO!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?!’

And of course, lit like a fuse, like a fragile exploding bomb, every cell in your body began to rebel. The ache of emptiness increased into a roaring inferno, aiming to seer the needy walls of your cunt and make them clench around nothing. The feeling was unnatural - much too strong - and forced salty tears to spill down onto your cheeks. Oh gods, gods, gods. You were vaguely aware of the fact that you were shaking your head and trying hard to detach yourself from Larissa. She couldn’t be there for that. She couldn’t witness that. You didn’t want to hurt her; so with your fingers struggling to slip from her strong hold, you whined loudly.

“Let- go!” And with a final tug- one in which you didn’t let go fast enough- the two of you went stumbling backward into your bedroom.

It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Your heels kept pressing against the floor, pinwheeling you back so far that you landed on the bed with a tiny shriek. And Larissa, who tripped over the threshold and ended up kicking the door closed with the very tip of her heel, could do nothing but close her eyes and brace for impact. It would have been heavenly - it would have been terrible - if she fell directly onto you, but she didn’t. Instead, those strong hands you loved to admire so much went sprawling out into the air… and caught the entirety of her weight upon the shuddering slopes of your knees. The pressure pushed you deeper into the mattress, sending your pathetic little mind careening over the edge of sense and into a pit of hysterics. Thoughts flooded you, nearly knocking you blind as your eyes shot down to the sculpted hands that clutched at your skin.

So warm…

So divine…

It would be a dream come true if Larissa’s hands started pushing your thighs apart… Or if Larissa’s lips were next to your ear as her fingers, tapered and thin and long went pitter-pattering along the soft flesh. Or if Larissa dipped her fingertips into the folds of your heaven and moaned softly at what she found… So much desire… So wet from the slightest touch. But that would be no surprise. You were always wet for her. Always wet and always burning. Always needing her so terribly. And she could do it too… she could just slide her thumbs a bit to the left and right respectively… put some strength behind her hold… dip down onto her knees… look up at you with those gloriously dark eyes… like she was doing then. Except… except…

You blinked.

Except she wouldn’t look so worried. She wouldn’t look so concerned. No, between your legs you hoped she’d at least be happy to be there but- ahhh. Right. Still your boss. Once your mind finally caught up to that little fact, you tensed.

“I’m sorry-”

“I apologize-”

You stared.

Larissa stared.

The heat, for some reason, seemed to calm in the face of her undivided attention. It gave you a moment of reprieve. A moment to think. And a moment to look down, still surprised that your boss hadn’t straightened up yet - which of course caused her to look down and realize that she hadn’t straightened up yet. So you watched with wide eyes as Larissa Weems pushed off of your knees like she had been burned and rose to her full height, straightening the hem of her skirt as she went. She cleared her throat. Her hands were empty. The papers were probably scattered along the hallway floor.

“I apologize for- not letting go. It seems very painful, whatever it is you’re going through. I was worried you’d- well- fall.” And the small nervous but graceful smile that fell upon those red lips made you melt.

It made you melt and it made you smile back. She wasn’t wrong. It was painful. Yeah. It was so… fucking… wonderfully… painful.

“N-no it’s um- it’s fine- fine, yeah,” you nodded, still breathless from all of the commotion.

Even though the throbbing faded, you knew it would come back - and most likely with a vengeance. The ebb and flow seemed never-ending. So in preparation, you had to kick Larissa out as quickly as possible. Though as you looked up, watching the awkwardness pass over your boss’s face, you figured that wouldn’t be too difficult. She was probably eager to leave anyway considering you were acting so bloody crazy… But nonetheless, manners were still important.

“Um you should- prob-probably go,” your voice was shaky as you moved to stand up, not even bothering to pay any attention to the buzzing between your legs. You only hoped and prayed to every god listening that Larissa hadn’t noticed you weren’t wearing anything beneath the nightgown; you were in a hurry - and if anything was covering your desire, you probably would have burst into a huge ball of horny flames by the door.

Honestly, it didn’t really matter though. Your room gave you away. The wet sheets in the unmade bed behind you, blatant and on display due to your carelessness; the three sets of panties discarded on the floor, all of them sporting a since-dried damp spot from the days in which you tried to ignore your situation; Hell, the fucking smell of the room. Musty and damp and just - very very strange. Like you lived in some sort of sex jungle. The bin beside your bed was also overflowing with tissues, all from the late night sessions you frequented when trying to see if your hand could get rid of the persistent ache once and for all (it couldn’t). And the bathroom door was left open, exposing the glass shower which was still waiting to dry. Your only saving grace was that no sex toys were left out… probably because they were nonexistent. Really, a huge fucking oversight on your part. When you needed them most, you didn’t have them. And you hadn’t experienced true desperation until you felt your body- your womb- start to cry out for something long and thick and hard and honestly just big enough to nearly break you and of course, that just steered your mind on a rampage. For days, before locking yourself in your bedroom, you considered going up to a fellow teacher and asking them to borrow anything they may have. It would have been the most embarrassing conversation of your life, but it would have helped. Unfortunately, you ended up talking yourself out of it when you imagined the kind soul asking you if you were alright. You’d have to explain the sudden biologically impossible ‘heat’ moment and then you were almost certain word would spread, and if word spread, that meant Larissa would hear it. And if Larissa heard it? You were fucked. And not in the good way.

“Yes. But…,” speak of the sweet Devil. Her voice was hesitant, shaking with questions and concern. It made you tense.

Oh no…

“…what, if I may ask-,”

Oh no no no…

“-what is wrong?”

No Larissa no-

“Your reaction was so…”

You watched in concealed horror as her eyes observed every little detail of your room. Her gaze was slow; her eyebrows furrowed.

“…abrupt.”

You knew she had only chosen that word out of kindness. Just like you also knew she was highly perturbed and most definitely confused. And because your soul was absolutely hopeless for her, you realized then that you couldn’t just leave her like that. Worrying about her colleague… talking about it with others to try and get other opinions… Larissa was no gossiper (unless it was in private you figured), but that didn’t matter. If she wanted to know something, she’d find a way of knowing.

So, with that in mind, and because she was your boss, well… how could you withhold it? How could you look at her, see her mild distress, and just stay quiet? How could you keep the- honestly the importance of this ‘heat’ from her? How could you keep it a secret? It was, technically, a biological breakthrough. You knew your family tree; no part of you was intertwined with werewolf blood. And you’d never been bitten. And you were certainly not one of those shapeshifters that could shift into animals. So really, really, there was a chance Larissa may be able to help. You’d thought of it earlier. She could help. She could. And was it even really that big of a deal? You were both adults - you were both sane (well, sort of) - and you weren’t the types to spread rumors or share secrets with those who weren’t trusted. Larissa was very smart. Larissa knew so much. Larissa loved science! You could tell her.

‘You should tell her.’

You gulped, finally making eye contact with your boss as her blue pools moved to look down at you. They were swirling with questions; swirling with knowledge. You could tell her. You should tell her.

“I’m in heat.”

You told her.

…Just very very softly.

It was actually barely audible; so soft that even you had trouble making it out. And all it did was make Larissa respond with a hasty “Pardon?” and a strange look.

You sighed.

The heat began nipping at you. You felt your legs tremble.

If you waited any longer, an episode like the one some minutes earlier would repeat - and then you’d be absolutely screwed. And then you’d have no choice but to fall to your knees or collapse onto the bed or push yourself up against the wall and fuck yourself silly while gesturing with your eyes for Larissa to go; because surely, you wouldn’t have the sense to beg her to leave with your lips alone. In fact, you probably wouldn’t have enough sense to beg her to leave at all. Your libido, if its desperate angry little voice said anything, would most likely want her to stay. Would want her to watch.

A twinge in your abdomen made you clear your throat.

Now or never. Now or never. Before she called the ambulance or something. Before she thought you were crazy. You weren’t crazy. You were just in-

“Heat.”

You repeated yourself, louder, unable to look at her as you quickly skirted around the bed and toward the windows.

“I’m in heat.”

Once the worst of the worst came back, you weren’t sure what you’d do after standing so close to Larissa. Probably cry, most likely. And if not that, then probably turn to grasp her shoulders, bring her close, and kiss her until she pushed you away. Lust was a powerful motivator after all; it drove people into ways of existing that they never thought they’d experience before. The most innocent person could become the most brutal lover. And those in higher positions, with lots of work on their plate and a respectful amount of authority to their name, were more likely to obey their master behind closed doors. You knew that. You were familiar with that. And as Larissa stayed silent, no doubt processing your words and waiting for an explanation, you wondered about her preference. Your fantasies begged for dominance, but reality… well it could tell a different story.

‘Doesn’t matter. She can help us either way.’

You shook your head. Absolutely not. Larissa could not help. Larissa could not help because she didn’t want you like that - and you weren’t going to put her in a compromising position. And she also had no fucking clue what was going on. So before she asked any questions, you needed to explain. Quickly.

“I don’t know why I’m in heat, Larissa. Why or how,” you sighed while parting the curtains and taking a look at the rainy world outside. “But all I know is that I am. And I will be for the next oh I dunno- 3 to 4 days?” With a roll of your eyes, sparked by irritation and exasperation and exhaustion, you turned to face your boss.

Your boss… who was staring into space, into your eyes, with a blank expression. The sight of no physical response had you cringing. Dear lord, what was she thinking? That you were crazy? Making it up? You frowned and pressed yourself back against the window, delighting momentarily in the cool glass against your overheated skin. Well. At least that was one thing, you noticed. The throbbing had subsided quite substantially. It was nearly lost, really. Lost to- well to your anxiety. To your fear.

Larissa was still staring. Her lips were unmoving. Her body didn’t even twitch. It was uneasy not to see anything hiding behind her eyes, but as soon as you crossed your arms out of a random surge of insecurity and nearly opened your mouth to tell her to go, she was speaking.

“I don’t… understand.” And her eyebrows furrowed - the first sign of recognition. You nodded, sighing again.

“I know. Me either. But it’s- um- happening. And I… I don’t know what to do.”

“…It’s happening right now?” There was a redness to her complexion that wasn’t there before. Was she… oh goodness, was she blushing? Hell, how embarrassing! Yes the topic was taboo for normal conversation but this was your boss. The sight of the pinkness on her cheeks had you quickly clearing your throat and pushing yourself off of the wall.

You spoke as you walked, nearly running up to her and gently grabbing her wrist, steering her back toward the door, thinking she was uncomfortable.

“Yes- yes it’s happening right now. And I need you to leave before I go crazy. I’m really sorry about that- this- all of it!” Your words came out so quickly they all ran into each other. Your skin felt hot with shame.

It wasn’t something you could control. It wasn’t something you could even handle! It was a mystery if Larissa knew that or not, but as you took her to the door, you found it didn’t matter. If she wasn’t around, it would be fine. If she wasn’t around, you could suffer in solitude.

“Wait.”

Nevermind.

As if commanded by her stern tone alone, you paused in the doorway and stood as still as stone. The doorknob was held in your left hand and your right was hovering above the small of Larissa’s back, careful not to touch her for fear of sparking another wave of mind-dizzying desire. You felt yourself begin to sweat as you stood behind her, trying not to breathe too heavily. She was so close… standing so tall… back straight and strong… hands fidgeting at her waist. You took a step back, feeling as though she were a monument and you were a tourist hungry for the best picture you could manage; looking with shining eyes and a sense of utter tiny-ness. Small within her broad shadow. Her lovely broad shadow. God you wanted to climb her like a tree.

“Are you sure it’s a heat?” Her tone was low but strong.

It led you to frown and nod, even though she couldn’t see you.

“Of- of course it is. I mean I- well-”

“Could you describe the symptoms to me?”

Oh. No. No, you couldn’t do that actually. In fact, you couldn’t share any of it with her. It would probably send your body into a spiral if you said- well- anything. ‘Oh yes Larissa, sure, I’d be happy to tell you about how often I think about you in compromising positions. The desire that fuels me in those moments sometimes becomes so overwhelming that I have to press my face into my pillow to muffle my moans as I ride my own fucking fingers! And seeing you at my door, with those strong hands of yours and those legs, which I know are oh so capable, nearly had me fainting! I’m sweating like mad, eager to be fucked, nearly crying with the need to orgasm over and over and over again and there is no one here to help and it’s really making me angry.’ Thank goodness Larissa suddenly realized the implication behind her words as she balled her hands up into fists, inhaled sharply, and shook her head.

“I apologize. Of course you don’t have to share, you’re my colleague. It was silly of me to ask, I just wanted to help-”

But before her hurried words, tinged with nervous embarrassment, could continue into a tirade, you reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was meant to be comforting - and you sincerely hoped it was as you swallowed down the strong urge to pull her around into a kiss.

“I know. It’s okay.” And it really was. You knew Larissa only wanted to be of whatever assistance she could be. That was just her personality. She wanted to help. But perhaps going about it in that way was- well- you weren’t sure. You didn’t know; neither of you did.

Though if there were anyone you trusted with something like that… it was Larissa. She was the first person that came to mind. And usually, when you were in a predicament, you dealt with it yourself. There was no family, no close friends, no acquaintances around that could possibly help you with personal things… but there was Larissa. The guardian of everyone. The light within your dreams. You could never stand being less than congenial and perfect for her - that’s why the situation was so stressful. It drowned out your heat for just a short time, leaving you with enough sense to worry. Had you ruined the possibility of getting closer with her? Had you acted too rude? You weren’t in your right mind… and she knew that. She understood that. But even so, not hearing it from her meant you were assuming. Perhaps it made her uncomfortable.

Perhaps it made her nervous for you. Worried for you. Concerned. Terrified?

No no, that was silly. She knew you were a strong young woman, capable of many things and definitely strong enough to handle yourself. And you were. Most of the time. But a heat? For a normie? You let out a groan as you stepped back toward the bed and threw your shaking hands over your face. They trembled with the need to touch. To touch touch touch. Touch anything. Touch heated skin and soft hands and long legs and anything- everything- they tingled with need like they had minds of their own. It was irritating.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Larissa,” your words were muffled from behind your palms.

There was silence before a bit of shuffling came from behind you - and then the door was closed. And locked. The clicking sound rang out for a suspended moment as you scrubbed at your face with anger. That seemed to be another side effect of the heat; aside from a pathetic amount of lust so strong you could barely form sentences, the body also seemed to take its slipping control into account and get mad about it. The mental image of that was a little amusing, but the real deal was bloody horrid. You got flashes of anger sometimes when the throbbing became painful or the warmth became suffocating. It went away after a few moments, but for the time it stayed, it was vicious. Angry horniness was not something you were too interested in indulging in - mainly because you didn’t have a partner. Could one even angrily fuck themselves? That thought took root in your head as you cleared the haze from your eyes and tried returning to your senses.

“Perhaps if you explain, I may be able to help.”

The sound of Larissa’s smooth voice from behind you immediately cleared your head. You turned to her, momentarily surprised at the lack of shoes. Her heels were no longer adorned and were instead placed neatly beside the door, right next to your own. You rather liked the look of them there, blending in with your various choices of footwear. From sneakers to flip-flops to flats to the white kitten heels that sat beside it all. It looked sort of… perfect. But that was unimportant. And definitely not the thing to focus on. You gave Larissa a nervous look, speaking warnings through your eyes.

Her own reflected nothing but compassion and friendly concern. The blush on her cheeks was still there, but you ignored it and considered it a result of the conversation topic. You were probably blushing as well, though you weren’t really certain - every inch of your body was hot anyway. That was probably a good start actually, you realized. If Larissa could help and she was offering, consenting, then you were allowed to share. If Larissa had information, well then even better. There was a chance she could make it go away completely - and maybe help you know if it would happen again in however many moons.

So with that in mind, you nodded and held up a hand to say ‘one minute’. Then you set about quickly making the bed - which meant throwing the duvet back into place and straightening the pillows. Once that was done, you took a seat on the edge and let out a gentle breath. The warmth was starting to nip again, inciting the tiniest tugging sensation in your abdomen. You swallowed and looked up at Larissa - who was still standing in her place from before, except with her hands clasped politely in front of her and her eyes openly welcoming.

“You don’t have to, Y/n… I’m just- telling you. There’s a chance I can help.” Larissa said slowly, backing up her words with a helpful smile.

Right. Okay.

She could help. She was offering to help.

Okay… okay. Okay. You nodded.

“Well…”

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Well... This is the most supported 'fic' I've ever had EVER. Thank you for the love - I was nervous to post this second part because I wanted it to be just as good as the first, but even if it isn't, that's okay. I hope you enjoyed anyway. Part 3 will come out... sometime. LOL. - Ripley x

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(P.S. - This part is dedicated to @weemssapphic for their kind message some minutes ago. Thank you dear! I sincerely hope you're doing well too :))

#fanfiction #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #larissa weems #rippersz #larissa weems x y/n #fanfic #fanfictionwriter #larissa weems x you #larissa weems smut #principal weems #principal larissa weems #smut fic #smut #three part fic #wednesday larissa weems

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catfern · 10 months

Text

cowboy!ellie headcanons

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

music: roses are falling - orville peck

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fingering (briefly), drunk sex-ish, guns??, yearning and just sappy shit mainly im in a vulnerable state

an: this is shit brainrot bc i've played too much rdr2 and i want ellie to let me ride her cowgirl style. this took me for-fucking-ever because i got acrylics and dropped my wpm from 108 to 67. also if i put out a poll asking what fic to post next would people vote

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✷ cowboy!ellie having the most pornographic, velvet-laced southern accent known to man. drawling out words in a whisper, that reassured wit sitting in her throat with a lopsided smirk. she’s such a tease, knowing how it gets to you, that ‘c’mon, sweetheart, you gonna make me wait f’you?’ after she trots ahead, glancing back at you under the wide brim of her hat. please, trying to make eye contact with ellie after a long day of riding (ifykyk), seeing just a glance of the veins in her neck, beads of sweat sitting in the little crevices as she leans down to her saddle bag. god, her hands!! and she looks at you, that knowing impatience and ‘okay there, darlin’?, and you can’t look at her, your head swimming and drowning in the molasses of her voice and too focused on the up, down, up, down, up trot of your horse.

✷ setting up camp for the night, bed mats a good distance away from each other, and you wake up, fire dying, moon high, and ellie is still awake, hands covered in dirt and ash and rust from her old revolver that she cleans too occasionally. the gentle scratch of charcoal on parchment, her body hunched over, protective like a creature, and when you call out to her, she TOSSES her journal into the dirt like it burned to touch. if the moon wasn’t so faint, you’d see the uncharacteristic blush fleeting across her cheeks, but too quickly, she tells you to go back to sleep, she’s just staying up to take care of the fire. you listen in a haze, and ellie tears out the five, maybe 6 pages?? of rough sketches, harsh lines etching out your body, your smile, your eyes, and stamps them into the cooling embers of the campfire.

✷ if we’re talking historically accurate cowboys, ellie is definitely the type to believe in dinosaurs!! it’s this new, fresh, science fad and everybody laughs at her for it, cause omg?? giant lizards?? nah!! but ellie is so adamant, reading every paper and pamphlet on the subject that she can get her hands on (assuming she can even read lets be so real), and she’ll tell you about it! small, reluctant meanders from more important topics, at first, but you’re kind and you listen to words either of you barely understand, and sure it’s a little bit boring, but she’s happy, and for some reason she makes it incredibly dynamic, crash coursing you on lizards that evolved (a buzz word in all her pamphlets) into BIGGER lizards.

✷ cowboy!ellie, the horse whisperer. she doesn’t teach you to ride, but you’ve never had a way with horses, cantankerous and rough, so you need a lil bit of assistance. ellie will take the lead, letting you rock behind her on your horse, your arms draped around her like common occurrence, and she’ll turn, ‘see? be gentle, she’ll listen. you’re a team, y’know?’

✷ ‘she just likes you more than me.’

✷ her laugh is boisterous, loud, it sounds like it belongs amongst the hills and caverns, like wind against rocks, ‘no one likes me more than you, flower.’

✷ one day, you’re just passing through a small town, nothing more than a few shops and scattered farm houses, and ellie spies an outlaw poster, poorly tacked to the community bulletin board. it’s her, badly sketched, sure. her chin is way too big, nose a bit askew, but it’s definitely her. and you laugh as she presses you frantically, ‘i don’t really look like this? do i?’ and it’s got some ridiculous nickname that definitely over-inflates her ego, ‘ellie 'longshot’ williams (no one has called her that ever) that she’ll parade it around like a medal

✷ ‘aw, love, do you need some help shootin’? don’t call me long shot for nothin’.’

✷ you’d get a bit vulgar, a bit defensive because, yeah, maybe ellie is actually good at shooting, and you could benefit from her teaching. but that fucking nickname, lording over your head with that lilt in her voice, and the childish, goading smile, you’d tell her to shove it somewhere the sun don’t shine and just pray luck guides your bullet.

✷ your now-so-serious scowl eats at her, so ellie has to swallow her boyish pride and shut up, simply falling behind you. gently tapping your shin with her boot to get you to adjust your stance, her hands stretching out over yours to feel out the barrel of the foreign pistol. they’re rough, calloused, unmade for this sort of gentle gesture, but you welcome the heat that they give. with a soft push and pull, like a tide she moves your fingers, your hands, to hold the gun well. her voice is a whisper as she instructs, ‘don’t hold it so loosely. stronger grip helps aim.’

✷ she’s shaking in her boots. a moment like this, tender, with you is scarcely shared. the closeness burns her chest as she feels you breathe against her, skittish but assured, ellie’s finger snaking around yours to settle on the trigger. you go to fire, and the recoil sends you backwards in a shock, ellie having to move her hands from the gun to your waist to keep you steady. you laugh something coarse, leaning back into her without a thought. adrenaline intimacy.

✷ ‘okay, maybe y’need a few more lessons before you get it right.’ it’s a selfish thought, but it cements ellie in that moment, with you just in her reach, and her revolver. she’d clean it for you.

✷ cowboy!ellie doing stupid shit, like taking longer detours to show you the scenery, the stretching fields and great mountain waterfalls, stopping to pick wildflowers (she’s a sap), or taking the extra care to saddle up your horse for you, securing the girth and not letting you touch it because ‘i don’t need you slippin’ on me.’ she takes care of you, out on the road, it’s not an official thing, but you’re off limits.

✷ ellie is kind, but sex with her isn’t. the first time, she’s terribly drunk, playing away her night in a saloon, at a poker table (she’s losing), and you’re sat at the bar, wearing that, and it’s violently throwing her off her game, so she decides to make it known that your presence is an interruption. dragging you upstairs, she’s unkind. ‘you’re not helping my luck, looking like that.’

✷ ‘how do you need me, then?’

✷ she tastes like cigarette smoke, and bourbon, and she smells like the sleek of rain on dry dirt, and feeling her all over you is intoxicating, rough. she’s quick, her lips aren’t soft but rather, a grating possession on your skin, a feeling that swallows you, melts you down in the heat of her hands. she swears, a lot, it sounds like disbelief but really, it’s a bribe. a prayer. ‘dear god, give me this, let me have this, and i will be devout.’ it’s primal, something uncontrollable. drunk, it’s worse. she loses herself in the haze, becomes complete disregard, her fingers inside you without hearing you, just feeling you. lost in you and she keeps pounding into you simply because she’s enraptured by the feeling of you clenching around her.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader

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truetogaia · 11 months

Text

pairing: jake x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+

warnings: CONSENSUAL somnophilia, p in v, unprotected, its not mentioned but reader n jake have established that somno is okay in this fic! thanks

notes: happy pride month babies!! I haven't posted a fic in like a MONTH. I hope you're all having a good time, if not, im so sorry and I rlly hope it gets better </3 My inbox n my dms are extra open this month, feel free to drop by!

word count: ab 500

Your heavy breaths filled Jake’s twitching ears as you lay slumbering before him, your navy skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Your left leg was cast over his hip as his right hand gently gripped the plush of your outer thigh, kneading it. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even force himself to relax with the way your knee was brushing up against his hard on.

Jake had tried to ignore it. He had tried so hard all night, ever since the two of you had cuddled up in each other's arms to sleep, ever since the round of your ass had accidentally pressed into his crotch a little too good. But alas, he had fallen asleep… Only to wake up to the most painful boner known to man and na’vi later that night.

The moons sat high in the sky when his hands lazily drifted down the plush of your hips to fiddle with the strings of your loincloth. Jake’s pupils were blown as his fingers struggled to undo the one thing holding him from solving his little problem. After some very careful and calculated pulls, he finally got the strings undone and your loincloth fell to the floor. He sucked in a breath as the pads of his fingers traced your folds, which were soaked. He groaned as your arousal coated his digits, freezing when he felt your figure shift and turn around. His cock throbbed from the close proximity of your drenched cunt, aching to be buried deep inside you. But he knew he had to be careful to not wake you from your much needed rest.

Once again he tried holding back, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he wrapped his large fist around the girth of his cock. He gently grabbed a hold of your hips, pulling your behind further into him as he ran his length in between your wet folds. And with a low, rumbling groan, he slid into your heat. The feeling of your hot velvet walls sucking him in, practically begging him to sink deeper, made him shut his eyes so as to not succumb to his need.

He started out slow. Heavy hips rolling languidly into the plush of your ass, choked moans and strangled groans seeping from his mouth when your gummy walls squeezed him just right. A haze clouded his mind, blissful pleasure spurring him on to thrust even deeper, to ignore the gentle shifts of your body and the drowsy mewls spilling from your sleep-swollen lips.

“J..Jake?” he groaned when your raspy voice called for him, realizing that you had finally woken up. The soft grip you had on his toned forearms tempted hips to snap harder against yours as your confused, sleepy noises turned into soft moans.

“Ju’s a m’nute sweetheart- hn, fuck… Sorry fr wakin’ you baby..”

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eyebagshawty · 6 months

Text

Heads Will Roll (Haunted House AU)

Pairing: Actor!Astarion x Actor!F!Reader

Summary: It's a typical night working at Death Clutch Manor during the busiest time of the month; the week of Halloween. While our dear Tav is finishing up her makeup to scare some patrons, her "vampire" coworker has another thing in mind.

Warnings: Fake gore, biting, blood kink, pocket knives, SMUT (mdni!!!), oral, fingering, p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), sort of public sex but not really (please message me if more warnings should be put in and I will update accordingly)

Other Tags: situationship to lovers, fem!reader, basically crack but make it sexy, alternate universe, Gale is a sassy and upset manager, Shadowheart is tired

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: This is my first fic in a while, and probably the first nsfw fic I've ever done. Please be gracious, please enjoy, and happy (early) Halloween!

"Quit hogging the palette Tav, I need my eyes to look like a void and quickly or this helmet isn't going to work," Shadowheart exhaled, looking over at you with an exasperated expression. You looked in the mirror at your face, painted stark white with green ooze dripping out of your mouth. You took one more dab of black face paint and stroked it in messy lines around your eyes, handing the palette over to her.

"I don't even know why Withers insisted on me being a possessed woman. It's kind of an exorcist knockoff? I don't know it just feels silly on me, and a bit corny at that."

"He's basically ancient, of course his taste for the costumes we wear would be as well. I mean look at me, what even is a dark justiciar?" She popped in her green sclera contacts, put on her helmet, and scowled at her reflection; a weird version of a knight with dark blood dripping out of the helmet eyesockets, along with stiff dark grey armor and medieval weaponry. You shrugged and looked to the provided straightjacket for your costume. How did they even put these things on in the 1900s? I should commit myself to a mental institution for even trying to figure out this stupid mess.

Shadowheart's head perked up at a knock on the door. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking over at you with her finger pointing in her mouth in a gagging motion. You stifled a giggle. "If it's Gale don't even think about coming in we're naked -- or I'll make sure Withers schedules you on Friday," she half-yelled in a monotone voice.

"All the better darling, maybe I can help my dear sweet Tav into her straightjacket while you weep about your dreadful costume in the break room."

A furious blush crossed your cheeks. You were dreading coming into work today, hoping to curl up at home with a hot chocolate to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre while you cuddled with your cat. Now you were truly dreading coming into work because Astarion was here. You met him at the beginning of the month during auditions for the haunted house, and you had also been fucking him ever since. You weren't quite sure if there was something more between you, any proverbial strings attached, but you were racked with anxiety every time you were around him. Your feelings for him had only grown over the month you worked together, and now that Halloween was upon you, you didn't want what you guys had to end.

You sighed and opened the door to his smug grin and wiggling eyebrows. He looked good tonight, dressed in aristocratic victorian clothing, with a velvet cape cascading down his back. His red contacts made him look paler, the grey contouring stick giving him gaunt cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, and his fangs were just peeking through his smile and poking into his bottom lip. You stared at the latex-made holes in his neck, wishing it were real. You wanted him to bite into you, to drink from you; to be marked as his in an eternal bond.

You were staring. You snapped out of the haze, cheeks blazing and looking back up to his face. "What do you want Astarion? The tour starts in 10 minutes and I really can't figure this thing out." You tried to look nonchalant, you really did. Astarion let out a hearty laugh and grabbed one of the straightjacket belts, lacing it between his fingers.

"Well my treasure, I have come to offer my services. Perhaps we could go to the mens dressing room and I could help? In more ways than one of course." He makes a show of looking to your cleavage, pushed up inside the skintight leotard you'd pulled on for comfort. He looks back up to you, and his eyes soften a bit. "Only if you'd like, of course. I'm sure Jenevelle here would be more than happy to lay down her morningstar and help you into this torturous monstrosity as well," he finished with a light giggle.

Shadowheart, leering at you both during this decidedly strange interaction, scoffed and got up from her vanity chair. "First of all, don't call me that. And second, whatever it is that's going on right now? Leave me out of it. I'm gonna go see if Karlach has a monster for me to down before these customers suck the life out of me. And for godssakes, please lock the door." She swiftly shimmied away from you and Astarion and down the hallway. He closed the door and locked it with a soft click.

As soon as the click had reverberated through the room, his lips were hard pressed into yours, teeth and plastic fangs clashing together. He rubbed your sides and walked you over to the vanity counter before breaking away, breathing heavily and close to you. His breath smelled like cinnamon. "You know I always enjoy our little trysts my dear, but I think it shall be exceptionally fun in this crazy get up Withers picked out for you." You looked up into his eyes with a soft smile, your entire body feeling warm at the prospect of getting laid where you could so easily be found out. As he moved the black tresses of your wig to expose your neck, the thought of him marking you made a thought pop into your head -- and not a particularly comfortable one. As he leaned in, you pressed your hands to his chest with a sense of apprehension.

"Astarion, I need to ask you about something," you said, voice unusually quiet.

"Whatever about? Did I do something wrong?" His eyes widened and he moved to back away from you, but you held him in place with your legs which had unconsciously wrapped around his waist.

"No, no you could never do something wrong in that way to me and you know that," you stroked his cheek with your forefinger, "I just wanted to talk about us. Where we stand I guess." His brows furrowed, and you went to smooth out the creases with your thumb, nervously biting your lip. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've... how do I put it... fallen for you? You always know how to make me laugh, you're unreasonably out of my league, and well, we've grown really close lately. I can never stop thinking about you, and I care about you. Deeply. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but the month is almost over, which means work is almost over and I just wanted to-"

He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours. It wasn't fueled by passion and lust this time, but something softer and pure. He cupped your cheeks with warm hands and pulled away, looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. "I don't think anybody has wanted more with me in a while. Because of my devilishly good looks," he let out a nervous chuckle, "I've only really had one night stands without a promise for something real. But with you it's different. I find myself thinking about you, wondering what you're up to when we aren't scheduled together, hoping you're thinking about me." He interlocked his fingers with yours, stroking the pad of his thumb over your shiny press-on claw which you had just put on not 15 minutes ago. He looked at your joined hands and smiled to himself. 'I like you a lot, Tav. I love, well, this," He gestured with his other hand between you two, "And I want it all. I have fallen from great heights for you as well."

Your body felt like it had reached 1,000 degrees after his confession, eyes wide and lips parted. You couldn't believe somebody as beautiful (and sassy) as him could want something more with you. Holy shit holy shit holy shit I am telling Karlach about this immediately, you thought to yourself. You looked up at him with heavy lashes, a short puff of relieved air pushing past your lips. You looked at the clock next to the door and rolled your eyes, your lips pulling into a dopey smile. "This is good. Great, even. I wish we could keep talking, I really do, but you know Gale is gonna yell at us if we aren't there before the tour introduction. Can you please help me into this thing?"

Astarion scowled at the door then looked back into your eyes. He delicately grabbed one strap of your leotard, pulling it down your shoulder. He brought his mouth right next to your ear and whispered, "You know my sweet... I don't really care what boot-muncher Gale thinks. I'm hungry for you, absolutely starving." He nipped the shell of your ear lightly and you let out a shuddered breath. He stayed still, awaiting your response.

You brought your finger up to twirl a strand of his hair at the nape of his neck and whispered back, "You know, you can feed on me tonight if you'd like." He groaned softly and pressed his body deeper into you, getting impossibly close as your legs tightened around his waist.

"Oh darling, I thought you'd never ask."

He leant down to your neck and softly bit into it, suckling and soothing the pain with his tongue. You gasped grabbing onto his shoulders with your claws lightly digging into the velvet fabric draped over them. As he licked and sucked at that sweet spot in the crook of your neck, his fingers deftly stroked, pinched, and twisted your nipple. You brought up a hand to your mouth and let out a muffled cry of his name.

He pulled away and grabbed your hand back down to your side. "No no no, my sweet, there will be no secretive noises tonight. Now that we can truly be together I want everybody to hear everything that passes through those luscious lips of yours. Understand?" You gulped and nodded eagerly at him, your pupils blown wide in wanting for Astarion. Your Astarion.

Instead of returning to your neck, he gave the nipple that wasn't being touched attention with his mouth. He licked and sucked as if you held the nectar of the gods inside each breast and he was praying for a taste. You let out a loud, breathy moan, and he smiled smugly against your nipple. "Good girl, always listening to what I ask of her."

During this moment, booming echoes of the haunted house's tour introduction rang through the room. You could hear Gale announce every word. "Hello esteemed guests! It is my honor to welcome you to the Death Clutch Manor; the house of rot, where pure souls and joy come to decay, and the haunted fiends rise from the ashes to induce your terror," Gale let out a nervous but wicked laugh the next room over. These walls were a lot thinner than you thought.

Astarion moved with open-mouthed kisses down your body, traveling lower and lower until he reached your clothed pussy. He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile, and tugged down the rest of your leotard.

"Star, are you sure we should be doing this? We could so get fired," You said as you nervously eyed the door, then looking back down to him. He kissed the insides of your thighs, coaxing another soft moan from you.

"Since when did you start calling me Star? I'm quite fond of it," He mumbled as his thumb started to rub slow circles into your clit. You whimpered, holding back more searing moans as they sizzled in your throat.

"I just, mmh, I-," You started. but you could barely even think. Two of his fingers had entered your folds, pumping deep in and out of your pulsating cunt.

"Use your words darling, talk to me," he cooed, leaning his head down to nip and suck at your thighs as his fingers continued.

"I always thought you reminded me of a starry sky, and it, fuck, it fits with your name-," You cut yourself off with a loud cry as his lips latched around your engorged clit, fingers reaching places they never had before as you opened yourself up to him.

You could hear the tour slowly moving away from you, Gale saying something about Jergal possessing some woman, and then gasping offendedly. "Well well well, it looks like our resident poltergeist is hiding from us. Perhaps in the rafters? Beneath the floorboards? Be sure to keep your eye out, for she could strike at any moment."

"Well, my moonlight, I don't think I could come up with a better nickname. It's like we're meant to be. This cunt is made for me, that's for sure," Astarion asserted. His fingers kept speeding up, his tongue working artfully around and on your clit. You were getting close, your whimpers and cries bouncing off the walls. Surely the patrons couldn't hear you…right?

With his free hand, Astarion slipped out a small pocket knife. Throughout the times you two had been intimate, he knew blood was what got you going. A bit odd, but to each their own, he thought, a mischievous smile spreading across his face as he continued to eat you out like a man starved for a year.

"Moonlight, you're mine, yes?" He asked as the blade flipped open. He looked up to you and his fingers paused their movements.

"Yes, fuck my star I want to be forever yours. Please keep going," You urged, desperate for the release you knew only he could give you.

"Lovely," He whispered to himself against your clit. His fingers resumed their motions, his free hand with the knife cutting the smallest letter A into your upper thigh. It wouldn't scar, and he of course would never truly cause you pain.

You screamed his name like a prayer as your orgasm crashed into you with the weight of a freight train, your pussy tightening around Astarion's fingers as he coaxed you through it. The sweet sting of the cuts coupled with the fact that his literal first initial was on your thigh for anyone to see had pushed you far over the edge. He moved over to the small cuts and licked them clean, getting another soft whimper from you.

You body relaxed against the vanity mirror, your head left in a daze. Astarion stood up from his position between your thighs and licked each digit clean of your slick. He kissed you again, and you tasted the sweet tang of your arousal from his lips, whimpering softly into his mouth. You pulled away and moved to stand up, yet his hands braced your thighs down against the countertop. "And where do you think you're going?" He said, his voice gruff and filled with lust. Now that he was standing, you could clearly see his own arousal pressed hard against his slacks.

"Well I figured you might want something too before we, you know..." You looked down at his clothed cock hungrily. Astarion lifted up your chin and kissed your nose.

"Now my moonlight, we can't let all that prep work go to waste. Besides, I need to feel you around me as soon as possible." His pupils were blown wide with lust and hunger. His hand came to rub your side again, stroking circles into the soft flesh. "Besides, all these screams from the patrons are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips." He gave you a hard, passionate kiss, biting down lightly on your lower lip. You opened your mouth, moaning when his tongue slipped in and fought yours for dominance. He won of course, and let out a sultry groan as his tongue lovingly explored the expanse of your mouth and throat. You pulled away fast.

"Gods, please just fuck me." You helped him out of his shirt, kissing every inch of skin you could find. You could hear Gale off in the distance mumbling angrily into the mic. Something about 'where that damned vampire' was. At this point, you could care less if Gale found you two out. At least he would know that you were wholly Astarion's, and he was not going to share.

His cock sprang free from his underwear as he pulled it down and off his legs, standing bare before you. You licked your lips as you saw a fat drop of precum leak out of the flushed red tip. He came closer, the tip of his cock pressed right to the entrance of your folds. Your hips softly jolted forward, eager to be filled up. He kissed both of your cheeks and gazed down at you, red eyes filled with affection. "You're the first person I've ever truly cared for," He whispered, then gently pushed his length into you, filling you up inch by inch.

You both moaned together as he bottomed out inside of you. He kissed you gently as he waited for you to adjust to his size. When you were ready for him to move, he began gingerly thrusting into you, your walls pressing around him in a warm embrace. Out of all the times you two had sex, this was the most vulnerable he had ever been with you. You moaned at the thought, basking in his affections.

He began to thrust harder, gradually getting faster as he pulled out completely and then slammed all the way back in. He placed a hand on your neck as he moved, his thumb swiping in up and down motions. "Say my name moonlight." He began hitting that sweet spot, the one he knew so well, earning a breathy scream from your lips.

"Astarion, please Astarion, I'm so close I-" You released another loud cry as his cock began hitting your cervix. The coil in your stomach was wrung tight, ready to snap at any moment. His movements were growing erratic, his cock twitching as he kissed you wherever he could. Devouring you.

"Come for me, my love."

And with that you let out a loud string of curses, the band snapping as your vision went white. The fluttering of your walls around him was too much. "Paint me 'Star, please." He quickly unsheathed himself from you and released his seed all over your torso. He moaned, his cheeks flushed red as he covered you in every last drop.

You both breathed heavily together, barely getting over the high you'd just experienced. Nothing would ever compare to this moment and many more to come. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your face paint smeared almost completely off. His mouth was covered in the white greasy paint, the green ooze mixing with it to create a light green color. "Let's get you all cleaned up before necklace-chewer finds us. The tour's over I think."

He gingerly wiped you clean with the fabric of his cape, giving your stomach a kiss when it finally looked spotless. You smiled at the show of affection, he was always good with aftercare but now it felt better. Special. Loving. He helped you down from the vanity countertop, your legs trembling as you got your bearings.

There was banging on the other side of the dressing room door, along with a very furious Gale. "Come out you two, right now. You've embarrassed our credibility as a haunted house completely for the years to come!" Jumping, you fumbled into your leotard, Astarion groaning at the sound of Gale's voice. He swiftly pulled on his slacks and shirt, the collar unbuttoned and rumpled.

"Come off it bone boy, Tav here was feeling sick. I was helping her," Astarion yelled. You both heard a string of curses and grumbles of your names. You giggled, pulling on a pair of jeans as well before collecting yourself and opening the door. You coughed and sniffled, hoping you could pull off Astarion's lie.

"I'm sorry Gale, I think a kid sneezed on me yesterday. Astarion was just getting me water and some Advil, I promise I'll rest up tonight and be ready for tomorrow." You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. Astarion smirked as he leaned against the recently warmed countertop, shrugging at Gale's miffed expression.

Gale looked down at you, your hair messed up and bruises littering your neck. He huffed, face flushing red as he looked anywhere else. He was grateful you couldn't see through the skull paint, quickly adjusting the bow tie on his tux and running a hand over his slicked down hair. "Fine. But if you get sick again I'm gonna have Withers cut your pay until the end of the week." You squealed and gave him a platonic hug, Astarion's expression instantly souring.

"Thank you thank you thank you you're the best manager ever!" You bounded past him and out of the employee exit, waiting for Astarion by your car so he could continue 'tending to the sick' as he had put it.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 smut #alternate universe #kinktober 2023 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #18+ content #18+ only #mdni #fanfic #astarion bg3 #astarion romance

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alwaysonthemend · 11 months

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───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☾ smut

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───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A Night of Revelry ☾

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Falling, Fallen ✺☾✮

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What It Means To Say I Love You ✺☾✮

Sin and Sinuous ☾

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Give Me All You Got ☾

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Mirror of the Damned ⚔️

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The Nightcap ☾

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Part 1 Part 2

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Menage A Quatre ☾ (JMK/JTK/SFK x reader)

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sincericida · 9 months

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found a link for chapter 2 of velvet haze!! https://www.tumblr.com/ms-wild-card-56/722334485950119937

Hello dear! @ms-wild-card-56 found it for me and I reblogged the original post adding the second chapter here.

Thank you ❤️

#velvet haze fic #velvet haze #thank u #ask box #andrew garfield fanfic #andrew garfield #ask anon

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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Word Count: ~3k Tags: PWP, Smut, Fluff, Choking Kink, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Post-ACOSF Summary: Azriel and Elain do the dishes together after a family dinner. Read this fic on AO3 and find more on my masterlist!

Elain was elbow-deep in dishwater when she felt him.

He must have crept in on slow, silent feet—she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until the back of her neck prickled and the shadows on the counter warped, stretching unnaturally in the bright kitchen.

A split-second glance over her shoulder was all she managed as that mass of shadow coalesced at her side, devouring the golden faelight, before the darkness engulfed her.

Lips and then teeth dragged up her throat; a large hand stroked her hip. Another covered her mouth, its mottled, scarred surface muffling the involuntary whimper that each new touch coaxed out of her.

The window over the sink reflected her own wide eyes back at her, the starless night outside transforming its glassy surface into a mirror. She and the darkness were framed by the shadowed outline of her garden outside, her roses and jasmine limned by pale light of a new moon.

In the corner of the window, she could see the double doors that led out of the kitchen over her shoulder.

And beyond those doors, the low murmur of voices was still audible in the sitting room just down the hall.

The shadows withdrew, the hand over her mouth following the trail of a loose curl to her shoulder.

Elain let out a ragged breath, tipping her head back to rest it against a firm shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought we couldn’t—”

She cut herself off with a mortifying squeak as the fingers in her hair tugged, and the sensation shot straight to her core.

“You’re such a godsdamn tease,” came the low rasp in her ear a second later.

Elain tried to turn, tried to face him, but his strong, steady hands snapped to her waist, holding her in place. “Azriel?”

Azriel said nothing, but a wisp of shadow carrying the heady scent of cedar and arousal stroked the ribbon around Elain’s neck—a thin strip of sky blue velvet tied in a pretty bow at the back. A sapphire no bigger than the nail on her smallest finger hung from the bow, a suggestive, secretive token that had been hidden beneath her hair for most of the night.

“Elain.” His voice was laden with dark, dangerous amusement, drawing out the two syllables of her name until she wasn’t sure where it started and the heartbeat pounding in her ears began. The dark mass of him pressed forward until she was pinned against the counter. Until she was trapped in the cage of his arms.

Through the endless layers of leather and tulle between them, she could feel the firm, ready length of his cock against her ass.

She swallowed, removing her hands from the dishwater, and braced them on the lip of the sink instead. Already, heat bloomed between her legs. Already, her legs felt weak, incapable of holding her weight.

“Don’t stop,” Azriel ordered. A shadow pulled a serving bowl out of the small stack of dishes on the counter beside the sink and pressed it into both of hers.

Blindly, Elain dipped it into the water and started scrubbing.

Azriel’s hands found her hips and dragged her back, grinding his against her. “Now, tell me why you decided to show up to a family dinner acting like such a dirty little cocktease.”

She had to blink hard to clear the haze of lust from her eyes.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” The lie was sticky on her tongue, reluctant. It was shaky at best, and she knew, just from the way Azriel’s shadows coiled and twisted like the tail of some great, amused jungle cat playing with its dinner, that he knew she was lying.

“You know exactly what I mean.” The words were slow, syrupy, like a teacher trying to coax an answer from a particularly reticent student, and Elain’s cheeks grew warm. The shadow twitched over the ribbon. “You couldn’t keep your hands off this fucking thing. Every time I looked at you, you were fidgeting with it.”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and she had to press her thighs together as the first hint of wetness tickled the inside of them. His filthy language always heated her blood, and from the way his eyes glowed golden in the dark, he knew that, too.

And truth be told, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off of the makeshift choker. She hadn’t even tried. She’d tied around her neck on a whim just moments before joining their family at the dinner table, imagining what Azriel might think when she shifted her hair onto one of her shoulders just as he passed, allowing a brief glimpse of the gem dangling from it…

He was obsessed with her throat. That much she knew.

And he had been since that first, ill-fated rendezvous the night of Solstice—since that first, tentative graze of his fingertips against her skin. He had been just as fascinated when he returned to her a week later to beg her forgiveness and confess what Rhys had ordered of him, cupping her by the nape of the neck so he could tilt her head up just so before finally, finally kissing her. And during every stolen moment since—

Well, Elain was glad she listened when Feyre waxed poetic about color theory, because she needed every bit of that information to figure out how to cover up the marks Azriel left on her throat week after week.

The little shadow flickered again, its coolness tickling her throat.

Elain lifted her chin, meeting his eyes in the glass.

“It’s itchy,” she said pertly. The bowl dropped to the bottom of the sink with a thud. “Perhaps you’re the one with the problem, since it seems you couldn’t keep your eyes off this fucking thing.”

Azriel sucked in a breath through his teeth, but if he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even take the bait. “If it’s uncomfortable, then why are you still wearing it?”

“What business is it of yours?” She held his gaze in the mirrored window. “I wear what I want to wear.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled. His silence was as pointed as the talons that shone in the dark—it was the exact silence that made lesser souls quake and beg for their lives. But the hands holding her were gentle, their soft, expert touch slow and contemplative as he stared at her.

Elain felt every second of it like a brand held against her pounding heart.

And then the shadows seemed to shrug, shifting backward and away from Elain, and the hands fell away from her waist. “That’s true. It is no business of mine. I won’t bother you any longer.”

“No.” The word was a gasp, and Elain grabbed at a dark wrist as it retreated into a pocket of shadow, drawing it back to her waist. The shadowsinger paused, and although he said nothing, the quiet, patient tilt of his head asked enough. Her other hand rose to her throat, and she fingered the ribbon. “I was thinking of you. When I touched it, I mean. I was wondering how you liked it.”

Those glowing eyes seared into her. Elain knew what others thought of him—that most emotion from him was an icy, frosted-over, brittle thing—but the heat in that stare kept her all too aware of the length of ribbon around her neck.

“Fuck.”

Elain shuddered at the low curse and watched a second scarred hand part the darkness by her shoulder. He dragged the tail of the ribbon through his fingers and, with painstaking gentleness, pulled the bow free.

“It’s the wrong color.”

The gem clattered somewhere on the floor at their feet, and Azriel held the ribbon out in front of her. He turned it this way and that, as if he were truly holding it up to the light to assess its color. When Elain opened her mouth, he made a low shushing noise and twisted his wrist, letting her watch the cobalt Siphon on the back of his hand blaze from within with cold, calculated fire.

Her ribbon was several shades lighter than the brightest glimmer in that gemstone.

And Azriel seemed to agree, because the blue light of his power consumed the ribbon, burning it away until it was nothing but dust falling into the soapy water below.

“Az!”

“Shh, precious,” he murmured, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine. Then that hand was back on her throat, so large it covered her from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. His Siphon glittered in their reflection, and Elain watched her own eyes go dark, clouded with lust. He pressed the rough pad of his thumb against her jaw, coaxing her head to the side, and murmured in her ear, “We wouldn’t want Rhys to hear us now, would we?”

His breath carried with it the heady scent of whiskey and smoke, and Elain made a low, wanton sound.

“Nesta bought me that ribbon,” was all she could think whisper back.

“I’ll buy you ten more.” Azriel’s head dipped, inky hair falling over his forehead, and sharp teeth sank into her throat where the ribbon had been.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Azriel.”

He removed himself from her neck with a wet smack. “Be quiet and I’ll fuck you right here.”

Elain jolted, the slow burn between her legs flaring.

But his mouth was already back on her throat, marking her a second time. In the window, his eyes were locked on her face.

She nodded.

She could be quiet.

She could be so quiet.

Azriel let go of her neck, and his teeth were a slash of white in their dark reflection. The approval she saw shining in those dark eyes made her swallow a whine.

But he must have felt the vibration of it beneath his palm, because his own eyes lit with mirth. “Be good, and I might even let you come.”

The hand at her waist fell, palming her ass before dragging up her skirts. He moved slowly, so, so slowly, letting the rough tulle scratch against the backs of her thighs. When the hem scraped against her ass, she swallowed, and the fingers curled around her neck squeezed gently—a twisted perversion of a fond touch that drew more wetness from between Elain’s legs.

Finally, when he finally had her clothes to his liking, a cloud of tulle around her waist, Azriel pressed his hand to the small of her back, bending her over the sink. The curling steam teased her cheeks and the swell of her breasts, plastering her hair to her nape, and another caress of the hand at her throat reminded Elain to breathe.

She was up to her elbows in the water before her mind caught up to her; she lifted them out of the sink, scrubbing them dry on her skirts, and braced them against the far edge. A pair of shadows followed, curling around her wrists as if they meant to keep her in place.

She dared another glance at the window. Azriel’s eyes were locked on hers.

“You’re not wearing anything under this dress.”

He spoke plainly, as if he were commenting on nothing more pressing than the dark sky beyond the window or the ice floating in the Sidra beyond the garden.

“No,” she said, licking a bead of sweat off of the bow of her lips. “I’m not.”

Finally, he let her see the intrigue on his face, see something more than simple intensity as he traced a finger up the dripping seam of her pussy. The touch was too light to do anything but tease, and she wiggled her hips, chasing the sensation.

He cocked his head. “Were you hoping for this?”

Well, that or she was woefully underdressed for a family dinner.

Elain couldn’t help herself. She grinned. She had been a cocktease—and the flush on her cheeks deepened as she thought the word—but she didn’t dare to think he would follow her into the kitchen when she excused herself to get some air under the guise of offering to do the dishes.

“You’ve been gone all week. I missed you.”

Azriel cursed under his breath. “Hold on tight.”

The shadows around her wrists curled into the spaces between her fingers, and she heard him ripping at the fastenings of his trousers, and then the thick tip of his cock slid through her folds.

“Keep your legs—” Elain pressed her thighs together, and he groaned. “Just like that. Good girl.”

Chills erupted at his praise, and Elain was still savoring the pleasant warmth it stoked low in her core when he sank into her in one stroke. Unprepared, the thick length of his cock felt larger than ever as it stretched her, her innermost walls burning deliciously as they adjusted to him.

She gasped as pleasure bled into pain, the blended sensation so vital, so essential, and so perfectly, mind-numbingly necessary in that moment. Azriel crowded her against the counter, his chest pressed to her back, and the flare of his wings as he adjusted his balance kicked up a cooling breeze so at odds with the steaming water below her that Elain moaned.

The hand on her throat flexed, and she clenched around his cock on instinct.

Azriel hissed wickedly in her ear.

She was shivering by the time he withdrew, moving at an agonizing pace and pausing when only the head of his cock remained inside of her. When Elain tried to follow, tried to fill the hollow ache inside of her by pushing her hips back, his grip on the sides of her neck tightened.

It only took a few seconds for the welcome dizziness to set in, and Azriel stilled completely, waiting until every inch of her body turned pliant, moldable, in the wake of that choking grasp.

“I told you to be good,” he warned her. Elain couldn’t do anything but nod, her head swimming deliciously, all the weight disappearing from her limbs.

I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.

Again and again, Azriel moved in her, squeezing her throat in time with his thrusts. And even though he never once gripped her tight enough to truly restrict her breathing, Elain was still rendered breathless, desperate, lungs burning as every gasp seemed to yield less air than the last.

His own breathing was harsh, each sawing exhale against the sweat-damp nape of her neck sending a new shiver down her back. His thumb stroked her pulse slowly, so gentle and so at odds with the hard push of his cock against the tenderest spot inside of her.

“You take me so well…” Azriel rasped against her cheek. Every word had the pleasure between her legs ratcheting higher, winding tighter, until Elain could have sobbed with it. Still, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, and he knew it. “My good, precious girl.”

“Az, I need— I need—” Elain cut herself off with another fruitless gasp. Her chest was burning, her own voice strangled by the low din of distant chit-chat seeping into the kitchen. Her pleasure outweighed the fear of getting caught; the certainty that Azriel would have them hidden in shadow long before they were spotted dulling the serrated edge of her fear.

“I know you do.” The hand on her hip shoved aside her skirts, some falling without care into the dishwater, going low until—

“Oh!”

His fingers spread her, dipping into the place where his cock split her, drawing that wetness up to her clit. Two of them circled, slow and taunting, in time with his thrusts. Higher up her body, his hand tightened again, slowing her racing pulse until she lost all sense of time.

She surrendered to that maddening touch, drifting in its blissful currents, following where Azriel led. He kept her on the precipice, his fingers slow and precise, until she felt his movements quicken, growing erratic and rough as he neared his own climax.

A low growl drew her out of the haze. “I want to feel you come on my cock, Elain.”

And as if that were her cue, pleasure tipped into euphoria as her legs shook, her muscles going taut. She clutched the sink, raising her head just enough to catch the feral, ravenous look in Azriel’s eyes in the window as he bowed over her, teeth bared as he came with her, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, shaking and catching their breath. Eventually, Azriel pulled away, sliding from her with a low noise, and lifted her away from the sink with gentle hands. He kept her upright, adjusting her skirts, and Elain blushed as he bent, scooping up the sapphire from the tile at their feet and tucking it into the front of her dress with a conspiratorial wink.

Their shared release dripped down her thighs then, heavy dishwater dragging down her skirts, and she scrunched her nose at the wet, sticky feeling.

A smile so bright it hurt to look at bloomed on Azriel’s lips, and her heart stuttered at the sight.

“Go upstairs and clean up.” He swooped down, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. Elain wrinkled it at him again, aiming for another, but he simply shook his head, the fondness in that gesture making her chest ache. His hands lingered on her waist for another moment, as if testing the steadiness of her legs, before pushing her gently in the direction of the narrow service staircase. “Be careful not to get caught on the way up, love. They’ll scent me on you.”

Somehow, he didn’t look too upset at the idea.

Elain rolled her eyes—males—and took a few shaky steps toward the stairs. Halfway there, she turned, suddenly shy. “Come with me?”

His sleeves were already rolled up, a plate bearing Amren’s half-eaten dinner in his hands.

“I’ll be up in a moment.” Azriel met her halfway and ducked his head, brushing another sweet kiss over her mouth. “As soon as I can. Leave your door unlocked.”

Elain beamed. “Always.”

Have y’all heard Need, the leaked Taylor Swift song that was cut from Lover?

And Happy Easter! 🐣💐 I know I have a million WIPS, but I hope you all enjoyed this little Elriel interlude. Also, always remember learn more and practice safe erotic asphyxiation, if this ends up being something you’re into, my friends!

#elriel #elain #azriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #my fics #breathless #smut #pwp #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses fic #pro elriel

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nerdraging4point0 · 3 months

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Blood of Eden // Part Two // Noah Sebastian Urban Fantasy AU Fic

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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Head on his paws, he had his body flat on the cold cement of the alley nestled into the shadows with his eyes locked on the street ahead. The early morning fog was rolling in, and he could see the vapors of his breath in the air. They'd been sitting in the alley by the lab all night. Since the break in four extra hunters were posted, only driving Noah to annoyance. It wasn't the hunters but the distraction she'd caused him that night.

Shoulda killed her.

He growled a little, remembering the girl he'd left to die on that roof. She had looked right at him as her eyes rolled back, and she passed out. He spent a long time debating his next move. She was beautiful with her red hair and gray eyes, but the fear in her eyes pained him to his core. Leaping across the roof to his partner, he re-fastened his muzzle as they climbed the ladder to the streets below to return to their post. She'd bleed out on that roof or think twice before breaking into his master's lab again.

Oli tried to get Noah to explain why he did what he did, but not even Noah could describe it. Running through the streets, he had seen her turn down into some shit-ass neighborhood. Oli suggested they let her go, but when Noah found the velvet band she'd lost out of her hair, he had to pursue it like a force from another world.

She'd seen him, his face, Oli's face, like she was seeing through the haze that was their master's magic. As a hunter, his two sides, both beast and man, remained as one, but only one at a time could be visible; the other stowed away in what was described as the fifth dimension. She had seen both; he felt it. When she jumped off the roof and hung from the ledge, the possibility that she could have fallen to her death, he hadn't thought much before removing his muzzle and leaping to the next roof to latch his jaws into her shoulder and thrust her up to safety.

A bark of laughter and a soft clutter came from behind him; Noah turned his head to see the commotion, and Oli stepped out of the shadows to his left, following his line of sight. One of the hunters stretched out her limbs, spying the two of them watching; she stretched out her rump on purpose, curling her tail in the air. Oli snorted, shaking his head before sitting back on his haunches and lifting his leg to scratch his ear. Noah rolled his eyes, dropping his head to his paws again. The scent from the smooth black band around his left leg wafting into his nose, soft jasmine and clove circling his olfactory; that's not how she tasted. Her blood was fiery like cinnamon but burned like cheap whiskey and had a grit like dirt.

What will he say when you get home?

The thick accent of Oli's voice pierced through his brain. Noah huffed, the dust from the alley coming loose and blowing into a cloud in front of him. He didn't want to think about it. He'd disobeyed a direct order. Hunters only remove their muzzles with permission; to violate that order, there is no telling what punishment may present. Equipped with trackers and wireless radios, masters often communicated with their hunters throughout the night; Jolly was usually too busy for that.

As masters go, Jolly was lenient compared to the others; some hunters had masochistic, if not borderline abusive, treatment; Jolly was softer, maybe a little rough when they got physical, but never anything that made Noah fear what he would do when he returned. It wasn't often Noah ever did something wrong; he could count on one hand how many times he'd disobeyed his master in their last thirteen years of partnership. And less on that hand could he count the times Jolly was truly angry with him; he was only ever disappointed. But disappointment can be a cruel punishment on its own.

Oli was just as lucky as Noah; his mistress was a beautiful woman inside and out. They had genuinely fallen in love with one another, and the collaring ceremony was nothing compared to the wedding they had shared. It wasn't unheard of for masters and hunters to marry, but breeding wasn't possible-they were sterile for a reason. The Mage were blood purists; they preferred to keep their magic to themselves.

Noah kept his eyes ahead, watching Skytower in the distance, the sun starting to gleam off the highest floors first. When the cars on the street grew in numbers, and the sun began to shine through the fog, a static came through his ears.

"You are relieved of duty; you are to come straight home." Jolly did indeed sound disappointed. Noah's ears fell back on his head, and he whined. Oli sprung to his feet, stretching his front legs forward and shaking his shaggy fur. Noah stood slowly, his limbs stiff from lying still practically all night; he had to force himself to stretch, letting himself stand on his own two feet before heading straight for home.

Skytower was only three blocks south of the laboratory, hard to miss with its 45 floors towering over the city. Noah's eyes locked on the 38th floor's west side windows; that was their floor. Jolly and he shared a four-bedroom apartment, with one of those rooms doubling as an office space for Jolly to work. Mage had some of the most high-paying jobs in the world; how else would they establish order in the chaos? Jolly's job was one of distinguished power. Born as a cousin to a royal Swedish family, he was a lord in his home country. He handled affairs from home, all from abroad, and with the remainder of his time, he worked on finances for the lab's experiments and research. Their close relationship made Jolly more interested in the hunter initiative and their health. They got some of the best medical treatments and even gave suggestions to make hunters more optimal.

Oli paused when they reached Skytower, holding the left side of his muzzle so delicately listening to his intercom with a smile broadening in his cheeks. Reaching behind his head he unclasped the leather mask from his face. Shaking out his hair and stretching his jaw, he turned to Noah, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Listen, bruv," Oli clapped him on the shoulder, "I need to get coffee for me and my mistress. Take whatever punishment he gives you. And advice: just feign stupid, beg forgiveness, and move on."

Noah reached behind his head to remove his leather mask as his partner disappeared down the street.

"Leave it on." The disappointed voice of his master pierced through his ears, and he dropped his hands slowly, squaring his shoulders before walking into his massive home. Awkward silence engulfed him in the elevator as he climbed the thirty-eight floors by himself, his anxiety increasing with every ding signaling another floor.

Stepping into their apartment, birch storm flooring with equally neutral furniture graced their living room, the low light of the gas fireplace shining over their apartment. Noah could smell the freshly brewed coffee, but when he didn't see Jolly in the kitchen or the living room, there was only one other space he could be in.

Noah turned down the hall, passing by his own bedroom, bathroom, and the spare room before stopping at the door to Jolly's office. It was open, and the lights were on; knocking was unnecessary as he stepped in.

Jolly wasn't facing him, turned in the chair with his back at the desk, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. Noah could hear the slow sips he took from his mug of fresh espresso, swallowing so gingerly that Noah could almost forget he was upset.

"Eventful evening." The statement hung in the room, and Noah dared not answer. Feign stupid. Oli's advice rang through his ears; now all he needed was for Jolly to turn around, and he could beg forgiveness.

Jolly turned slowly in his office chair, setting his clear mug on the glass coaster before standing from his chair. Dressed in navy blue slacks and a charcoal gray dress shirt, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was still damp from his shower. Noah could smell the citrus and mahogany wafting off him; he swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling himself twitch in his pants.

His master closed in on him, hands in his pockets, their eyes level with one another as he closed the space between them.

"I don't care why. I don't need you to speak." Jolly lifted a hand from his pocket, running his fingers through Noah's hair, caressing down to cup his cheek. "I do, however, need you to kneel."

Jolly placed both hands on Noah's shoulder; their weight helped to push Noah onto his knees on the floor. His nose brushed the already noticeable bulge in his master's pants, and he could feel his mouth salivating. Peeking out of Jolly's right pocket was the dark rope Jolly kept in the top drawer of his desk. Feeling his tail wagging and his heart racing at the sight, Noah was more than eager to touch the floor.

Noah kneeled on the floor, breathing heavily through the leather on his face. Jolly strolled behind him, caressing his cheek and neck before bringing Noah's arms behind his body, crossing the hunter's wrists over each other and securing them with the burgundy rope. The anticipation rose in Noah's chest as Jolly wrapped his arms around his body, reaching to undo the clasp of his pants before pulling them down. With his lower half exposed, Noah's skin prickled with gooseflesh, shuddering under the brush of his master's fingertips on his thighs.

"You disobeyed, didn't you?" Jolly's harsh whisper brushed Noah's ear. The hunter hung his head. He heard the familiar clink of the leather belt and the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. Noah's breathing increased, feeling himself harden at the thought of being taken roughly. His master circled him; he'd discarded his pants and underwear cock slowly being stroked by his slender fingers. Leaving Noah on his knees in the middle of the office, his master stepped back creating several feet between them as he leaned on the edge of his desk, stroking himself slowly, eyes locked with Noah. "Shall I explain the rules?"

"You look so pretty in that muzzle of yours." his master cooed, stroking his hardening cock in his hand. Noah mewled, dropping his eyes to the floor as his cheeks reddened.

"Bad boy. Look at me." Jolly growled. Noah lifted his eyes again, seeing his master's hand stilled. "Rule one, you look away. I have to stop, and you know I don't like to stop unnecessarily."

Noah nodded slowly nodded his head, feeling his ears fall back and his tail droop. He watched eagerly as his master started to pump his swollen head once again, kicking himself off the edge of the desk to come closer to Noah's face.

He could feel the drool pooling in his mouth, the sensation of opening it as his master approached was second nature, but the leather on his face made it impossible for his jaw to move.

"That's a good boy." Jolly praised. Noah watched as the pitiful whine he let slip only made his master's hand speed up and his cock twitch in his grasp. "I like it when you whine. You always sound so needy."

Noah's own cock was hard and throbbing between his legs; he wanted to be touched, needed to be felt up and down in slow strokes. But with his hands clasped behind his back and his master having no give, it was apparent that was impossible.

"Rule two. You don't ever remove your muzzle without permission." Jolly pumped himself harder, focusing more on the head of his cock than his shaft. Groaning as he looked into his pup's eyes.

"You don't like having that on your face, do you? You'd rather have my cock in your mouth, wouldn't you?" Noah whined again; inside him, his tail was excitedly thumping on the ground.

"You won't disobey me again?" Noah shook his head vigorously. No, not if it meant being rewarded. He'd listen, he'd be good.

Jolly moaned, positioning himself behind Noah, the hunter growling eagerly.

His master's hand clutched the nape of his neck, the pressure pushing him down to bend in half as he kneeled on the ground. A low groan rumbled across the walls as Noah felt the warm ropes land on his lower back, dripping down his skin and between the cheeks of his ass. Jolly's grip tightened as his hand started to shake, slowly coming down from his high. Noah felt himself dripping precum onto the floor, desperate for release and feeling his lower abdomen tighten with feral need.

"You get yourself cleaned up," Jolly gave the side of his thigh a light slap, untying the bonds of his wrists before standing up from behind him. "I have to work this afternoon. We'll take care of you tonight."

Jolly redressed, stepping over Noah on his way to his desk; from deep in Noah's chest, he whined, crawling on the floor towards his master. Jolly paid him no attention, sitting in his oversized office chair in front of his laptop as if nothing had happened. Noah gathered his pants, pulling them up over his tender and stiff cock, head still cast down to the floor. He turned to leave the room, wiping the sweat from his brow when Jolly's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You can take off your muzzle for the night. And Noah," Noah turned slowly to look at his master, "Rule three, don't touch yourself. I need you, needy."

Noah nearly choked on the saliva pooling in his mouth as he left the office. Down the hall, he closed the door to his bathroom, stripping off the clothes from the night before; looking down at himself, he was stiff as a board and couldn't do anything to fix it.

A Lukewarm shower washed away the night before and the last few minutes. As he tossed his clothes from the night before into the hamper, he pulled the band from his pocket, wrapping it around his wrist. Thumbing through his clothes, he found it amazing how monochromatic his wardrobe was, from white to black and all the shades of gray. Throwing on a loose pair of pants and some white sneakers, a matching crew neck top with a black unbuttoned baseball jersey for good measure. He grabbed his ball cap and sunglasses as he walked out the door. He just wanted some air, to get out and get his mind off things; he'd walked a few blocks, realizing his feet already knew where he was going if his mind didn't.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #joakim jolly karlsson smut #joakim jolly karlsson fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #urban fantasy #dark romance #noah sebastian fanfic #jolly karlsson #romance #bad omens au #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #blood of eden

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moonlight-prose · 2 years

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♱ SINCE I'VE BEEN LOVING YOU ♱

a/n: it's been a minute since i wrote anything for this man, but you know what he deserves a spot in kinktober. and this is a fic i've held onto for so long so i'm just shoving it into this list. i hope you enjoy! (p.s. to the black velvet lovers....chapter eleven is coming soon)

day two - breeding kink | kinktober 2022

summary: Finally the image you had of your future with him was beginning to form and to you…it was beautiful.

word count: 2.5k+

pairing: 1980s!din djarin x f!reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, cussing, slight rough sex, breeding kink, female masturbation, biting.

This whiskey should have been the cause for this situation. Fuck you so badly wanted to blame it on that amber liquid, but there was not even a drop of it in your veins. No lasting effect of alcohol to explain this. You were in a drunken haze, watching as he stood at the foot of the bed, curling his hand around your bare ankle. Leaning back on your elbows, you tried to steady the erratic beating of your heart to appease the blinding need in your body.

You wouldn’t survive him. You knew that the second you laid eyes on him, but oh what a glorious death it would be. Killed by the look of love that seared into your skin, by the tender way he held your body and the even softer words he called you.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you gently, his thumb rubbing into the skin of your calf.

“Yes?” The word was a breath of air exhaled on your lips. You weren’t even sure he heard you clearly.

The flash of lust in his eyes confirmed that he did—that he liked how quickly he was able to rile you up. You had half a mind to leave him hanging, but his palm sliding up your bare leg froze your thoughts. He stopped at the very edge of your skirt, never moving an inch more. It was maddening. He was maddening.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Just when you think he couldn’t make you fall in love with him anymore, he goes and says something like that.

“I don’t think you did,” you teased, stretching your leg out even further until your foot dangled off his shoulder. “How will you make it up to me Romeo?”

A devilish smile crossed his lips, his eyes darkening even further as his palm slid up underneath your skirt. His fingertips tracing right below the very edge of the black lace underwear he’d seen you slip on earlier. There was no weight to his touch. Nothing that you could hopefully push yourself onto and that unnerved you more than his smile did. He kissed your ankle, mouthing at it and sharply biting down, causing you to shudder. You knew he liked toying with you. That was part of the reason why you became so pliant when he held you like this.

“Don’t tease,” you said.

He wanted to play his game of seduction—like always—then you’d one up him at his own game. You’d done it before. Always finding ways to make him snap. It’s like he took pleasure in making himself wait, in allowing you to take what you wanted until he said no more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh…so he really wanted to play. Smiling sweetly at him, you reached for the hem of your skirt and yanked it upwards until the entire piece of fabric was wrapped around your waist. You never gained satisfaction quite like watching Din falter when you gained the upper hand on him. Was he really expecting you to lay on this bed fully clothed?

The sight of your glistening pussy was on complete display for him, your slick practically dripping down your inner thighs, and you audibly heard him take in a shuddered breath. Yeah…there was nothing quite like this. His eyes were a near pitch black, the grip on your leg was nearing the point of pain, and you had never been more content in your life. He wanted to play. So…you played. From the looks of his demeanor, you ultimately won in the end, but he was just getting started.

“When did you take them off?” he demanded. His tongue peeked out to lick at his bottom lip as if he was already relishing in the taste of you before he got to the real thing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had it committed to memory by now.

You smirked, reaching down and spreading yourself for him with two fingers. “Remember when you threatened to take me upstairs and bend me over the kitchen table after seeing this skirt?”

He exhaled a shuddered breath. “The bar wasn’t even open yet.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, sliding a finger along your pussy, gathering enough slick and dragging it back up to your clit where you circled it lightly, moaning at the tingles that spread up your spine. “I know.”

Din let you touch yourself for as long as he could handle it. His eyes trained on the steady rhythm of your fingers, but you could see his control break off piece by piece with every moan you let out. You never understood why the fuck he wanted to torture himself this much. You just never chose to question him. However he found pleasure in you, with you, because of you, did not matter to you. As long as he dragged you off that precipice of pleasure right along with him.

“Do you want a taste?” you asked breathlessly, pressing one finger into your pussy, groaning at the relief that flooded your body.

“Yes.” His voice was rough, fingers gripping your calf so tight you would absolutely be tender there tomorrow.

Smiling, you locked eyes with him, bringing up your now shiny wet fingers to your lips. “Too bad.”

You were sure if you listened hard enough you would be able to hear his control sever in two the second you sucked your fingers into your mouth, groaning at the taste of yourself. But you were so focused on prolonging his torture that you didn’t see him reach for the buckle of his best. He yanked your other leg up over his shoulder and a gasp tore from your throat as you scrambled to grab a hold of him.

“You’re a goddamn tease,” he muttered, helping you drag the shirt and bra from your body, your hands clamoring to rip his shirt off as well. “Wearing this skirt to rile me up and going bare underneath it.”

“Din.” You were whimpering at this point, digging your nails into his shoulders. Fuck, you didn’t even care that you sounded cockdrunk before he even slid inside you. You didn’t give a single shit, because he was caging you against the bed, nearly bending you in half as he slid his cock through the lips of your pussy.

“I should have bent you over that fucking table.” The head of his cock bumped against your clit, causing a pathetic noise to fall from your lips. “You’d have looked so pretty leaking my cum all night.”

“Fuck!” you cried, digging your hands into his hair and yanking him forward until his lips slotted against yours. “Please fuck me. Please Din.”

He groaned, his tongue sliding against yours hotly and tasting the tangy flavor of you off your own tongue. “I’ve got you sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Both of you gasped into each other’s mouths as his cock slid into you with ease. You were practically dripping onto the bed sheets. He grunted when your walls fluttered, clamping around his cock so tight he had to bite against your neck to stop himself from coming undone. Meanwhile you fared no better. You’d been on edge all night, imagining the different ways you’d finally get to have him once the last customer left the bar. It got to a point where even a slight brush of his hand against yours riled you up.

Except now he was finally inside of you, slowly rocking his hips and testing to see if you were ready for him to move. You were ready five fucking minutes ago. Hell you were ready the second you saw him tonight. Cupping his cheek, you dragged his lips back to yours, your saccharine moan being swallowed by his tongue delving into your mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pulling away and running a thumb along your bottom lip—spreading your combined spit along the already smudged lipstick you wore.

You smiled, taking his thumb into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it until you released it with a pop. “So are you Romeo.”

“I like you like this.”

You hummed, your walls contracting around his cock, dragging a grunt from him. “Like what?”

“Filthy for me.”

Even with your legs up on his shoulders and his cock buried so deep you swore you’d feel him for days, he still managed to make your entire being buzz with something stronger than pleasure. You never could quite figure out what that feeling was, but you never complained. For fear of one day losing it.

“Only for you,” you emphasized, pressing your own thumb into his mouth and sighing as he mimicked your actions from before.

Pulling away, he dug one hand into the sheets beside your head, the other gripping onto your upper thigh. He began to move. Not in the soft reverent way he usually made love to you, nor in the heated passionate way. No, this was different. This was depraved, desperate. He thrusted into you with enough force to almost shove you up the bed and you begged him for more. Crying into his mouth, you raked your nails down his chest as he rammed his cock into you, searching for that perfect angle that would break you into pieces.

“Only for me?” he panted, cupping your breast in one hand and thumbing at your hardened nipple. “You’re mine.”

You nodded, keening when the head of his cock hit right where you needed. He flashed a smile your way, pressing into your more and somehow sliding in an inch deeper. You could feel him everywhere and yet it still wasn’t enough. Gasping, you tried to form coherent words to tell him that you wanted it faster, harder, but he understood you well enough. Snapping his hips forward, he watched your mouth drop open, spit trailing down the side of your cheek as you cried out his name.

“My good girl.” Another sharp thrust against your g-spot tore a wail from your chest. You wouldn’t have been able to speak, you knew that now. “‘M gonna fuck a baby into you.” His words were slurred, the pleasure numbing his brain, but you felt your walls bear down on him, your body going taut.

“Oh fuck,” you managed to choke out, your eyes meeting his as the realization clicked in both your brains. Neither of you were upset with what he just said.

“Yeah?” he breathed. “You want that?” He sped up, the pleasure mounting in your body to an indescribable amount. “You want me to give you a baby sweetheart?”

Without hesitation, he slid his hand between your bodies, swirling his thumb around your clit with practiced ease. Your eyes rolled back, body arching as the white-hot bliss you’d been craving began to seep through your veins. You were right here. He knew you would break at any moment if the way he sped up his thrusts were anything to go by.

Sobbing his name, you dug your nails into his wrist, keeping his fingers where they were. Tears trailed down your temple and it caused a growl to echo around the room.

“Please!” You knew it wasn’t possible, knew that you were taking birth control consistently, but just the thought of him breeding you sent you into a dizzying high you’d never experienced before.

“Shit,” he groaned, forehead pressing against yours. “Fuck baby I need you to cum.” Din always made sure that you finished long before he did, but you saw the way he was straining against finally letting go. He was fighting his own pleasure to give you yours and that sent what felt like a bolt of lightning up your spine.

Once, twice, three times he circled your clit with enough pressure to snap the pressure in your body in two, causing a flood of mind numbing bliss to spread through you. The sound of your slick, of his cock and the slap of skin against skin was drowned out as a humming took over your ears. He fell over you with a broken moan, your legs shaking and head digging into the pillow beneath you. It was too much. You couldn’t think, speak, let alone move, because you were trapped in the waves of never ending bliss.

His thrusts became erratic as he chased his own release. It took you a few moments for you to realize that you were chanting his name—crying it out like a damn prayer.

Twisting your fingers into his hair, you caught his lips in a kiss, pleading with him to finally let go, for him to fill you up.

“Give it to me baby.” He gasped against your lips, his eyes opening to meet yours. “I’ll keep it in me until it takes,” you breathed, biting at his bottom lip and sucking it into your mouth.

“Fuck. Oh fuck sweetheart.”

He shattered with a cry of your name, his head falling into the crook of your neck—teeth digging into the skin there. It would be tender later, but for now you relished in the feeling of his cock spurting into you, filling you up until it leaked out and around his cock. Clenching your walls, you stimulated him even more, dragging him underneath the waves of pleasure and watching him fall apart further.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there catching your breath, but eventually he moved. Dropping your legs off his shoulders with a kiss, he pulled out you gently, hissing at the feel of your walls trying to keep him inside. You longed for the press of his warmth against your body. Only you couldn’t speak let alone move. You felt sluggish, unable to do anything more than lie there, waiting for him to return.

Which he did. A glass of water was placed on the nightstand, your skirt was taken off fully, and a pillow was shoved underneath your hips, propping you up. That made your eyes fly open.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a fucked out smile.

Din dropped onto the bed, curling around your body. “Making sure it takes.”

Your stomach fluttered at the thought. “You were serious?”

“I want to have a family with you sweetheart.” Fuck, you had never wanted to go again so fast in your life. “I’ll wait as long as you want, but I’m letting you know now.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?”

Nodding, you pressed your lips to his in a kiss so tender it made your toes curl. “I want that too. A family…with you.”

He smiled. So bright that you could feel your chest seize up from the joy that ran through you. You hadn’t seen him smile this big since Liv’s wedding day—the same day you finally answered a question he never thought he’d ask anyone. You knew you wanted this with him more than anything else.

Finally the image you had of your future with him was beginning to form and to you…it was beautiful.

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin #1980s!din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #black velvet #my writing #kinktober 2022

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violettduchess · 1 year

Note

hi violet, can i req for gilbert, prompt forbidden love? if it's ok i'll leave it up to you whether if it's gonna be a fic or hc :) thank you

A/N: You all voted for this to be an Angel / Devil AU and here we are.

CW: death, sickness, war

Gilbert x Reader

Word Count: 2650

1095: the Holy Land

The first time you see him it is over a rising cloud of brown dust, stamped from the earth by a cacophony of hooves and sandaled feet charging at each other. Sunlight glints off curved steel and chain mail as blades from both sides bite into flesh, punctuating the haze with red droplets.

Through the blood and dust you see him, walking amid the chaos. He is, quite simply, the most beautiful being you have ever seen. Every movement exudes grace, from the bend of his torso to the tilt of his head. He is so arresting that you stop in your tracks, frozen under the burning sun, watching him across the din until he turns his head. Fatefully, his gaze finds yours. His eyes, the clearest, deepest red you have ever seen, pull you in, like a fishing line cast into the ocean. You find yourself moving towards him, the epicurean tide drawn to the beauty of the ethereal moon, breathless with something. Time stands still, all sound dwindling into nothingness. The screaming of men, the groaning of the dying, the frenzied cries of horses, it all fades when he smiles, your heart suddenly caught in the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw.

And then he sees you clearly, as the dust begins to clear, as the last man lays gasping, calling for his mother. He sees you and his beautiful face darkens with an emotion you are all too familiar with. The shadowed mask of fear.

You blink and he is gone.

1348: London, England

It is nearly a millennium before you see him again. You step outside of the small, dank house, the smell of sickness lingering in the air. It clings to you, the sheen of rot and ejecta, and you are grateful for a moment’s respite. It is then you see him, walking alongside the rickety wooden cart piled high with bodies, some still oozing sickness from their sores.

“Bring out your dead!”

The man pulling the cart and yelling is sweating, salty droplets of water leave tracks in the dirt caked on his sallow skin. His heartbeat is too fast, too erratic but he fights it, the fist squeezing his lungs, wanting to get just one more footstep further away from this thing they call the Black Death.

But then his voice is gone, his knees buckling as his heart finally gives up the fight. Gilbert, draped in robes the color of twilight, kneels in the dirt road beside him. You watch as his pale hand touches the man’s face and soothes back his matted hair. He speaks and whatever you expected his voice to sound like, it is not this. Not like the soft sound of the wind sweeping across rolling plains. Not like the velvet depth of night, when darkness blankets the mortal world.

“Hello Richard." He is gentle, so very gentle. "My name is Gilbert." He cups the man's face with a tender hand. "It’s ok, my friend. There is nothing to fear. It’s simply time to let go.”

Like a being transfixed, you watch as he guides the soul from its prison of flesh and bones, and with a wave of his hand, sends it on its way.

“You look so young.”

The words leave you before you can stop them. You know speaking to him is forbidden and yet, somehow, it feels as natural to you as sunlight.

He looks up at your words and again, the flicker of fear burns in the red brightness of his eyes. He rises slowly and you admire the way he conquers it so quickly.

“I’m older than you.”

He knows he should not answer you and yet he does, turning to face you fully now. You tilt your chin upwards, letting him look, letting him drink his fill of the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Something dances across his face, tears his gaze away from your form.

“My duties were elsewhere for a time.”

The story behind his words is in his eyes, straining to be freed. His lips burn with the need to tell you more.

And then the bell tolls and you both look in its direction.

Time is fleeting. You have work to do.

With great effort you turn away from him, walking toward the next sad building reeking of death. When you look over your shoulder, past the curve of your leathery wings, you find him watching you.

And you smile.

1839: Mazatlán, Mexico

The winds and water have washed away the small town on the coast. There is nothing left of it, aside from bits of broken buildings and bodies lying in watery graves.

An old woman with a broken back lays, panting heavily as the light slowly fades from her dark eyes. You approach her, your heavy robes trailing in the dirty water and mud. When she sees you, her breathing quickens, her eyes widen and her fingers, old and gnarled and broken, scramble to touch the worn silver cross that has hung around her neck for the last sixty-eight years. Little does she know it too has been lost in the storm. You kneel beside her and she whimpers, her whole body trembling as you reach down, laying your hand on her forehead.

“Por favor,” her voice creaks, “por favor.”

“Begging won’t save you now. You know the life you led. The women you sold. The children.” It doesn’t matter what you say. They can always understand you.

Her body spasms as you reach for her, the real her, the essence inside. Her last words die unspoken on her lips as you send her soul to its journey's end..

Rising, you scan the debris, feel the call of so many souls and you are weary. You make your way towards the beach, stepping over the rubble until you have reached the soft, white sand and smooth gray boulders. You slump down against one of them, tired. The sand is soft, the boulders warm with collected sunlight. You have learned to appreciate the simple things of this plane of existence. The sound of the ocean. The smell of the salty air.

“So even your kind needs a break.”

That voice.

He is standing above you, backlit by the sun, and you wholly believe he is worthy of the countless prayers shot to the heavens by pleading lips.

You can’t help but smile. “Come sit with me. Take a break yourself.”

He smiles back and your heart cracks open, bursting with something newborn and unexpected. Something you can’t give a name to, yet.

“Isn’t there a story about a garden and a serpent that starts this way?” But he lowers himself until he is next to you. His arm brushes yours and it feels like holy fire.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is softer than usual as you watch the roll of the waves along the beach. A single shoe made for a tiny foot bobs alone in the water. Its former owner is his responsibility. Babies always are.

“You’re doing your job.”

“No, I mean here. With you.”

The words sound as loud to your ears as the waves crashing into the rocks scattered about the shallows. Embarrassed, you start to move away from him, from his warmth and his light and his heavenly smile.

And then you feel his hand wrap around yours, the dawn grasping the dusk, and he pulls you towards him.

Falling into his embrace is easy, so much easier than you ever would have believed, easier than you could have dreamed. Easier than all the rules that say it is forbidden would have you think it is. He is light and warmth to your shadow and shade. You drink him in, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close against you. He gasps softly into your hungry mouth, stunned by the feel of you.

His kind have always been told a litany of warnings to stay away from you. That nothing good will ever come of associating with devils. That he would burn in the pit fires of hell if the rules were ever broken. And oh he is burning, just not the way they described.

As he pulls you against him, your softness yielding to the planes of his body, he does burn. He burns with a singular need to kiss you, to touch you, to claim you as his. He burns with a desire far more dangerous than hellfire. It sharpens him, hardens him, shifts his purpose with every movement of your lips against his. Your mouth is ambrosia. Nothing will ever taste as good ever again. He will forever be thirsty for it. The feel of your hands, pressed against his back, just under his wings, is branded into him, changing him, claiming him.

It is only the tolling of the celestial bell that falls like an ax through the haze of your lust. The call to work.

“I must go.” He looks over his shoulder, then back to you, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers ache to touch it. “We’ll meet again.”

He stands slowly, spreads his large, white feathery wings and in a rush of wind, a flash of light, he’s gone, leaving you alone on the beach with the mournful sobs of the dying, the monotonous lull of the ocean’s waves and his kiss burning on your lips.

October 1916: Somme River; Picardy, Northern France

It feels wrong, rushing to meet him with the thunderous sounds of war rocking the world, and the deadly fog of mustard gas rising like a cobra to sink its fangs into shaking men. Even you shudder as the shrill cry of artillery shells and the spitting rage of the machine guns echo hell on earth. Men are dying in record numbers but it is precisely for this reason that you can meet. The bloody ground with its endless sea of death and destruction masks your movements from anyone who may wonder where exactly you are. Too many souls departing too quickly. Everyone is busy, thanks to men and their thirst for war. Angels and devils alike roam the ravaged fields, answering the call of the doomed.

He waits for you behind a burned-out house amid charred, leafless trees. You gasp when you see him. One eye is covered by a swath of black silk.

“What happened?” Your hands are on his face, now familiar to your touch. You have loved him for almost a century, a drop in the ocean of time, and yet, short as it may be, it feels essential. Sacred.

“They know.”

Those two words sink into your heart like a stone, dragging you down into a trench of despair. He has lost an eye in punishment. There will be more coming. The sky above you explodes orange against gray.

There are so many words that they stifle your speech, stacking one behind the other in your throat. None of them will change anything. None of them will save you. He reaches out, pulling you into the shelter of his embrace, a tender kiss placed on the top of your head, between your short, black horns.

“It will be alright. I have a plan.”

You tilt your face up to look at him as the world rumbles, heavy tanks rolling like moving fortresses through the dead fields.

“I will come for you. Give me time.” He sounds so sure.

Dread crawls up your spine with tiny, grasping claws but you nod slowly. You trust him.

He leans down, pressing a light kiss to your lips, a small beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds you, the darkness that fills you. Then he steps away, unfurls his pristine wings, and vanishes, leaving you alone amid the wreckage.

2023: St. Anne’s Nursing Center; Regina, Canada.

The old man sees you, although his eyes stopped working years ago. Ignoring the exhausted muttering of the overworked nurse, his drawn face, etched with lines and mottled with brown spots, turns towards the doorway where you stand.

You are never who they want to see. You with your black wings and horns, with your fiery eyes and ashen skin. You, devil. His heart, worn and faded, skips its final beat as you walk over, curling your cool fingers around his frail wrist.

He wants to scream but all that comes out is a wheeze of fetid breath. Holding his wrist in your hand you lean down, lips close to his ear.

“It’s time.”

Every last living cell in his body wants to fight and you sigh, tightening your hold on him. It’s not a pleasant end when they fight, especially once they realize where they are going. And this one has reason to fight. His soul is as tainted as can be, a history of violence and hate and a pile of bones that will eventually be unearthed in the far corner of his remote property. Too many for just one person.

He submits, his soul needing to be pried from its cage of weak bone and flaccid muscle before you are finally able to send it down, down, down where it belongs.

There are others here, dancing on the edge of this life and the beyond, but none require your attention. Not today. You leave the now still body, making your way down the generic beige hallway and across the dated, olive-green tile of the entrance until you are outside, breathing in the cold, clean winter air.

Above you, the sky is black, the moon only a sliver of silver amid the twinkling stars. You’re about to move on when you hear it. The unmistakable beat of wings.

You turn and you see him, dropping down to the ground in one elegant movement. What you see brings both hands to your mouth, snatches the breath from your lungs.

Gone are the soft white feathers of his wings. They have been plucked out, burned away. The bloody leftovers re-formed into the stretched black leather of bat wings, darker than yours and wider. His robes are darkest obsidian, his hair midnight kissed by stars. And sprouting from it, the surest sign of what he has done: long, black horns, curled like a ram’s and deadly sharp.

“No…..no……” You know what this means and it brings you to your knees, right there on the icy pavement. His red eye is aflame with determination as he walks over to you, leaning down to take a strong hold of your arms and lift you again.

“It was the only way.” His voice is steady, gentle but sure.

You shake your head. “You are Fallen. You know what He will do. What you will have to do to prove yourself.” The Morningstar is cruelest to those just like Him.

Gilbert brushes your soft hair back, his skin pale as bone, now cold as ice.

“I will not only endure it, but I will conquer it and prove that I have earned a place among His agents. Perhaps….even….conquer Him.” His expression softens as he cups your face, his thumb stroking the line of your cheekbone. “I can master anything. You are by my side. You,” he pauses, his voice a whisper that roars louder than thunder, “are the reason for it all.”

And then his mouth is on yours and you melt against him, love for him clouding the danger of his words, the fear of what is to come. You wrap your arms around him and you return his kiss hungrily, greedily, covetous. His teeth sink into your lower lip, his wings extending to black out the sky before wrapping themselves around you, his hands grasping at your robes, yanking handfuls of it away from your skin until he can take hold of the soft underside of your thighs. With a deep growl he lifts you, pulling you against him, his unbound lust finally free.

After all…..he too is now a devil.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert x reader #forbidden love #angel devil au #cw death #cw sickness #cw war #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #broken heartstrings #violettwrites

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sheetsonfire · 1 year

Text

Chasing Shadows Away

Fandom: Chicago PD

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

Warnings: Horror, violence, murder

Word Count: 3220

Summary: The reader dreams of their worst fears, and Jay is there to chase them away.

A/N: This is part of @resanoona's #resa.3kfiestabingo! I'm using this fic to fill the "Hurt/Comfort" square!

My dreams are nothing if not good for writing fuel, ha!

[Dream]

You’re trailing behind Jay in the crowd, receiving stares as you pierce your way through the waves of bodies with hollers of his name. You can’t seem to keep up, his hand having been disconnected from yours, which happened several clusters of people ago.

There’s jostling and a frenetic blur of conversations, some of which you’re sure are about you and the commotion you’re making. You don’t care, however, the only thing on your mind is to keep tabs on the black [POLICE] vest on Jay’s back.

Anxiety coils around your stomach like a python, squeezing the more you try and free yourself of the sensation. To your dismay, your hand is met with thin air as you reach for your radio on your own vest.

Where the hell had your radio gone?

Fuck.

Paranoia in your line of work was generally a good thing, it kept you alert and tuned in to your surroundings. However, as you meet the eyes of judging civilians, who seem to move toward you in a silent threatening waltz, it does nothing but make your hairs stand on end.

You didn’t know why you felt so scared and so out of control, but you don’t know how to tame it anymore.

All the while your eyes haven’t left the back of Jay’s head for longer than a second, anger fizzing out of you as you watch your boyfriend and partner take a left and head for the elevator. You would surely lose him by the time you made up the distance between you.

You had no evidence for your next thought but as true as the sky is blue you know in your soul that to lose Jay to the elevator would mean disaster. Whether that disaster was for you or for him, you couldn’t be sure.

“Jay! For god’s sake!” You holler with abandon, with no concern about the scene you’re making.

A gap opens up in the shifting bodies ahead of you and you break into a sprint, thwacking shoulder to shoulder with faceless silhouettes as you keep moving.

It’s too late, however, the elevator doors begin to close just as you round the corner and you watch the back of Jay disappear.

You stand there breathless, the hum of activity behind you makes you grab at the back of your neck, trying to find some feeling of safety and security. The elevator ascends into the heights of the arched building, bright lights and a glass ceiling loom overhead, making you feel small.

Why wasn’t the team here? Why did Jay never look back for you?

You scrub your hands at your face, trying to collect your thoughts. You lift your eyes to the panel above the elevator entrance, there should be numbers there to tell you where Jay was going but there was nothing. Yet another jab at your gut.

With little option but to climb the stairs and go looking for signs of trouble that’s exactly what you start doing. You’re taking the stairs with speed as you make it to the first floor, another floor that seems to be full of people whose dark eyes are drawn to you, you felt that you were most certainly an unwelcome intrusion. Though you were used to that when on duty.

This time the floor is littered with couches, red plush velvet upholstery with canoodling couples and threesomes dressed in opulent gowns and suits, indulging in platters of food and flowing taps of alcohol. The air is thick with a pleasant-smelling smoke, it almost has an orange haze to it. You knew this place was somewhere for the rich and the elite, unsurprisingly insidious and almost cult-like in nature.

It feels as though you’ve fallen into an alternate dimension as you whip your head around, looking for glimpses of Jay. You’re avoiding the gaze of the watchers as best you can, inching forward to the next stairwell whilst keeping a distance from the silent pandemonium around you.

Suddenly in front of you, a sour-faced individual appears, feminine in appearance they align themselves with you, stopping you from moving further ahead. There are eyes are vividly green, serpent-like, their lips blood red. Those same lips are pursed as they point sharply in the direction of a small glass balcony that hung over the edge of the floor you were on, looking down onto the ground floor concourse.

For some reason, there are no words exchanged, and you can’t even bring yourself to ask for clarification, it’s like you instantly know that Jay is in that direction. There is no other choice but to go over there and see what awaits.

You nod at the strange figure, watching as they turn on their heels and strut away - catching briefly the couch-dwellers staring at you again. You could feel the inky black of their eyes, only pinpoints of white in their pupils.

The sooner you could get Jay and get the fuck out of here, the better.

Mindful of the fact that you didn’t know what was on the other side of the thick, long, velvet curtains that concealed the balcony, you keep a hand close to your weapon but your heart feels increasingly close to your vest, pounding relentlessly.

You couldn’t afford to act in a rash panic to get to Jay.

Inching forward you try and keep an ear out for signs of movement or voices, the crowd behind you seems to fade out as a sharp ringing tone pierces your ears, and you wince at the sensation. It felt as though you’d been caught in an explosion, something you had experienced on multiple occasions.

Of course, this was different, you knew that. You were certain you were actually in the undercurrent of a panic attack. Heart pounding, a sickly feeling in your throat, you feel the cold of your anxiety ripple through your adrenaline.

Still, no sound or movement in front of you as you come to a standstill in front of the curtains, balancing your posture to not fidget or jostle your vest too much.

You’re still processing how to handle what comes next when you hear the unmistakable metal whistle of a blade being unsheathed. Your heart leaps into your mouth, a shaking hand grasping the fabric of the curtain as you pry them open just a fraction, trying to see what the hell was happening.

“Oh my god.” You breathe out, and the sight in front of you is incomprehensible.

Jay is now stripped of his clothes, and his weapon and vest are discarded along with everything else. Tears and sweat stain his cheeks, mixing in with the blood that drips from his nose, drying into a rusty colour on his mouth. Angry red marks litter his skin, marks which look to be made with a blunt object. You suspected that blunt object was one of the many candelabras sitting at various heights on the ledge of the balcony.

Your boyfriend’s face is stoic, his nostrils flare in defiant anger, but you can see the fine tremor in his muscles as he tries to remain still, trying not to provoke more of what they'd already done to him.

They.

They were hooded figures, in black robes with gold trim, and black gloves to conceal anything that might show you who they were.

Your blood is rushing in your ears, the confined space of the balcony left you without a vantage point to attack from another angle or use the element of surprise.

“Time.” A deep voice utters, taking you by surprise. It doesn’t sound as though it came from any individual at all, but rather an omniscient presence from above, ethereal and intangible, surrounding you completely.

Between that last thought and your next breath, the sickening sound of metal slicing into flesh brings the world rushing back to burn you.

A stunned gasp escapes Jay's mouth, a grunt of unregistered agony as his brain fights to protect his pain reception.

The dagger in the gloved leather hand is pressed to its hilt in Jay’s abdomen, seated beneath his chest.

You watch in horror as Jay’s glassy eyes meet yours, weak hands trying to push away the stranger’s hands, you’re trying to move forward, your voice screaming hoarsely with no sound to speak of. The curtains move no further, unrelenting as they hold together with some unseen force.

Your boyfriend’s life fades in front of you, trapped in his glass prison as concealed robed heads turn to watch you, unrepentant as they make you watch your love slip away.

Your fists pound against the barrier, screaming Jay’s name in disbelief, willing him to keep his eyes open and look at you.

[Dream jump]

“Detective, this came for you.” One of Platt’s officers hands you a reasonably large box as you thank them and let them leave.

It’s a black box with no label or card attached, suddenly you’re confused as to how the officer knew it was for you. Realistically you knew you shouldn’t open it, it could have very well been something dangerous, but your feel compelled as you move on instinct, undoing the large gold ribbon wrapped around it.

The more you undo the knot in the ribbon, the worse the trembling in your hands gets, it was as though you already knew what was inside without seeing.

Lifting the lid may as well have been lifting a solid block of stone, discarding the top onto the floor as you peel away black sheets of paper.

The sight makes you gag.

Without hesitation, you knew that the pristinely cleaned and catalogued skeletal remains were Jay’s, returned from that incomprehensible and soulless place where they had taken his life in front of your eyes.

In your terror, your anger and your despair there is nothing left to do except scream, or at least try to. Throat-shredding gasps and squeaks tear at your vocal cords as you try and release your grief, fists clenched until–

[End of dream sequence]

You wake up still screaming, scrambling upright in the bed, thrashing around as that chasm of darkness swipes its claws at your consciousness, trying to pull you back in.

A warm hand on your bare shoulder makes you flinch, pulling away from it until you're almost falling off the edge of the bed. You whip your head around to the hand's source.

Concerned green eyes meet your wide, panicked, ones.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, it’s me. It’s Jay. You’re awake, everything is okay, and you’re safe with me. Breathe for me, honey.” Jay keeps his grip on you, gentle to not alarm you further but secure enough to prevent you from hurting yourself.

The longer the heat of his palm and fingers seeps into your skin, the easier it gets to breathe, the familiarity of his touch, the cadence in his voice, the smell of his aftershave, the quiet of your bedroom - it all grounds you.

That bliss of recognition relaxes your muscles, your eyes blinking against the sting of sleep and fear, tears that brim fall down in silent tracks on your cheeks. You know you’re safe, but the sensation of powerlessness and loss makes you feel like you’re dropping from a height, your stomach still giving involuntary flips of anxiousness.

“Jay.” It’s a broken whisper that makes your boyfriend’s heart ache, opening his arms up as you scramble back towards him, practically settling yourself into his lap as you wrap yourself tightly around him.

You kiss his neck, inhaling him as you steady your breathing further, slow and deliberate as you follow his guiding rhythm. Squeezing your eyes shut to get away from the tortured images, only to open them again as you see your greatest fears in that darkness.

Hands moving on instinct to feel every bit of him, stroking through his bed head, pulling back so you can look at him. His eyes search yours, trying to understand what you need, but it’s clear as you begin to trace the features on his face. His expression softens, nuzzling into your hand as you caress his jaw, chasing your hand to kiss your palm.

You study him again, cupping his face to press a slow kiss to his lips, he feels you shivering in his arms, the adrenaline and the chill of the room rattling your very being.

Wordlessly he lifts the duvet up and over your shoulders, cocooning you between him and the weighted, warm, material.

It’s not hard to guess what the nightmare was about, the way you watch him like he would disappear at any moment makes it all too clear. He takes your face in his hands like you had with him, reassuring you with certainty.

“I got you. You got me. I’m okay, I’m not leaving and nobody is taking me. Alright?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your cheeks, then back to your lips - he takes your focus away from the “What if”, letting you hear, feel and see him from second to second.

You simply nod, resting your head back on his shoulder as he holds you, gently rocking you as you sigh. Your heart races still, but not in the gallop that it had been. You feel fingertips tenderly massaging at your scalp, trailing over your neck to rub your back.

Focusing on the heat of Jay’s skin, the softness of his breaths, and listening to his gentle words as he occasionally encourages and soothes.

After a while you feel yourself truly come out of the alarmed stupor, croaking out a “Thank you.” with your dry throat.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. This is what I’m here for.” He gently encourages you to look at him, making sure you see his sincerity.

You smile, rubbing your thumb over the bridge of his nose.

“Want to talk about it?” He tests, running his hands up and down your arms.

You think about the question, not sure if you were ready to relive the moments of losing him just yet. Perhaps it would be a morning thing, where the sun could shine on both of you over breakfast and keep those shadows away, only existing in the story you would tell.

You shake your head, smiling weakly. “In the morning?” You suggest, to which your boyfriend nods without hesitation. “Of course.”

You glance at the clock, it reads 2am and you hum in thought. Sometimes, you and Jay would go to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate, then settle on the couch to watch something mindless and relaxing on the tv - it was a ritual that usually worked if either one of you was struggling, but you didn’t want to keep Jay awake. Despite the day off both of you had ahead of you, it was late and the case you’d been on this past week had been an energy wipeout.

In the silent weighing of your thoughts, Jay’s voice brings you back, you notice he’s got that knowing smile on his face, hands settled on your waist. “Hot chocolate and whatever’s on tv?” He asks, but really he knows it’s a sure thing.

You let out a small laugh, kissing his cheek. “If that’s okay? I don’t want you to lose sleep over this.” You frown, still not sure if you should just lay back down and try to sleep.

Jay shakes his head, “Babe, when do we ever just cut this short and force ourselves back to sleep when we’re not ready? I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you’re not feeling totally safe and totally relaxed. You wouldn’t want that for me either, would you?”

You of course shake your head too, there would be no way you’d let Jay just suck it up and not do everything you could to help him wind back down. You had countless nights of dealing with his nightmares and helping him calm down to show for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Jay kisses your forehead, “That’s settled then. Gimme a second.”

In a swift motion, he extricates himself from the warmth of you, rooting around in a drawer for one of your sleep shirts, some fluffy socks and the fluffy dressing gown that hung on the back of the door.

Then he returns to you and begins to put the shirt over your head, helping you get your arms in before pulling your legs carefully to the edge of the bed, making you laugh at the military-like execution of this routine.

“Cosy?” He asks, and you nod, shimmying off the bed to stand. “Cosy.” You confirm, immediately putting your arms through your gown as he holds it open for you, trying the belt securely as the soft material instantly eases the tension in your body.

You watch as Jay grabs his own shirt, some sweatpants and some socks, patiently waiting for him to get dressed too. Then you’re reaching for the hand he holds out to you as you both wander down the hall to the kitchen and lounge.

The sound of the simmering milk on the stove and the smell of the cocoa being stirred in has become one of your most cherished things with Jay, watching him put everything together and take such care of you only ever makes your heart grow fonder.

It was times like this that unquestionably reaffirm that you wanted him to be your husband one day, hopefully, one not too far away.

The lights are dimmed low, the curtains are drawn and the air is warm, you feel safe in your world with Jay, and your nightmare is all but forgotten for now.

With a pour of some caramel and a sprinkle of marshmallows onto the swirl of cream, Jay brings two steaming mugs over and hands one to you, holding the hot bottom of the mug to make sure you can take the cool handle.

“Thank you, honey.” You smile, making sure he’s got room to settle next to you - using your free hand to hold the blanket up so he can climb under.

Settled against Jay’s side, you sip at your hot chocolate, the ever-present weight of his arm around your shoulder lulls you into serenity as you watch the opening scenes of Our Great National Parks.

You lift your head, looking up at Jay, “This is how it should be forever.”, you muse, following up with words that you want him to hear as many times as you can say it. “I love you.”

Jay leans in, knocking his head gently against yours, “Y/N, this can be forever, you don’t have to doubt that. I love you too.”

Taking the last sips of your drink, you set the empty mug on the coffee table, pulling your legs back up to remain in the heat under the comforter, slipping your arms around Jay as you pillow yourself back against him, feeling the vibrations of his gentle laughter - he loved how assertive you could be about your cuddling.

“Good?” He asks, checking in with you one last time.

“Good.” You confirm as stretches of beach and forest are shown in rich colour and wondrous sound - letting your mind wander unafraid, secure in the knowledge that Jay is right where he’s meant to be.

Fin.

tags: @resanoona - @elius-learns-to-write - @dumb-fawkin-bitch - @enchantedblackrose

#one chicago #jay halstead #resa.3kfiestabingo #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd

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