#and if you feel a certain tingling on your nips

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Allan wanders out if the library doors with a pile of books and…. Blood? You’re eyes weren’t deceiving you, he had a smear of blood streaked across his face and a smug look to match. He just flashed a cheeky grin as he walked by and held up a book that was trying to snap at his face, but was bound with rope and twine. It’s cover was scratched and it appeared to be bleeding like an animal. Allan was unphased.

“If you think I look bad, you should see the book!” He grinned.

The castle hallways were unusually quiet as Nosy balanced majestically on the tail of the werewolf statue atop the fountain in the Central Hall, his sharp eyes scanning the ground below for any unattended shiny baubles or loose snacks that might've been left behind by careless students. The Teal King had already had a productive day, tucking away three knuts and what appeared to be a golden cufflink that would definitely fetch admiring looks later. Life was good.

That was until the library doors creaked open and Nosy's gaze snapped up. His little eyes narrowing as Allan strolled out, a wobbling pile of books in his arms. The human was one of the red ones, a Gryffindor, and the Niffler immediately squinted in suspicion. There was something… off.

For starters, there was a smear of blood streaked across the boy's cheek and a smug grin plastered on his face. Nosy tilted his head, curiosity thoroughly piqued. What in Merlin's saggy socks had this human been up to? The books in his arms looked ordinary enough, until one snapped at Allan's face, its jagged edges glinting ominously in the dim light. But Allan merely grinned, unphased by the feral tome that seemed determined to eat him whole.

"If you think I look bad, you should see the book!" the wizard grinned, holding up the bleeding menace like a trophy.

Nosy blinked, his eyes flicking between the wild, snarling book and the smug human. Oh, so this red dork wanted to show off? Before him? Before Nosy? Pff. Nosy puffed out his chest indignantly, just like Niffler Mama Will had taught him (though perhaps with more sass than grace). The little Niffler wasn't having this. The sheer nerve! Did that crimson clod think he was impressive? Please, mate. Nosy had defeated a pumpkin monster with his bare paws and his pea shooter just a few weeks ago! What did this guy have? A book? Pathetic!

With a loud and determined honk, the fluffy rascal leapt down, his teal fur bristling as he muttered squeaky curses under his breath, and landed squarely on the face of a mermaid statue at the base of the fountain in front of Allan.

He pointed an accusatory paw at the bitchy book and started to furiously waggle his little arms. The Niffler's gestures grew more dramatic as he mimed the epic battle of him firing his trusty pea shooter and toppling the fierce pumpkin monster all by himself!

Nosy'’'s message was simple. Everything you can do, I can do better. And if this Gryffindor thought he could outshine the Teal King, he had another thing coming.

[miraclewoozi]

SPECTACLE. -j.ww

in which your new boyfriend, wonwoo, doesn't give a crap about his expensive eyewear.

pairing : wonwoo x fem!reader. content : smut. pwp. tags under the cut. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. w/c : 2.7k. notes : yeah i kinda. went insane over this idea. so. bon appetite to you, and also to wonwoo ? i guess.

content + smut tags : established - but new - relationship. making out. FACE SITTING. impact play? (one gentle butt slap). the shenanigans are on a couch if that matters, i don't know. reader is a little shy about doing it. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.

Wonwoo looks flushed when he pulls away from where he’s been kissing and nipping at the side of your neck, hair stuck up in every direction thanks to your tugging fingers and your gentle guidance to help him find your sweet spots. His lips are pink and a little plumped. His glasses are steaming up, sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose, and every slightly heavier breath he takes makes his broad chest rise and fall where it’s pressed wholly against yours.

You can’t help yourself from leaning forward into another kiss; he’s completely irresistible. Maybe the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And while this isn’t really news to you, the dynamic of your relationship with him shifted a month or so ago and you’re still getting used to the privilege of seeing him this close up. 

He’s still adjusting too, if the way he groans directly into your mouth, hands groping harder at the curve of your ass as you shuffle in his lap is anything to judge by. Still learning, still figuring you out. But – and this is how you know what you’re building here might be the real deal – even when it’s clumsy, and when you knock teeth while you’re kissing and burst into slightly pained giggles, or when things accidentally slip out of place while you’re getting steamy… everything Wonwoo does makes your spine tingle. Makes your stomach flip. Makes your core throb. 

Even when it doesn’t always work? It makes sense, and it’s perfect, and losing yourself in the way his lips caress and worship yours is so damn easy when he murmurs your praises just for letting him do this in the first place.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks after a small forever, pulling back just far enough that he's not breathing up your nose. His hands have made their way under your – his – hoodie now and he’s grazing his fingers over your ribs, tickling enough to make you whimper, not enough for you to want to swat him away.

You think you’d give him the world if he asked for it in that deep, rough voice he adopts when things start heading in this direction. The moon too. Shit, if you could get a lasso around the sun and bring it closer to keep him warm, you’d do that as well. So, whatever his little request is now, you know you’re going to agree; resting your hands on his shoulders (finally leaving his gorgeous hair alone), you lean back from him and nod your head.

“Anything,” you say. You’re certain that you feel his cock twitch in his sweatpants where it’s pressed against the inside of your thigh, but you’re not quite sure why. 

It makes you feel hot, though. More-so when he bites back a grin, lips curling in that adorable way. It feels greatly unfair that you can’t swoop down right this second to kiss him again, and again, and again; as painful as it is though, you do exercise enough grace to wait for him to come out with it.

“Get up,” he says softly, dropping his hands down your sides and squeezing at your hips once. 

You do as he asks and move off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch; he doesn’t say anything else as he stands up himself, pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it to one side before sinking all the way down to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t see you. He shuffles into place with his back against the edge of the seat and only once he’s comfortable does he turn to look at you over one shoulder, grinning brilliantly.

“Okay,” he says, bending his knees and planting his heels into the floor. “Come here.”

You stand up off the cushions now and look down at him for a second, wondering what on Earth is going through his mind, but you know better than to start questioning his strange ideas. Especially when he’s in this sort of a mood. You step over him, one foot either side of his hips, and start to drop down too, but he puts a hand on each of your knees and stops you before you’re in his lap once again.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. His hands then make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pushes forwards, trying to guide you where he wants you. Your knees bend of their own accord and press against the couch on both sides of his head. “Like this.”

You don’t exactly freeze up, but it is as if you forget how to control all of your muscles for a second. The ones in your legs seem to turn to jelly and you know it’s only because the sofa is currently taking a portion of your weight that you don’t buckle completely and fall onto the top of his head. The ones in your face give you a slack-jawed, wide-eyed, unblinking expression. 

Your abdominal muscles tighten and your cunt flutters at what you’re sure he’s trying to suggest, the rush of wetness you feel only worsened by the intensity in his eyes as he tips his head back and looks at you.

“Please?” He asks, all sweet but deep and rough at the same time. 

“Are you s–?” You start to ask. 

Wonwoo clicks his tongue at you and tries to encourage you further onto the couch to prove his point. “Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. 

And then, just so you really can’t mistake what he's asking for–

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your entire body heats up at how bluntly he says it. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek so that you don’t accidentally laugh with the nerves already trying to burst out of your tummy. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. If you had a penny for every time you’d thought about him giving himself up for your pleasure this way, you’d be rich. You do. You’re going a little crazy just imagining how good it’s going to feel. 

It’s just that him being so bold about it has you feeling shy, and that’s never happened to you before. You’re at a loss. You’re totally stumped.

When you open your eyes again and look down at him, Wonwoo is just as earnest and hungry for you as he was a few seconds ago. If anything, it’s as if he wants it more. It’s without a doubt the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re nodding at him; his fingers start to drag up and down the backs of your thighs happily, before they hook under the waistband of your shorts and gently make that first little pull.

“If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he says to you, only pulling them all the way down when you start to help him. They get tossed over to the side to join his hoodie after you step out of them. His eyes glance to the panties you’re wearing – the last barrier, the final thing keeping him from what he’s so desperate for – before he looks back at your face and flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay?”

“It’s not that,” you laugh softly, taking off your own jumper and throwing it onto the pile. Wonwoo groans at the sight of you; you roll your eyes at him. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“Good,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and letting you settle onto your knees in position over his mouth, pressing his fingers into the top of your thigh. 

The first soft press of his lips over your panties makes you gasp and you hold a little tighter onto the back cushions as you look down at him. His eyes are closed already as he breathes your heady scent in, deep enough to hopefully stain his lungs, enough that he’ll never get rid of it, that he’ll be able to carry you everywhere he goes. 

But Wonwoo’s closed eyes aren’t the only thing you notice between your thighs and a soft laugh replaces the pleased sounds already spilling from your lips. One hand drops down to where he's settled and your fingers brush against his temple as they try to pinch at one side of his glasses. He looks affronted when he catches your gaze.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, gently moving your hand away. 

You tilt your head at him. “Your glasses,” you prompt, moving to reach for them again. His fingers curl around your wrist and he shoves your hand into his hair instead, rubbing the tip of his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“I want to keep them on,” he tells you.

“What if they break?”

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing his way back towards your covered pussy. “I’ll buy a new pair. I just wanna see you.”

You swallow at this and decide that you’re definitely not going to try and change his mind, instead choosing to tilt your head back and let his skilled tongue work you up through your underwear. It’s a mess of arousal and spit and they’re soaked, translucent, clinging to you by the time he’s frustrated with them; frankly, so are you, and it's a relief when he concludes that enough is enough.

“Baby,” he groans as he pulls your underwear to one side and has to crane his neck up to lick the flat of his tongue in a stripe up your slit. You whine, the cool air and his hot breaths a menacing mix of sensations, but you don’t have the sense to respond; one soft slap of his hand against your ass makes you look back down at him, though, and you’re met with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and a practically frenzied Wonwoo in the space between your hips. Your sweet, softly spoken boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“I said, sit.”

His strong arm tugs you down and your knees slide against the cushions, bringing your pussy even closer to his face, literally forcing you to rest against his lips. He chuckles triumphantly and buries his tongue between your folds, tasting you so much more legitimately than before. The way he loves – straight from the source, the spring. You feel him prod at your hole and your walls clench around what he gives you – barely just the tip, but it’s enough to have you reeling already, and when his other arm hooks around your other thigh, when he starts to move you back and forth, you take very little convincing to start to rock your hips down against him on your own.

“Oh,” you whimper as his lips seal around your clit and he sucks at it once, giving a few experimental flicks of his tongue at the same time. The hand in his hair tightens immediately and Wonwoo groans with you still in his mouth, sending delicious vibrations through your sensitive nerves and making you gush onto his chin. 

“So fucking pretty like this,” he tells you, stroking his thumb over your waist. “Might be my new favourite view.”

He keeps lapping at you teasingly, testing circles and sideways motions, precise swipes, long drags; every subtle change as he tries to find what makes you scream in this position draws a different sound from your throat. He tenses the muscle and fucks your dribbling hole with it while encouraging you to move enough forward that his nose bumps against your clit with every jerky rock of your hips. You’re grinding faster, now, pressing down against his mouth harder, caring less by the second about whether his glasses are actually going to break in two. Besides, the way he drinks you down tells you that he could do this for a week straight without getting tired; he doesn’t want you to stop, or slow down, or ease up. He wants more. And if you’re too shy to give it to him, he’ll just take, take, take.

“Just– oh, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again and he laps at it with so much zeal that he could rival your favourite vibrator. “Just like that–”

Both of his hands grasp you tighter, squeezing and massaging and kneading at your soft skin as you chase your high on his pretty face. His eyes are tightly closed in his own rapture, and you hope that he won’t blame you for wanting him to open them; your hand pulls harshly at his hair again, hard enough to make him cringe, enough to make him stop for just a second before he sees how wound-up you look. You try to pull off from him a little, at least enough for him to catch a couple of breaths, but Wonwoo captures your pussy between his lips before you even hear him inhale.

“You– you wanted to s—see me,” you stutter out as the fire starts to catch and you feel warmth and ecstasy start to build at your core. “Fuck– ah–”

So he does. With big, hungry eyes, Wonwoo watches as you hurtle towards oblivion, as you writhe and squirm and grind down against his ardent mouth.

He sends you crashing over the edge with a wet sob, your own eyes closing now as you see stars in the darkness and ride your high out on his still-moving tongue. There are tears on your cheeks before you can do anything about it. Your walls spasm around nothing. He barely slows, taking back enough pressure so that your pleasure doesn’t turn to pain. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink until you’re out the other side of your climax, though.

When your pants start to die down and you’re twitching to get away from him, so sensitive that even his tiny kisses make you shudder, Wonwoo drops his head back down to the pillows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You don’t have the strength to move yet, still reeling, still too floaty to try for any level of coordination, but he doesn’t mind. Your swollen, glistening pussy right over his face is something he'd pay millions to see.

“Didn’t even break the glasses,” you laugh weakly once your voice decides to come back to you. 

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, sliding them off his nose and inspecting them. He ‘tsk’s before putting them back on. They’re steamed at the edges and a little smeary now, and he surely can’t actually see that clearly through them. He obviously doesn’t care. “That’s not good enough.”

“Huh?” you ask, moving carefully so as not to plant your knee into his jaw but still trying to bring your legs together so that you can sit to one side. He isn't having it, though, and slowly shuffles up onto his knees, turns around to face you and lays his fingers on one of your ankles, wasting no time in trying to pry your legs apart again.

“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” he repeats, using his other hand to palm himself over the fabric of his sweatpants. The tent in them would be comical if it weren’t for the animalistic look in his eyes; there’s nothing laughable about the way he’s looking at you right now, though.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” You ask, opening back up for him and not hiding how you stare as he rips his shirt off over his head. Then, he slides his fingertips up the inside of your calf, to your knee, down your thigh… he drags them over the lips of your pussy and collects a little of your slick on them before bringing his hand to his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he tells you, groaning at your sweet taste as if he wasn’t just drowning in it a minute and a half ago. He lowers himself until he's once more level with your cunt and guides both of your legs over his shoulders, smirking up at your expectant face. “Maybe try to squeeze your thighs a little more this time. See if that does the trick.”

thank you so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyed this hehe. as always, likes, reblogs, replies, feedback and asks are always super appreciated.<3

[lucysstoryworld]

The Tormented & The Unforgiven | Azriel x Reader

Summary: What happens when one of Azriel's most trusted spies, someone he is beginning to care for, betrays him?

Warnings: This is dark and quite graphic. Abuse, torture, waterboarding, death. MDNI. Angst.

Word Count: 7,558

Masterlist

This wasn't happening... this was all just a sick nightmare. You'd wake up at any moment now, tangled in the sheets of your bed. The sun rising over a cool winter morning and trickling through your window would lull you from your slumber at any moment, you were certain. You tried to pinch yourself and were met with a tug. As if on cue, a dull yet deep ache permeated from your shoulders to your arms. A tingling feeling vibrated your fingertips, chained above your head. Oh... yes. Breaths rattled through your lungs, a crackling filling the dank space.

Definitely not happening... surely not.

Opening your eyes was a chore. They stung, the faelight from the hallway burned your retinas. A low hiss and another attempt later, your eyes remained open. The ache in your neck felt insignificant compared to that of those pulsing at random points in your body. The gorsian shackles choking your wrists and ankles ensured the pain would last. An low, agonised moan escaped your lips.

Definitely is happening. The agony that spread through every nerve of your body was all the proof you needed. Raising your head, you desperately tried to clear the fog. You were suspended from the ceiling with gorsian shackles, with matching chains gripping your ankles. The smell of damp and mould was almost as distracting as the cold that nipped at your body and heightened the ache of your injuries. There were small puddles on the floor beneath you, a leaking roof too - high risk of infection to the wounds that were littered across your body. Your mind was still lagging behind reality, your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Breathe. Remember your training.

A deep breath in, you focused on filling your lungs to their capacity. Pursing your lips, you blew the breath out slowly. Your focus remained solely on controlling the exhalation, all the way until there was nothing left. You repeated this twice more, just as your boss had trained you. Our job can be terrifying at times, this technique can help you focus and bring your heart rate down. Make our decision making more rational, he had said. He was right, you had come to realise. The breathing exercise had allowed you to calm down on more than a handful of occasions. That being said, it did not make your current situation any easier to understand. You remembered how you got here now... and you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

***

It was a normal day, for you at least. Returning from a mission a day previous, you had today to report your findings to Azriel and to rest. Exhaustion laid heavy on your body, the mission had been a long one with little reward. Although every mission had been similar to that as of late. While Eris was to be somewhat trusted, as Azriel had put it, it would be unwise to not send his own spies to make sure the High Lord and Lady were not being blindsided. So that was your detail. Stake out the Autumn Court and High Lord Beron along with his family. Figure out what was occurring behind the curtains and try to discover Beron's motives... at least so Azriel didn't have to rely on the word of Eris Vanserra. Though your boss had warned you to keep as much distance as you could, with all the Autumn Court soldiers being bewitched he did not wish that fate on you or any of your colleagues... yet you couldn't help the flutter in your heart when he had expressed this concern while looking directly into your eyes. You allowed yourself the small comfort (or delusion) of believing he told you this because he cared about you.

You used to have a rendezvous point with the Spymaster. Yet, after a rough mission in which you were too incapacitated to move from your bed, it soon became the routine for you and Azriel to debrief at your home. Not that you were complaining. You lived a solitary life being in your line of work. There were no records of your existence anywhere, no family to remember you nor any friend to seek your company. A truly invisible female. Apart from Azriel of course, though you were sure he did not see you as a friend or even acquaintance, just his employee. Not even his second in command. Though it did not stop you from feeling excited by his visits. They reminded you that you were alive. That you, at least, had one person who knew of your existence. So, with the butterflies of a youth in your stomach, you prepared for your visitor. You had already written out your report and left it sitting on your living room table. You had dressed in your usual style, and waited for Azriel to come to your door. The rushing of the Sidra filled your living area through the open window. Your generous salary as a spy allowed you to build this house, along the youthful stage of the river where it raced downhill and eventually through Velaris. You had not yet laid your eyes on the city that was only a depiction in your mind from how Azriel had described it. You knew he trusted you at least that much, to allow you to know where he resided. He had once offered to bring you there. Then the war happened and it became the last thing on either of your minds.

A series of knocks pulled you from your wandering thoughts. The seemingly nondescript rhythm of taps on the door made sure you knew who was on the other side. You fought back the slight grin that threatened to widen. You chided yourself, you were acting no better than the human females in the tales of princesses and knights you had read as a teenager. Your teenaged years had been rough, you had travelled up and down Prythian five times over, stealing and tricking to get by. You knew you wouldn't live as long as other fae did back then, your way of life bound to end you sooner rather than later by means of starvation or by disgruntled merchants. The books you nicked from time to time allowed you to fall into a different reality for a short while where life was much simpler. Where life consisted of whether or not the stars would align and let the princess remain with her true love. A moment later, you opened the door with the signature smile stretching across your lips. As quick as your smile appeared, it disappeared. Azriel was not alone.

Standing beside your boss was another Illyrian male few inches shorter though no less intimidating. For every blue siphon Azriel possessed, this male had just as many red ones. This must be Cassian, the General. You glanced at your boss warily, feeling slightly betrayed by him as your privacy was breached. Though from the look of his amber gaze, you knew it was not a good time to tackle him on it.

"Come in," You mumbled confusedly and widened the door. They stepped in and you watched as Azriel guided the warlord to sit at the table you had just been daydreaming at moments ago. "Would you like anything to eat or drink?" Careful, you warned yourself. Something wasn't right about this situation. Instinct had you scrambling to gain control of the unfolding events.

"No. Sit down," Azriel ordered. This was not the male you were accustomed to. While one could never describe Azriel as flamboyant, he was also not usually this cold toward around you. Quiet yet caring, not cold and calculating.

"Yes, sir," was your reply and you settled in the seat opposite the two males. Your heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. Your tendencies had you wishing you at least had your dagger nearby. You trust him, you always have, the voice in your mind whispered. Reaching out to open the report between the three of you, you did not miss how the General tensed ever so slightly. It was a movement so slight that, to the untrained eye, it would have been unnoticeable. Meeting Azriel's eyes once again, you allowed the confusion to show on your face. "I assume you want the report of my previous mission in Autumn." You weren't sure if it was a question or a statement.

A few beats of silence passed and both males stared you down. You waited, staring back. If there was something amiss, you would not allow them to think it was something to do with you. "Go ahead." Azriel's tone was so... cruel. Like you were a mouse caught in the claws of a street cat. Like he was toying with you.

You would not bite. If there was an issue, they were more than capable of speaking plain to you. "As you know, this mission spanned a period of four months," You began. As you continued to debrief your mission, you felt as though you were speaking to brick walls. While both sets of eyes remained solely focused on you, they seemed to be looking through you. As though what you were saying was insignificant. You tried to make sense of it. There was no major outcomes of your mission, so perhaps that was the reason for their demeanour. "I observed a member of High Lord Beron's spy circle enter and leave fairly often. I could not get close enough to determine why or what was the reason for these visits. I dug as much as I could but could only ascertain that it had something to do with Eris. If he has been absent then it is likely because he is being watched closely." Closing the report, you slid it across the table to Azriel, "Anything I may have missed will be in my report like always." You never missed out on any detail, though you always said it to Azriel.

You sat back in your chair. There was usually some discussion after you finished your report. Azriel would question you on various parts of your account in order to try make a connection that you could have missed. When you were new to the world of being a spy, it annoyed you to no end. You did not enjoy being second guessed. Azriel had explained to you that all he wished to do was brainstorm with you, try to figure out the puzzles together. A problem shared is a problem halved. So the lack of conversation after only added to uncertainty and began to grate on your nerves.

"Anything else?" The General pressed. Your head shot to him. He looked ready to pounce on you at any moment.

Heckles raised, your brows furrowed, "No?"

"Are you sure?" Azriel bit. If Cassian looked ready to pounce, Azriel looked ready to kill.

"Yes, I'm sure," You snapped back, heart beginning to race. "Can you cut it out? Get to the point!"

You cursed yourself for slightly jumping when Azriel's fist slammed against your wooden table. Your mind ran in circles around itself trying to decipher what it was that you had done to have your boss so visibly angry. So visibly struggling to control his fury. "I am being more than patient with you. You have one final chance to reveal what you have done... I cannot and will not refrain from extrapolating it through any means necessary." His voice was a vicious growl that seemed to make your very bones tremble.

Your stomach felt weak, your cool and calm spy demeanour a thing of the past. Sweat accumulated along your brow as your eyes frantically darted between your boss and the General. "I-I..." You hesitated. You were drawing a blank and a curse quickly followed from your breath at just how guilty you looked, especially to one so keen as the Spymaster of Night himself. "I truly do not know what this is about... please I'm sure whatever has happened is some sort of miscommunication." You nearly fell over your chair as you stumbled out of it, trying to create some distance between yourself and the hulking Illyrians who were beginning to stalk towards you in a strange unison. They didn't appear to be doing it consciously though that did nothing to ease the terror snaking up your spine as they drew nearer. "Azriel please... you must believe me. I don't know what this is about. You know me!" It was true. Azriel was the only living soul on The Mother's land that knew you through and through.

A cruel snort from Azriel seemed to dash any hope from you. "I thought I did, though that was my mistake," Azriel replied. In an instant both males grabbed your arms and forced you to your knees. You hated to admit it, but the feeling of betrayal had tears beginning to line your eyes. You hated it even more when you began to plead with him, beg him to believe you. However neither Cassian nor Azriel replied. They only secured chains around your wrists and ankles and a charmed sack over your head. The sack blocked all sound and sight, not even a crack of light. Your panic created a lump in your through as the only noise to greet you was your own laboured breaths. The tears finally dribbled over when your felt the hands of Azriel and Cassian roughly push and shove you to and fro. You knew where you were headed. You had delivered a target or two to the dungeons of the Hewn City -- well you had delivered them to Azriel's second in command, or Azriel himself, to bring there.

You knew that those targets never left those dungeons either.

***

You remembered now. Some time had passed from then... a few days... a few weeks... you weren't sure. It was so desperately, desperately dark down here. You had been rendered unconscious a number of times. Whatever information Azriel believed you possessed translated to him using all manner of force to squeeze it out of you. He allowed other members of his spy circle... your spy circle to torture this mystery information out. He knew the betrayal would cut deeper than any blade or whip ever could. Despite the kindness within Azriel, he was a talented torturer. He seemed to know that mere flesh wounds wouldn't break someone like you. You had known cuts and bruises long before you ever came into Azriel's employ. And he knew that. Seeing the quiet rage in your former colleagues eyes, seeing your own betrayal reflected in their gazes, tore something in you. You had worked with each one of them on one mission or another. Now they were taking their pain out on you... traitor had been imbedded onto your torso by Alyia in her native tongue from the continent. Elijah had pulled out your molars, his knife tearing strips from your gums in the process. Oscar ripped three fingernails from you. You screamed and wailed that you knew nothing. That this was a mistake. Though your pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

So you hung there, despair your only company until the next barrage began. No one would believe you, that much was painfully obvious now. They would not allow you a quick nor painless death... so you stopped eating and drinking. You would at least keep your dignity in controlling your own death, even if your mouth had the consistency of sandpaper and hunger pains were a torture in their own right.

Footsteps began to echo toward your cell. They were light, but making themselves known. Azriel. He had not shown himself since you had been dragged here. A strategic move on his part. He was saving his presence until it was absolutely necessary, you were sure. He allowed your colleagues to begin chipping away at your presumed resolve. Allowed them to begin cracking you, so he could deliver the final blow and reveal all your secrets. You raised your head, waiting for him with half lidded eyes. Seeing him standing there, wings flared and a tray in hand, brought a rush of emotions. Anger, rage, despair, betrayal, injustice. You wanted to scream at him, to curse his name and his existence. The urge bubbled in your chest. However, when you laid your eyes upon him, it all died on your tongue. What use had screaming gotten you thus far. Thus, you dipped your chin once again.

You closed your eyes and listened as he passed through the door. Listened as he placed the tray on the table that had held pliers, daggers and whips in the prior hours. You felt his shadows snake and slither over your aching body. They seemed to bite and nip at each of your injuries. You twitched at their barrage, it felt like tiny needles poking at your mangled body. Even so, you would not raise your head. As silent as a mouse, Azriel moved to stand before you. His shiny boots were all you could see. A groan erupted from you when he grabbed your cheeks and forced your head upright. His amber eyes burned with hatred, though they wandered all over your faced. Lingered on the swelling on your left eye that would soon become too large for you to open and close.

"Hunger strike, really?" He questioned unimpressed, squeezing your cheeks so hard that the cuts inside your mouth reopened and dribbled out of your lips onto his gloved hand.

You stared through him, forcing your mind out of that dingy cell and back to your peaceful home. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the flowing Sidra over the noise of your own agony. If you thought hard enough, you could smell the breads you used to make more than the smell of your blood. If you thought hard enough, you could transport yourself to a reality where this wasn't happening.

A harsh slap reeled you back into the dungeon. Stars danced across your vision. The lack of food and water made that slap feel like a punch. When they cleared, you gazed upon the cruel beauty of Azriel Shadowsinger. It seemed like eons ago that this male set butterflies afloat in your stomach. Now all he did was set led weighing on your stomach. "Keep your eyes on me." You hated the way you obeyed. You were terrified of the horrors Azriel could release unto you. It was no secret to anyone in Prythian the creativity he possessed in the arts of torture. He raised a cup of water to your lips. No. You jerked back, clenching your teeth together. He struggled with you, holding the back of your head. Shaking your head, you dodged his attempt to hydrate you by any means necessary. His fingers curled around your blood-matted hair, and he yanked with all his might. You shrieked at the pain and Azriel used the excuse to pour the water in. You choked and sputtered until you expelled as much of it as you could.

"Fuck you!" You coughed out, your throat raw and breaths heaving.

An impatient snarl passed through Azriel's lips. He walked back to the small table to where the tray rested. You watched this time, and saw that the tray consisted of three jugs and some rags, along with the cup in his hand. One of the jugs slammed back onto the table, its contents spilling over the edged. "Let's try this again, agent," Azriel spoke steady. "You will drink and then you will eat. You will not get out of this the easy way. Is that clear?" His tone promised violence.

"No," You voice was low but defiant.

A humoured chuckle escaped the Spymaster as he returned to your front. "I was not requesting," Was all he said before he grabbed your head again and attempted to force the water down your neck. You thrashed and shook, though a couple drops managed their way past your protests. You detested that the cool water felt nice on your raw throat. The struggle continued until the remanets of the glass dribbled down the rags that covered your battered body.

Wordlessly, Azriel returned the table again. This time, he abandoned his cup and picked up the jug. And a rag. "I gave you two chances to drink properly," He began and immersed the rag into the jug. Your heart began to race like it had many times over the last while. Taking the rag out of the water, Azriel held it over your face. His hand slid to the back of your head and held your hair so tight that you couldn't move an inch. Before you had a chance to take a breath, Azriel began to pour the water slowly over the rag. You tried to gasp, though the water made you splutter and choke. Your mind went wild with panic, your chest heaving in attempt to draw in enough air. Trying to scream only resulted in weak groans and more choking. "This will go on for as long as you wish to protest," Azriel began. "I will have the water topped up regularly. You will not know more than a moments peace until you either confess what you have done or until you have decided to eat and drink." Dread swirled in your guts. You had enacted this very torture on a male before, it really could go on for hours. For as long as was necessary.

"I-I-" You tried to choke out. The water halted for a moment. "I don't know what I must confess! Azriel please-!"

"Don't. You. Dare!" Azriel roared. You body trembled and your head pounded from his grip on your hair. "Cut the shit!"

For the first time since you had been brought here, a loud sob ripped through your throat. You had screamed and wailed from the torture before, but you hadn't outright cried like this. Your pride had prevented it. Now, you couldn't control the sobs that shook your body. It had seemed to pause Azriel for the moment, for he did not move or speak. He just let you cry. Your eyes burned from the tears and your tears burned the gashes on your face. Your heart weighed heavy in your body, hopelessness withered your soul. Your jaw clenched as you heaved. "This is some sick joke," You whispered to yourself. "Please just tell me if it's a joke, I'll forgive everyone I promise."

"This is no joke," Azriel spoke softly. Softly like one would speak to a lover. You wished that were the case. But instead, the water began to trickle over your face again.

***

It had been a few days since Azriel had returned to Velaris. Your silence troubled him greatly. He must've waterboarded you for at least five hours, only stopping when you had passed out from hyperventilation. Troubled, yet impressed. He had never known another target to last that long. They either cracked, confessed or passed out much earlier. Azriel chalked it up to your hard upbringing. You had only revealed bits and pieces, more being divulged the longer he knew you... if those stories were even the truth anymore. Though you were beginning to crack, that much was certain. It had been about three weeks since Azriel and Cassian had dragged you into those dungeons. His spies reported the actions they took in order to extract the information from you. Some of it would make even the toughest males cringe. As much as Azriel loathed you for what you had done, the descriptions of your torture and the results of which he had seen decorated on your body was a tough pill for him to swallow. Especially when it stretched on so long with no result. Was all the pain and suffering worth it when it yielded nothing? Whatever information you possessed must be worth such a fate.

A knock on Azriel's door pulled him from his depressing stream of thoughts. He called for his visitor to enter and lifted his head from the paper on his desk, it was not like he was really reading it anyway. Rhys walked through the door and sat on a chair in front of his Spymaster. It seemed funny for his High Lord to be before him rather than the other way around. "What is it, brother?" Azriel questioned. Rhysand had been disappointed when it was revealed that one of Azriel's more trusted spies had turned traitor, or been a traitor all along. Especially when it had gone unnoticed by the Shadowsinger himself, only to be unveiled by said Shadowsinger's second in command. Rhysand had held his tongue then, seeing how blindsided and angered Azriel had been. He wasn't completely sure, but Rhysand suspected it could have had something to do with some feelings developing between his brother and the traitor.

"How has it been coming along? Do we have any idea how much intel has been passed onto Beron?" Rhysand asked carefully. It was a silly question really, Azriel would've come to him straight away with that kind of information. He just wanted to check on his brother.

With a grimace, Azriel answered. "She has been a tough one to crack. Not even a sliver of information that I can make anything of."

"Perhaps it is time for a change of strategy?" Rhysand suggested.

Azriel's eyes met his brother's. He knew what he was suggesting, the power swirling throughout his High Lord's gaze could extract the truth in a matter of moments. But the idea sickened Azriel. Not only because he knew it turned Rhys' stomach to do so, but also because he wanted to avoid that end for you if at all possible. It confused the Illyrian really. On one hand, he wanted to rip you to shreds for betraying his trust. On the other, he wished he could go back in time and relive those peaceful moments of your friendship and his blooming feelings for you. Azriel clenched and unclenched his jaw. "That is our last resort, brother. I wish to try one more thing, if that does not work, then..."

Rhysand dipped his chin. "Of course, Az." He would probe Azriel later for his true thoughts. The shadows twirled around Azriel in a frenzy. They were typically a good indicator of when was a good time to talk to him.

***

You had been lowered to the ground, your ankles remained chained. Lying on the cold damp floor, tears dripped steadily down your cheeks. You did not sob and you tried to stop the flow, but it did not halt. Maybe you were going mad because the tears did not reflect the emptiness you felt eating a hole into your soul. It was horrifying yet comforting. You did not feel like the host of your own body, you felt like an outsider. Your assailants stabbed and whipped, you screamed and groaned. Yet you felt nothing on the inside. You did not beg or plead. You no longer protested when they forced food and water down your neck. You did nothing. There was nothing left in you. The lack of reaction had gained you no mercy. Large, deep gashes scored your arms. So lethal that the healer had advised that you be lowered, or else the wounds would stretch and you would bleed to death. Of course you could not die yet. The news must have made it to the boss because he stood before your cell for the second time since you arrived. You expected your heart to race, for fear to rattle your bones once again. Yet you remained still. Unbothered. They truly had broken you beyond repair. In walked Azriel. Your eyes followed each of his movements. His slithering companions remained by his side, as though they were on a leash.

"What have they done to you?" Azriel's voice was so soft as he hunched down before you. He reached out with an un-gloved hand to take your own. Red-stained bandaging covered two gaps where fingers had been. The gorsian shackles had been doing their job, along with the drops of faebane in your water. The healing was slow... but still healing. Was this what it was like for the humans?

You remained mute, still staring at your former friend. He met your eyes once again, not holding back his troubled face. If Azriel was being honest with himself, your silence was jarring. That look on your face was scary. You were slipping away before him, before the job was done. He replaced his grip on your mangled hand to wipe the tears from your cheek. You did not so much as flinch. Instead, your eyes closed. This was the only soft touch you had received in what felt like forever, and with your end drawing near you would enjoy it. Even if the one that would order your execution was providing you with that warmth. For a moment, you slipped into a reality stars away. A reality in which you were lying beside this male, his hand not wiping tears but caressing gently. A world where you could open your eyes and see Azriel's loving expression. Not this world.

"Let's try this a different way, sweetness." The nickname startled you. It had been a joke between you and him before all this. He had teased you for the amount of sugar in your tea. "Can you sit up for me?" Azriel spoke to you like he had before this nightmare began. You shook your head. It was only now that Azriel realised that your hands were clutching your stomach... no guarding it. He lifted the rag-like shirt that covered your top-half. Another inscription had been cut there. No, burned there. The spymaster's own hands twitched at the sight. For how depraved he was, he had never been depraved enough to enact this specific torture on anyone.

"It means snake," Your voice cracked. Raw from both disuse and screaming, Azriel was sure. "Alyia promised for every day I do not reveal my treachery, she will brand me with names through different means. You would be proud of her," You chuckled. The chuckle soon turned into a mixture of groans and coughs that spattered blood into your hand.

"I am not proud of this." It was the truth. As much as it was necessary at times, Azriel did not delight in torture. Much less yours. "Why are you keeping the information then? Surely you do not wish for this to continue."

Another laugh filled the room, the tears still streaming from you. The laugh turned to a cackle this time, loud and crazed. It lasted a few moments and all Azriel could do was watch. He had seen this many times before. The emotions of a tortured soul were not to be understood. He waited until your giggles died down. When they died, your arm wiped the tears. "You must think me stronger than I really am! I would've confessed long ago if I was a traitor. I've even thought of fabricating a confession so it would mean I would be put out of my misery but you would see through that and you'd keep me alive even longer." Your words struck a cord in Azriel. It was a strange thing for an old friend to wish for death at his hands, particularly when he knew your guilt to be fact. A fantastic actress you were, your performance was weighing greatly on Azriel's moral compass.

"How can you possibly think I will believe that?" He demanded incredulously. "I have seen the facts with my own eyes, through the work of someone I trust more than you."

That meant that Elijah, his second in command had either framed you or been fed false information so strong that it could not be refuted. "I don't think you will believe me," You replied dryly. "You have shown me that. So how about you tell me what you know."

Azriel rolled his eyes. He had trained you very well, your performance had tugged on even his heartstrings. "I know you are feeding intel about this court and my actions to Autumn," He growled and stood. He began to pace back and forth in front of you. "I was wondering why you kept requesting missions to the Autumn Court. I stupidly thought it was because you wished to help me with the unfolding business and please me. Because I believed you cared! That was my mistake. So now all that remains is to find out exactly what you have fed to Beron. So please, sweetness, tell me what you know and I will gladly put you out of your misery!"

Another humourless cackle erupted from you. "Let's be real, Azriel. You won't believe the truth even if it slapped you in the face. You have been tricked, but not by me. The truth will reveal itself one day, old friend. Whether it is in a few days or a few years, it will come out. Just know that when it does and I am dead, I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life."

With that, Azriel left your dungeon. This was his last attempt at extracting the truth. He had hoped that showing you kindness would give you enough hope that the truth would come out. He was wrong. So as he winnowed home, he mentally called for a meeting with Rhysand. Azriel's heart thumped painfully in his chest at your words. They resonated with him for some reason, the hard look in your eyes would be something he would never forget.

***

Elijah kept your hands bolted to each arm of the chair with two knives. They pierced all the way though your palm and at least a few inches into the wooden armrests. The pain that came with it was among some of the less severe you had become accustomed to. It was downright trivial compared the burning agony of the large screw being slowly twisted into your foot. Out of anyone, his punishments were the most painful. Elijah held a crazed look in his eye, a corner of his lips quirking while he inflicted his torment. It made sense to you now. For him, it was a sick delight. He enjoyed making you scream, making you beg for death. He wasn't trying to extract any information from you, he was merely toying with his spoils.

"You," A series of deep, laboured breaths ensued. "You're sick. I know what you've done."

The Cheshire-grin that slinked across Elijah's face was terrifying. "Oh how clever of you. Unfortunately for you, it is your word against my own. You are a pawn in a game that was created long before you let the Shadowsinger into your home for the first time. However, a happy coincidence it has been, girl. I could've never imagined the enjoyment I could get out of this. A dull affair turned an excess of excitement." You bowed your head. He was right. No one would believe you now, not that Azriel had revealed who had damned you. How convenient it would be for you to reveal Elijah's treachery so soon after your former boss had told you he was involved in your capture. Not to mention that whatever evidence the second in command had procured was enough to convince your boss and colleagues of your unwavering guilt. A terrible hybrid of a groan and scream ripped through your already raw throat as Elijah twisted the screw another full turn into your foot. It wouldn't be long now. Your end was in sight, Azriel's patience would not stretch much further. The only things you had left to fear was the method that would kill you and The Mother's grace to allow you back into her arms.

As if on cue, a group of footsteps echoed down the halls. You had come to recognise Azriel's. The other two you weren't sure of, but you assumed The General was in tow. The final pair were a mystery. Elijah spun on his heel, ready to greet his boss. In an instant, he was down on one knee, bowing so low he looked as though he could kiss the bloodstained ground. "High Lord, it is an honour." Your blood ran ice cold. Your head shot up and beheld the three Illyrians, each one just as petrifying as the other. Though, the High Lord's power blanketed the cell, seeping into every crack and corner. High Lord Rhysand stared right into your fear-filled eyes. There was whispers and rumours as to exactly what this male had done. He could turn your brain to mush and leave you living. He could rip your mind to shreds, give you the most agonising death with little effort. The horrors of his victims had never been far from your ears. The male's stare promised the same fate for you. It had you scrambling to ensure your own mental shields were intact, as though you could resist the might of the most powerful High Lord in history.

Rhysand called you by your full name, full of authority and reflecting the power that lurked behind his eyes. Raising your head, you looked anxiously at Azriel. You did everything to portray your fear and terror into that look. "Eyes on me." Rhysand bit. With a heart beating loud enough that everyone in the room could hear it, you met the eyes of your High Lord.

"My lord, please. This is a mistake," You begged one last time. One last chance at freedom. He would see the truth in your mind, but there would be nothing left of you to save.

"You have one final chance to reveal what you fed to Beron. Otherwise I will rip your mind apart until I find it myself," He promised viciously. You felt a razor-sharp claw make a long, uncomfortable pass over your mental shield.

You flickered your eyes to Elijah, who looked pale. This was it, your chance at justice. Even if you wouldn't be alive to witness it. Then you slid your gaze back to your old friend... your old love interest. Azriel scanned your body, holding on the knives in your hands and the screw in your foot. Cassian watched the exchange, though he had a harder time at hiding his expressions at the various horrors littering your body. "Remember what I told you," You spoke as you held the stare of Azriel. "I know nothing, High Lord. I have not fed any information to Beron or anyone from the Autumn Court."

Rhysand breathed a deep sigh when your eyes met once again. "Very well. May the Mother punish you justly for your sins." The feeling the followed was unlike anything you suffered before. You could not move, you could not scream. He was right there, in your mind. You could feel his essence cleaving your consciousness apart. Through each memory he watched, he destroyed it as he went. It felt like time had been slowed to a fraction of what it had been. The last few weeks of your torture felt inconsequential to these moments passing at a snail's pace. The blood that began to ooze from your nose, eyes and ears trickled slowly and took your mind with it. Everything you had ever been, would be and could've been was dribbling into a puddle in your lap.

You tried to push him out, tried to reinstate the shields and get him out. Give it up, his voice was a ripple of night. It was the voice of the High Lord, but also something more. Something demonic and beastly. It demanded you, and your mind conceded. The end was drawing near, you found yourself trying to remember your life and were met with nothingness. There was nothing left of you, only this pain and suffering. Why was this happening? You could not recall. Just let it end, you willed it. You repeated it like a mantra, begging whatever demon was inhabiting you to just kill you. The blood tickled your face as it now poured from you, but you could do nothing about it. Not as you heard ringing in your ears and your world fade to black.

Azriel watched in horror, having never witnessed this side of his brother's power in person. Dread weighed on him as your mouth hung open in silent horror, blood and drool pooling into your lap. Your fingers had curled and eyes clenched shut. Despite what you had done, Azriel would never wish this fate on his worst enemy. The image before him was something that even the most graphic horror novel could not depict. Azriel watched as the life drained from your body. Your hands relaxed first, then your expression relaxed and lastly, your upper body drooped and slumped over itself.. It was strange, you looked like you were sleeping peacefully despite the carnage you experienced. Rhysand's eyes focused once again and he quickly whipped around. Azriel jumped forward putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "What's going on?" Cassian shouted.

"Where is he?!" Rhys bellowed, ripping from Azriel's grip.

"Who? Where's who?! Talk to me!" Azriel snapped.

"Elijah!" Both remaining brothers whirled around to where the spy was previously. An empty corner was all the remained.

Azriel's heckles raised, nothing was making sense. Cassian seemed to catch on partially. "Why do you want him?"

Rhysand looked solemnly at Azriel and Cassian. "It wasn't her, Elijah set her up."

Azriel froze, his heart pumped loudly in his ears. This couldn't be happening. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, his hands shook by his side. Carefully, he looked at where you were slumped in the chair. "No..." He barely whispered. Azriel's words seemed jumpstart Rhys and Cassian into action. Cassian ripped from the room, his feet stomping down the hall in pursuit of the real traitor.

Azriel approached you slowly, hoping there was some of you left to save. To save so he could repent. Tentatively and more gently than anyone had been with you in weeks, the Shadowsinger raised his fingers to your neck and waited. Waited for something, anything. "She's gone brother, I made sure of it," Rhysand stated, shame and regret thick in his tone. The Spymaster collapsed to his knees beside you, his mind replaying all the times you had begged for him to believe you. Replaying all the times his gut had told him there was something amiss. Sobs began to rack through his body, his heart had cleaved in two. In that moment, Azriel felt no better than his step brothers. An innocent female, an innocent and amazing female dead by torment he had ordered.

***

Azriel took charge of arranging your funeral himself. Guilt and shame had plagued him in the days since your death... no your murder. You laid on the pyre outside the home you had made for yourself. The Sidra rushed aggressively, as though it had been angered by your demise. The healers had cleaned your body as best they could, covered you with the finest silk Azriel could buy. But, he could still see the characters engraved on your skin. The holes in your hands where Elijah's knives had been were visible as they laid criss-crossed over your heart. Your cheekbones jut out in a sickly manner from your face. You looked clean, but nothing like the female Azriel had fallen in love with. He knew that now, that he had fallen in love with you. And he had destroyed you. A shell of the female you used to be laid dead on the pyre, all because of him. Azriel wished he could awake from this hell. Awake and see your face full and happy. Instead, he saw the eternal rest before him. Despite the peace on your face, all he could see was the image of your freshly dead body; mouth hung open with blood spilling from it, tears still trickling down your cheeks. With a flaming torch, Azriel set the pyre ablaze. He had attended this on his own, despite the protests of his family. He would attend this alone. Though Azriel was sure that the thought of him being the only attendee at the ceremony of your untimely demise would disgust you.

As your body burned, along with your most prized possessions, Azriel vowed to never forget what he had done to you, his friend and lost love. He would walk every day with the thought of you whispering in the back of his mind. For everyday he would remember what he did to you with the most crushing guilt, it would never account nor excuse the turmoil he put you through. Would never amount of the betrayal and injustice he unleashed unto you. Azriel Shadowsinger would never allow himself a moments peace again. Because you had never gotten yours. You had never even gotten so much of a chance at peace. Azriel knew it was a fitting punishment, he even smiled dryly at your burning body as he recalled your final words to him.

I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life.

I would appreciate any feedback that you have! Let me know what you think! :)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 3: Blindfolds

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Character: Stanley Pines

Warnings: p in v, being blindfolded

It was an innocent request, just something that you whispered in Stan's ear as he took you dancing, the man holding you close.

A low rumble resonating in his chest as his fingers ran down your back "Funny you should mention that, darlin'," he murmured, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "I just happen to have a certain silk scarf that would look mighty fine blindfolding that pretty little face of yours."

His large hands roamed your curves possessively, fingers tracing the tantalizing swell of your hips. "And I got a few other tricks up my sleeve to make this anniversary one you'll never forget," he purred, nipping playfully at her earlobe as he waited for an answer.

It did not take long for you to agree and soon Stan whisked you away, his hand gliding up and down your leg. He waisted no time in carrying you off to the bedroom, barely kicking the door shut. Falling back on the bed, you watched Stan tug one of your silk scarf free from your draw. "You ready beautiful."

"I am~"

Stan hummed, a grin forming on his lips as he hovered above you. His fingers grazing your cheek as he then tied the scarf over your eyes as your vision went dark.

Stan chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "That's it, darlin'," he purred, his calloused hands caressing your sides reverently. "Just let ol' Stan take care of you."

With the silk scarf blindfolding you, your other senses heightened, drinking in the familiar scent of Stan's cologne and the warmth radiating from his large frame as he hovered over you. The anticipation was thick in the air, making her you tingle with electricity.

Stan's lips trailed featherlight kisses along your jaw, his rough stubble scraping deliciously against your delicate skin. "You have no idea how much I've missed this," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. "Missed having you all to myself."

Lowering his head, Stan captured your lips in a searing, passionate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours. One hand tangled in your h, pulling her flush against his muscular frame.

Desire coiled low in your belly, the familiar ache for Stan's touch intensifying with each caress, each breathless kiss. Your arched into him, desperate to feel more of his calloused hands on your skin.

"Stan..." you gasped, your voice thick with need. "Please..."

With a growl escaping your lips, Stan's fingers clutched your dress pushing it past your hips as he tugged your panties aside. Grabbing a condom from the nightstand, Stan slipped it on. His cock brushing your clit, his tip grazing your folds until he slowly slid in as his name spilled from your lips.

Nails digging into his back, you body arched off the bed as Stan continued to thrust into your warmth a guttural groan leaving his lips feeling your walls clench and flutter around his throbbing length as you kept chanting his name.

"That's it, sweetheart," he rasped, his hips maintaining their steady, relentless rhythm. "Scream my name..."

[its-all-stardust]

Sugar || 8

Masterlist || Part Seven || Part Nine

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asks when he walks into your apartment.

You greet him with a grin, almost bouncing on the balls of your feet. You couldn’t wait for him to get here.

Your hands are on his chest, his on your waist, and you’re leaning into him before the door is even closed. “How do you feel about getting dressed up and being my date in two weeks?”

Steven seems to catch on to your excitement, realizing something is up. “This isn’t a regular date, is it?”

You shake your head. “Charity auction. I just got word today that I have an opening for my plus one, and I want you to come with me.”

He frowns, his hands twitching against you. “You had another date?”

“Just Dan. He had to cancel. He’s having a surprise party for his son that day.”

Somehow, Steven’s frown manages to deepen. “Who’s Dan?”

You feel him start to pull away, but you slide your hands up and lock them behind his neck, preventing his escape. There’s an elated tingling in your chest, and you soften your expression.

“Dan is my CFO. He always goes with me to these things to handle all the schmoozing because I don’t like talking to people.” Steven’s shoulders relax under your arms, the lines easing from his face. You press a reassuring kiss on his cheek. “Is that an acceptable answer?” you tease.

Steven sputters, though his hands are pressed more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer.

“If you wanted to be with other men, who am I to stop you?” he says. Though you can hear the relief in his voice, you also detect a lingering nervousness.

Your lips move to his jaw. “Too bad I don’t want to be with other men.”

Steven’s breath hitches. “No?”

You shake your head, inadvertently yet wonderfully nuzzling into him. “I only want you.”

A bold statement to say to a baby, but that’s how you’ve been lately. It started before your vacation just two short weeks ago, but it’s grown since then, and so far, you haven’t had reason to stop.

You only want Steven, which may be more than a little dangerous for you. You have sugar babies because they’re not like traditional relationships. They’re easier for a number of reasons, and generally, you don’t develop…certain feelings for your babies. They dutifully fulfill their role as companions, and you’ve always been fine with that.

But Steven has become more than just another baby to you. If you’re not careful, you could end up hurt.

“Oh,” Steven breathes, apparently all he can say. He’s practically vibrating against you, though, telling you all you need to know about how your words affected him.

Then, he says, “Good,” and kisses you. Steven is holding onto you like he can’t bear to let you go, and you return the intensity in kind. Your hands are in his hair, nails scraping along his skin.

He nips at your lips, drawing a gasp from you.

He’s been getting bolder, too.

When you finally part, Steven’s pupils are blown wide, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so… possessive.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you tease, trying to hide your elation that Steven seems to only want you, too. You’re not the best at reading people, but unlike some, Steven has never tried to hide how he’s feeling.

“No,” Steven says softly before burying his face in your neck, his hands roaming along your back. “I don’t want to hear about you with other people.”

Your heart is beating so fast; it’s a wonder it’s still in your chest.

Maybe, with Steven...

You didn’t pick this dress for Steven. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. You liked it because the fabric isn’t itchy, and the fit isn’t too tight. Nor did you pick it because you know it gets you lingering stares.

No, you chose it because you thought it was pretty. That was all.

The lie only worked until Steven saw you coming down the stairs.

His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. You saw him nervously playing with the cuffs of his jacket, endlessly twitching, until he spotted you.

The dress isn’t flashy—this is a classy fundraising event, after all, not a film premiere—but it exudes a quiet power.

It’s floor-length and midnight blue, with a shallow v-cut neckline that provides only a hint of cleavage. The sleeves are long, trailing a mere inch above the hem of the skirt, your heels saving them from touching the floor, and split just above the elbow for ease of use of your arms.

The finishing touches are the silver jeweled appliques on your shoulders in the shape of starbursts. They square out your shoulders, giving the illusion of perfect posture and fierce demeanor.

Not wanting to do the work yourself, you visited a salon earlier in the day to get your hair and makeup done. Steven saw that before the completed look, and even then, he was stunned by you. Your hair is pulled into an elegant bun to show off your neck, not a single strand out of place. Even the pins are carefully hidden, making your hair appear magically held in place. Your makeup isn’t heavy except for your eyes. Dark lashes and liner pulled into sharp angles, softened only by silver shadow across the lid. A deep wine-red lipstick completes the look.

Your only accessories are silver earrings to match the appliques and a clutch made to perfectly match the fabric of your dress. That way, you can carry it as your side without drawing the eye too low.

The only flaw with the whole ensemble is that you can’t wear the bracelet Steven gifted you. The gold makes it clash with the silver on the dress. You probably wear the bracelet too much, anyway; pearls are too soft to be worn every day, but you can’t bear to part with it. It was a struggle not to pick another dress entirely to match the bracelet or even take the dress in to have the appliques replaced with gold versions.

You’re afraid that would have been too much, though, and decided against it.

Even without the bracelet, Steven is still in awe of you, and that’s all that matters.

“I think I forgot how to breathe,” he says when you reach him.

Heat builds in your face as you say, “I could say the same about you.” You can’t help but reach out and smooth a hand across his right shoulder and down his chest.

Steven’s suit is black with the bowtie, of course, custom-made to match your dress. It is, admittedly, a little uninspired in terms of men’s fashion, but the norm for events like this. But even still, the suit is cut to Steven’s body perfectly, showing off his figure in the way only fine tailoring can do. His look is complete with artfully slicked-back hair, a style typically reserved for special occasions, leaving him looking a little less like your Steven. The Steven you’re used to.

After your many dates, you already know he cleans up nicely, but it’s still a sight to see every time.

“Only the best for you, love,” Steven says with a simple, offering his arm.

Though any event attended by the wealthy is used as an informal business opportunity, they are also for showing off. The nouveau riche tends to do so by wearing fancy clothes and jewelry. They make a show of how much money they have, bragging about mansions and vacation homes in foreign countries.

Old money falls into quieter luxury. The things they show off aren’t objects but rather something intangible. They talk of things such as new business dealings or proudly state that a spouse or child has a new position within a corporation or even the government, displaying not just their wealth but their power.

You, though, do neither of those things, not now that you have others to do the talking for you. Now that Dan isn’t here, you don’t have to listen to yet another round of your accomplishments being listed to potentially interested parties who could be convinced to invest or point your company toward more lucrative dealings.

You already did your time playing the rich man’s game at previous functions over the years, learning and avoiding all the faux pas typically done by those who haven’t learned to act like they were born to this. Some of the others forget your money is just as new as the overly flashy crowd. You know how to blend in; you’ve had to do it all your life. Things aren’t much different now, even though the crowd has changed.

And even though you tend to dislike these functions for the most part, you still have your own showing off that you want to do. There’s a reason you can fit in around here, after all.

You want everyone to see Steven on your arm.

Some, if not all, of your peers may suspect what he is to you. You don’t care, and chances are they won’t either. Some of them will likely have their own sugar babies in attendance with them. But you want to show them that none compare to your Steven.

None of them are as free or as open as he is. He doesn’t have to pretend to be air-headed to keep your interest, and as handsome as you think he is, he’s more than just a pretty face who fawns all over you.

You don’t plan on staying for long. A brief appearance usually appeases the more judgmental crowd. You’re not so renowned that you can decline all invitations with a small six-figure apology for your absence. It isn’t so bad, though. You do like dressing up on occasion, and it’s the perfect excuse to get Steve dressed up, too. You’re always looking for an excuse to make him into a model for your personal photoshoots, pictures tucked away in a folder on your phone.

After a flute or two of champagne, a respectable bid on something that isn’t terribly ugly, and enough people seeing—and admiring—Steven at your side, you’ll head home. The night will end at your apartment with your baby wrapped around you and a healthy transfer into Steven’s account for the pleasure of his company.

Ever since you and Steven returned from Germany, he’s been sleeping in your room with you whenever he stays the night. His bed has practically been untouched for the last couple of weeks; his own apartment even less so. These days, his room is just extra storage space for Steven to toss his clothes onto, and you couldn’t be happier. You’ve come to look forward to your new nighttime routine.

“So, do you get a paddle? Will there be a man talking so fast you can barely understand him?” Steven asks as the two of you enter the venue—a gorgeous art gallery, the host of the event.

“As fun as that would be, I’m afraid this is a silent auction,” you sigh. “You’ll only see this crowd at an auction like that if the lots are full of less-than-legal items.”

“What, really?” Steven asks in disbelief. “Aren’t those for, I dunno, shady people?”

“Oh, Steven,” you say indulgently. “These will be some of the shadiest people you’ll ever meet.”

Glass in one hand, Steven’s arm in the other—with him dutifully holding your clutch—you make your way through the gallery. Many of the pieces up for auction are paintings. They’re usually donated by some of the night’s guests looking to redecorate their homes. This way, they can get rid of the old paintings and find something unique for their newly refreshed foyer, all the while pretending they did it in the name of a good cause.

A few sculptures are scattered about, but those are usually never quite as popular. You also spot different memorabilia, either for some sport or another, or even items from a particularly beloved movie or actor.

Tonight’s selection also contains vintage handbags and jewelry. You’re sure there are other items about, but you’ve always had particular tastes and have rarely found items at an auction that you’re genuinely interested in. You only look because it’s expected of you.

A call of your name makes you pause, searching for the source.

Coming toward you is Daphne, a wealthy widow in her fifties. Like you, she doesn’t have the pedigree of some of the others, having “married up” after meeting her husband. Because of that, she’s never been as uptight as some of the other people you’ve interacted with, and as a result, you’ve always liked her.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, giving her a quick hug, mindful of your glass and hers. “It’s been ages.”

“You’ll need to squeeze me into your busy schedule for dinner some evening,” she teases. When she pulls away from you, she turns to Steven and says, “This isn’t Dan.” She looks him up and down, a knowing smile on her face.

“I’m Steven,” he quickly says, tensing beside you, apparently still a little jealous about your coworker.

“My date,” you provide without needing to as Daphne and Steven shake hands. 

“Is he good?” Daphne asks you after introducing herself. She can guess that Steven is your sugar baby. She knows that’s your usual relationship, and she often has one of her own. She’s one of the few people you’re comfortable talking about babies with.

You glance over at Steven as if evaluating him. His nervous twitching has returned, and you’re unsure of the exact cause. A frown threatens to pull down the corners of your mouth, but you don’t let it succeed.

“He’s good,” you tell Daphne, giving Steven’s arm a reassuring squeeze. His cheeks darken.

He’s still responsive and isn’t blocking things out, a good sign that he’s not about to shut down.

“Where did she find you? I’ve been looking for a new man,” Daphne says, turning back to Steven. She always treats babies like people, unlike some who treat them like shadows, inconsequential, and best left seen and not heard.

“At the National Art Gallery,” Steven replies, a little strained, unsure what he’s allowed to say. “I work there and she was enjoying the exhibits.”

Daphne’s eyebrows raise slightly. She was likely expecting him to give a website. You usually prefer your babies to go through a screening process, so she knows picking up one at random—in person, off the street—is unusual for you.

“How serendipitous!” she exclaims with a genuine smile. Daphne then leans in toward Steven. “Now, tell me, Steven, how do you like your job?” she asks quietly with a pointed glance toward you.

Before you can say anything to try to reign Daphne in, Steven looks at you, his expression softening, the nerves falling away.

“It’s not really a job, though. Not to me. I just…like being around her.”

Your face starts to heat up as Daphne’s eyes flit back and forth between you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Good! Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, stepping back. “You two enjoy your evening. And I’ll be calling your assistant next week about dinner.”

After your goodbyes to Daphne, you and Steven continue walking around the gallery hall. You point out some rather dreadful pieces and make some talk with some of the other guests. As time goes on, you notice Steven steadily getting more quiet. You don’t think much of it. Putting on a show, even a minimal one, can be draining. His uneasiness has been following him all night, so you remind yourself not to stay longer than needed and keep moving.

“What do you think of this one?” you ask Steven, looking at the least ugly of the handbags. You’re still trying to find something to bid on that you could stomach the thought of taking home.

Before he can answer, the sound of shattering glass and a startled yelp fills the hall. Suddenly, Steven steps closer to you, his arm thrown protectively across your body as he searches for the source of the disturbance, his body tense.

“It’s alright,” you reassure, gently placing a hand on Steven’s arm. “Someone knocked into one of the servers.”

The tension leaves Steven, and his arm falls. You’re a little shocked. You’ve never seen him react like that before, though you haven’t exactly been in any situations where he would need to try to protect you.

“Sorry, I just….” He trails off, his voice sounding lower than usual. He shakes his head, confused. “I don’t know why I did that.”

You squeeze his arm. “Steven, are you alright?” you ask softly. “You’ve been a little off tonight.”

A slight frown forms on his face as he looks at you. “I’m fine. I promise,” he says, his voice mostly returning to normal. Then he gestures to the handbag you were evaluating. “You were thinking of this one, yeah?”

“I was,” you agree, looking Steven over. You don’t think you need to pull the plug on the evening quite yet, but something is going on with your baby. You chat about the bag for a moment, both of you pretending everything is fine.

As the night goes on, Steven starts becoming more and more withdrawn. You could have sworn you heard him mumbling to himself at one point, but when you asked him what he said, he claimed it was nothing. Though he was hesitant at the beginning of the night, he at least still made polite, though limited, conversation with the other guests you stopped and spoke with. Now, even you can barely get a word out of him.

“I think this will look lovely in your room,” you say to him as you come to a stop in front of an abstract painting that’s nothing more than splashes of various shades of a questionable yellow. You’re trying to get some reaction out of him, trying to gauge his feelings.

Steven doesn’t look as nervous as he did earlier in the night, but his brow still holds a slight furrow, and his posture, though perfect, is rigid. When you lean into him, he’s not as soft as he usually is. He doesn’t return the favor, leaning into you as he always does.

Steven doesn’t react at all to your suggestion of the hideous painting. It’s like he didn’t even hear you.

“Steven, look at me.”

He inhales as if preparing for something and finally turns to face you, though he doesn’t quite meet your eye. You take his chin and gently tilt his face toward you, making him look at you.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Though you keep your voice soft, gentle, there’s no mistaking the order in the words. He stares at you, mesmerized or lost in thought—you have no idea.

“I don’t…feel like myself,” Steven finally says, his voice sounding…wrong. “Can we go?”

Your hand falls from his chin down to his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” Usually, if Steven wasn’t up for something, he would tell you immediately. This isn’t like him at all.

Steven takes a second to answer. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Your gaze softens, and any irritation, however mild, leaves you. “You could never ruin my night,” you tell him, filling your words with admiration.

You quickly turn around, typing in a random amount on the tablet for the ugly yellow painting, placing your bid, and making your mark for the evening. Then, taking Steven’s hand, you start heading for the exit. “Let’s go.”

As you wait outside, you start mentally running through everything you have at home that might help Steven. If tonight just made him anxious, maybe even overstimulated, then you can have him change into something comfortable, dim the lights, and make everything nice and quiet. You can even brush out his slicked-back hair if he’ll let you touch him. Whatever he needs to makes him feel more like himself.

If he’s feeling sick, you’re sure you have something in the cupboards to help. If you don’t, you’ll just have someone deliver it.

“Can we go to my place?” Steven asks suddenly as your driver pulls the car up to the curb.

“What?” you say automatically, pulling from your thoughts and leaving you momentarily confused. “Are you sure?” To say that you aren’t a little hurt that he doesn’t want to be at your apartment would be a lie.

“Yes, please. I…need to be there,” Steven says, again, not looking at you.

You ignore the slight wound and focus on your baby’s needs instead. If he wants to be at his place, then that’s what you’ll do for him. After instructing your driver to go to Steven’s apartment, you take his hand again. It’s limp in yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

When the car stops in front of his building, Steven practically leaps out, pulling his hand from yours and leaving you behind.

You sit there, absolutely stunned and left unsure of what to do. Steven didn’t technically invite you up to his apartment, but neither did he bother to say goodbye.

Confused and more than a little hurt, you gather your clutch and sleeves and follow Steven out of the car, telling your driver to wait for you. You don’t exactly have a plan as you follow Steven into the building, narrowly catching the door before it closed and locked you out, but you hope to get some sort of answer from him.

Steven does a double-take when you slip into the elevator right behind him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting you to follow. As the lift slowly grinds its way upwards, you and Steven are again silent, with him steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

Too stressed, too focused on Steven, you don’t process anything about the building itself. Any other day, you’d be thrilled to finally be allowed into Steven’s private space, but right now, you can’t think of anything other than what’s going on with your baby.

A dark part of you starts to whisper that it’s you. You did this to Steven and he wants out. But then a more rational part of your brain argues that he never would have looked at you the way he did just a few short hours ago if that were true. You’ve known Steven long enough to realize what a terrible liar he is. He couldn’t have faked his awe.

Whatever is happening, it’s something else. Something happened to him after you arrived at the gallery that caused him to act like this. You just need to know what so you can fix it.

The doors to the elevator open, on which floor, you have no clue, and Steven leads you off toward his apartment, no longer rushing to get away from you but notably keeping his distance.

Pulling his key from his pocket, Steven unlocks his door, allowing you into this part of his life for the first time. You had always wanted it to be under better circumstances.

The first thing you notice is the books. It’s not that you didn’t believe Steven when he told you how many he has, but hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things.

They are stacked everywhere. Shelves are overflowing, and neat piles are littering the entire apartment. There are even some spilling into the kitchen, gathered around the shelves that serve not only to separate the space from the rest of the flat but also host the tank for Steven’s pet goldfish, Gus. Before you can take in much else, Steven is moving away from you, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Then he grips the back of the chair, the jacket bunching under his fingers. When he still doesn’t say anything, you do what you always do: take care of him.

Spotting a kettle on the stove, you make your way toward it, glazing at the wall immediately to the right of the door, taking note of the map and various postcards.

From his mom.

You suppose it’s something since, as far as you’re aware, she’s yet to return any of Steven’s various calls. Steven even told you this apartment is technically hers, but you’ve wondered more than once if she’s ever returning to London.

Grabbing the kettle, you take it to the sink, fill it, and put it back on the stove before opening the cupboards and hunting for a mug. Thankfully, the teabags are on the counter, left in their original tin. Steven’s eyes follow your every move. Only once you set down a mug and patiently start waiting for the water to boil does he finally speak.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you tea. Sit.”

Steven takes a step toward you. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, turning to face him. Steven pauses, a little taken aback. “Sit,” you repeat more gently and return to your task. He pulls out a chair, the legs scraping along the floor, and obediently sits.

As the kettle whistles, you take it off the heat and pour the water into the mug. The silence is overwhelming as the tea steeps.

“Is it me?” you ask after a couple of minutes. You keep your back to Steven as you move around the kitchen again, hunting for sugar. Even though you don’t believe it is you—not entirely, anyway—you need to know what it is. You need to be delicate and the best way is to ease into it.

Steven doesn’t answer you until you stand across the table from him and set the tea by his hands.

“No. It’s not… it’s not you.” He shakes his head. “You’re… you’re good.” He goes silent again. He doesn’t touch the tea.

You wait for a moment before moving around the table to stand at his side. Sucking in a breath, you’re about to speak but hesitate. Maybe you should let it go and let Steven work out whatever’s wrong in his own time. Ultimately, though, you continue.

“Is it something you don’t want to talk about, or is it something you don’t want to talk to me about?”

Steven’s posture stiffens even more as he keeps his gaze on his hands. After showing no signs of responding, you reach out, taking his chin and turning his face toward you for the second time tonight.

“Steven.” Nothing else. Just his name and the unspoken plea for him to give you some sort of answer.

His eyes search yours for a moment before he takes a steadying breath. “I can’t tell anyone,” he quietly admits. “I’m sorry.”

You nod. Some things are too hard to share. You won’t begrudge Steven that. “But you’ll be okay?” Steven nods, your hand still on his chin. Leaning down, you kiss his cheek. “I’ll be here to listen if you can tell someone someday.”

When you pull away, Steven’s face is redder than you’ve seen in months.

“O-okay,” he breathes, his voice a touch shaky.

You hate to do it, but you know you should leave. Whatever Steven’s going through, he’d rather do it alone. You have no right to intrude upon his personal life as much as you have tonight. You’ve done all you could and can’t blame him for not wanting to open up to you.

You’re just his sugar mommy, after all.

You step away from Steven without another word and take the agonizingly short yet still too-long walk to the door. Swinging it open, hand on the knob, you glance back, catching Steven’s eye before he quickly looks away. For a moment, he looked like a complete stranger staring back at you.

Shaking the thought from your head, you pull the door shut softly behind you.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

literally shaking, convulsing, after reading your work, oh my goodness. my favourite is your metal arm drabble, your miiiiiiind—literally blacking out as we speak, send help, immediately. now, i had a thought:

bucky with a pillow princess, but like, kind of laying her down as a pillow princess, he just wants to make her feel good, because i know this man eats pussy like his life depends on it, like it’s so vital, he’s totally addicted.

i hope you’re doing well, please take care of yourself. and i hope this ask isn’t obnoxiously long; i did get carried away here. only because you’re the bestest!

I loved writing that drabble so much and I'm so happy you liked it!! I'm sorry for being gone and taking my time to answer your asks, but I do have a lot to say about this...

You felt a certain pressure to service Bucky. Not because of anything he did, he never made you feel pressured with anything. But after everything he’s been through and being so emotionally and intimately neglected, you wanted to show him the other side of it. You wanted him to lie back and go cross-eyed with pleasure. You wanted him hissing and groaning and whining for more. You just love it when his face contorts and relaxes violently as if unable to choose between pleasure and relaxation. Selfishly, you fucking love that.

But Bucky doesn’t really understand how you think pleasuring you doesn’t give him nearly as much pleasure, if not more. When he pulls at his own cock, he imagines you coming around it and squeezing his come from him, he imagines grinding into the mattress with his face buried between your thighs, he imagines his other hand knuckle deep inside of you until you drool. Bucky’s fantasy is always of your pleasure. Specifically, the pleasure induced by him.

He likes that you put up a fight, however. Bashfully slapping or shoving him away, writhing in the sheets as he positions you in a way that he knows is comfortable for you. He’ll be firm and gentle, pretending like it isn’t the easiest thing in the world to manhandle you. He likes spreading a wide hand over your belly to keep you down and then… tease.

Kissing, biting, tracing, nudging everywhere but where you need him. With knuckles and lips and fingertips and the tip of his nose. Nipping with his teeth as he watches you clench around nothing and until slick drips down between your legs. That is when you become pliant like he wants you.

Oh, he loves eating pussy, but he enjoys it so much when you just… take him.

“That’s it,” he’ll murmur and nudge his nose over your clit, making you shudder. “Just how I like it. Let me have my way with you for a little while…”

You can only whimper, knowing the only way to get what you want – what he made you want – is to take everything he gives you. Allow him to enjoy eating your pussy more than you enjoy having your pussy eaten. And then, you feel his tongue. Sliding through your slick and curling around your clit, before the small nub gets sucked between his perfect lips until the nerve endings swell with need.

Oh shit–

“Good girl,” he whispers and wraps his entire mouth around you, groaning into your folds as his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you up to his mouth further.

He once had you like this under a table at a deserted restaurant, where you tried to push his head away and fought for your life to keep some modesty about you. He enjoyed that too, but–

The low moan that leaves you on a sigh has Bucky pressing his hips into the mattress with a choked grunt. His ministrations sound so wet and filthy, it spurs him on even more. His tongue slips and his lips tingle with something like adrenaline to push you further. Your flesh dips where his fingers grip you and he groans at that, too.

He’s not sure if the heavy breaths he hears are yours or his, doesn’t know if your hands in his hair pull him closer or push him away. He chooses to believe you pull him closer– and he doubles his efforts, making you gasp with a high-pitched whine. Oh, you are heaven on his tongue…

And then, you say something that has Bucky smirk wolfishly.

“More.”

He peers up, marvelling at your heaving chest, your swollen lips and glowing skin. He makes an inquisitive noise and knows you’re fully in tune with him when you repeat yourself on the last of your oxygen.

So his finger breaches your entrance and you sigh in delight, clenching around the digit gratefully. You sink down into him and Bucky’s heart swells, his brain shutting off. He’s not going to feel sated with just one orgasm. He needs all of them. He wants you begging for more, yet unable to do so. He wants to burst with all the things he wants from you.

His eyes flick towards the clock on the nightstand and he smiles at himself. 7am. That is plenty of time. Plenty of time to make you soak the sheets, move you to the couch, eat you there while he washes the sheets, and then move you back to the bed where he will worship you until you’ve lost a day to laying in the pillows and taking him.

Your moans raise in pitch, breaths coming to you with more difficulty. He slides another finger in to add to his first, skating over that spongey spot and causing your thighs to tremble.

“Right there, huh?” he mumbles and presses soft kisses to your clit as his fingers explore inside of you. “You going to come for me? I want you on my tongue, okay? I want you to come right on my tongue so I can lick you up. Let me lick you up, baby. Let me taste your come.”

He doesn’t know where the filthy words come from, but the contortion in your face tells him you’re exactly on the same wavelength as him, and it drives him insane to know how much you love the idea of him drinking you up as you come for him.

His nose circles your clit as his tongue settles right along his fingers. “Good job, sweetheart. Come. Right now.”

[astrumark]

── WRAPPED AROUND YOUR FINGER ★.

PAIRING: jacaerys velaryon x female reader.

SUMMARY: you discover a new side of your husband, and it's exhilarating.

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, semi public sex, p in v, soft dom jace, dirty talk (praise), bondage, breeding kink, hair pulling, aftercare.

WC: 2.7K

"You are certain you can do this on your own?"  

Jace sighed exasperated, although a playful smile crept across his face as well while he jumped out of the boat with enormous grace. 

He looked excruciatingly charming today, his face flushed under the sun, and brazenly wearing only a thin white undershirt, the first three buttons undone and showing his chest. 

"My sweet wife, I believe you have forgotten you have wed a Velaryon," He smirked. "What would become of me if I didn't know how to sail?" 

"With all due respect, your brother gets seasick every time he's on a boat," Your eyes twinkled with amusement. "And he ought to be the head of the house one day."

Jace snorted jokingly. "We must be careful not to speak about it in front of him," He smiled mischievously. "It's a sensitive topic." 

You laughed warmly, your whole body reverberating with it, and you glanced at the boat a few steps away from you. It was not extravagant, small, and made to travel shorter distances, the wood a reddish brown with an intrinsic seahorse carved into the bow.

It was his idea to spend the night on a boat, alone and away from the bustling castle, to unwind, he said. Your duties would not allow you to travel anytime soon, but a long boat ride could be just as enjoyable. 

And that's how you found yourself at the docks, with food, blankets, books, and cards, all of which the prince had already stored on the boat a couple of minutes ago.

"Fortunately, I am not my brother." He continued to jest. "You have nothing to fear, my dear. Do you not trust your husband?" 

You rolled your eyes at his exaggeration. "You know I do." 

"Yes, because you did not hesitate for a second to fly with me on dragon-back," He moved closer to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, and your hands went to his neck. "What is the sea compared to the sky?"

"Just as dangerous." You quipped.

"Fair enough, but I will always keep you safe, whether in the sky, sea, or land." 

Your heart leaped, a tingling warmth spreading from head to toe, and you averted your eyes, feeling too bashful. Jace chuckled, doubtless deeming you the most enchanting thing he ever had the privilege to see, and he couldn't help himself as he leaned in and locked your lips in a slow and loving peck.

"Lead the way, husband." You smiled shyly.

He grinned, not wasting a second to twirl you around and help you get into the boat. You giggled uncontrollably. 

It's very captivating to watch him work, his sleeves rolled up and forearms flexing. He easily untied the ropes and pulled the anchor up, giving you quick explanations about how it is done, subtly proving to you he knew exactly what he was doing, a hint of a smug smile displayed when he looked at you.

Meanwhile, you also basked in the sun, it was an atypical hot day, the reason why your handmaids had chosen the lightest fabrics to dress you, and why your husband had taken off his tunic as soon as you two left the castle.

The fresh air nipped at your face, making your hair float, and it was more than welcome. You looked out at the vast blue sea while salt filled your lungs, mesmerized by the crash of the frothy waves. The bouncing of the water was, without a doubt, the most soothing sensation. For the longest time, you have always been delighted to travel, mostly because of the ships. An excitement many would consider childish, but that you could not help.

Jace hoisted the sail, adjusting it accordingly, and you offered to help. He was very patient with you, even if it meant taking a little bit longer and you were genuinely interested in learning, so much that you were beaming to see him steering it with the rudder. You didn't feel confident enough to try it out yourself yet, but you promised one day you would.

Fortunately for you, the sea was calm and the winds steady, and it didn't take long until he could leave the rudder aside to spend time with you, only using it occasionally to remain in the desired direction, and time flew. 

Sometime in the late afternoon, Jace was reading, and you should've been too if only your eyes could concentrate on the pages of the book and not on him in front of you.

He looked stunning, the wind moved through his dark curls, his light brown eyes looked like a honey pool, his cheeks sun-kissed, and his nose had a few tiny freckles, his attractive hand was splayed across the book's cover, and the occasional bites on his beautiful plump lips along the frown of his eyebrows as he focused on whichever he was reading was too much. 

You could never fathom your luck, not only marrying a prince, the future heir to the throne but such a handsome and dear one, who you were irrevocably in love with. Your chest clenched just by looking at him.

Motivated by a sudden craving, you crawled to his side, pressing yourself to him. Although a lot more inconvenient to read in this position, he didn't hesitate to hug your waist with one arm, placing the book on his thigh.

His scent, of mint and lavender, inundated you, and you kissed his jaw before hugging his waist back with both arms and laying your head on his shoulder, snuggling up to him.

"I love you." You muttered. 

Jace's eyes flicked to you, his cheeks growing redder, but this time not because of the sun. He smiled, one of his teeth slightly crooked, which only added more charm to his appearance, alongside his dimple. 

"I love you more." He said, resting his forehead on yours and brushing your noses, which made you chuckle.

But these words were never enough, the immensity of your love for him was terrifying. You desired him in the most primal and selfish way, wanted him to be all yours, although he already was, by all means: legally and intimately. You worried your hunger for him would never be satiable, as there was nothing else to claim, less you two merged. Or perhaps it would be enough if you carried a piece of him inside of you.

"I want to give you children," You said absently, staring at the side of his elongated nose. "Make you a father." 

Jace grinned, his eyes twinkling with diversion, but his heart hammered. "You will." 

"Hopefully soon." You smiled faintly at him. 

"Attempts will certainly not be an issue for us." 

You laughed and with the sun finally cooling down, you closed your eyes. The wind caressing your face and the peaceful sound of the sea quickly lulled you to sleep.

At night, when you were both lying down on thin blankets while stargazing, the sky full of shimmering stars and the moon a waxing gibbous, it was very unsurprising how rapidly you got distracted and found yourselves melting into each other, the kisses heated and desire slowly consuming you inch by inch.

His touches were feather-light and teasing as he undressed you, and the night air made you shiver. His kisses were full of appreciation and delicacy, his thumb stroking your cheek in the most genuine affection. In the short two moons following your wedding, the prince had always been extremely gentle and attentive when bedding you, and you truly cherished it, most of the time. But in that moment you needed more, and so you asked him not to be as careful, but rather rougher. 

He looked at you as if you had grown a second head, getting on his knees and denying profusely at first, claiming he would never mistreat you, but the twitch of his cock and the wild glint in his eyes were undeniable. It took some time to fully convince him, reassuring him that you truly wanted it and would be just fine afterward, and creating a small code between the two of you to stop, in case it became too overwhelming, he seemed keener to accept.

"Please, you might as well break me and put me back together," You whispered against his lips and he swallowed hard. "You can do whatever you wish to me." 

"Anything?" His voice was low and hoarse.

"Anything. I am your wife, I belong solely to you and no one else," Your hand softly played with one of your breasts provocatively, his lower lip caught in between his teeth as he watched. "I am all yours, husband, only yours, to be treated as you see fit, and nobody has a say in that."

Then, he snapped, brown orbs darkening considerably and jawline clenched. In a blink of an eye, there were no traces of your ever-so-kind Jace anymore. His hand found a fistful of your hair, tugging at it with no care, which made you wince and your scalp burn.

"Very well, you asked for it." He growled before harshly pushing you back to the blankets on your stomach. You gasped, your cunt throbbing at the unusual behavior and eyes widening as you noticed him grabbing three of the many ropes around the boat.

Jace pressed his knee to your lower back, locking you in place as he grabbed your arms and tied them up in the tightest and most impressive knots, his ability with it once again surprising you. But he didn't stop at your wrists, he bent your legs and tied each of your ankles to your upper thighs as well with different ropes, restraining you completely and lifting you to be on all fours for him.

You writhed in discomfort, your arms and legs already aching due to the uncomfortable position. Jace stared at you while pushing his breeches down, your glistening cunt exposed to him in the most beautiful and tantalizing way. 

He slammed into you with no warning or preparation, not that your already wet entrance needed it. Loud and whiny moans immediately left your lips, his girth stretching you out spectacularly, and the new position was delirious, you were certain he had never reached this deep before. 

Jace's thrusts were far from gentle, and along with the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls there was also an unusual sting with how careless he was being with it. Which only made you grow more aroused. 

"You look so perfect like this, my dear," He praised and you hummed, lost in the bliss you were feeling. "Fucking perfect."

He slapped your ass hard, his palm imprinted on your skin in a red mark. You gasped sharply as the pain licked your stomach, but all too soon it became a desire. 

"Always taking my cock so well, squeezing me so wonderfully," He slapped the other side of your ass mercilessly, the noise it made strident and you winced once again. "This cunt was precisely made for me." 

His sweet words paired up with his aggressiveness were making you wild, not moaning anymore, but rather screaming. Any boats nearby could've heard you, but your mind was blank with pleasure, not worrying about it. You barely held any control over your body at this point, way too blissed out.

The urge to move and hold onto something, but the complete inability to do so was cruel and incendiary, repulsion and adoration melded as one. It made you whine, your stomach churning and heart thundering, it was agonizing even, but you loved being so overpowered, so vulnerable underneath him. 

Jace pounded into you almost beastly, growling and gripping your hips with an unnerving strength, his balls smacking against your ass. You tried to move, but you only hurt yourself, the ropes scratching your skin and burning you. Your eyes welled up, unable to differentiate pain from pleasure, and you bite your lips, focusing on the overflow of sentiments inside of you.

By being tied up all your senses became more heightened, and even the littlest brush on your skin dazzled you. Every sensation was worth a hundred ones, and you felt it all deep in your core. It was as wondrous as damning. The cool wind kissing your body, the lewd sounds, Jace's unwavering grip on you, the sting of his previous slaps, the burn on your wrists caused by the rope, his cock hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. You were slowly going mad.

Your cunt fluttered furiously, your skin burning and sweat dripping down your forehead. You barely realized you were sobbing, a heavy stream of tears wetting your face on its own accord as you could not help but cry and cry with such strong emotions provoked.

And in the midst of it all, there was also a small amount of gentleness your husband couldn't completely leave behind. Clear in how he brushed your sticky hair out of your face and cleaned your tears as he leaned over you slightly, although his pace continued as brutal as before, if not even more.

"Seven, aren't you just adorable?" He rasped in the shell of your ear. "You are being so nice to me, I might just fuck a pretty babe into you as a reward." 

You groaned in delight at his words, your body was already shaking and your muscles sore. Jace went back to his initial position, pulling harshly at your hair and pounding into you relentlessly. 

"Would you like that, sweet wife?" He chuckled smugly. You tried to answer, but you didn't find words, so you only nodded eagerly as you babbled. "Yes, I know you would." 

He would too, the thought of your belly swollen with his child made him go feral and swell up with pride. The grip on your hair tightened and his thrusts became even faster and desperate, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and goosebumps arousing on his skin with the approaching release. 

Jace came with a grunt, his hot and thick seed filling you to the brim. His heart pounded painfully in his ears, beads of sweat all over his body. Even when quite faint from his peak, his ruthless pace didn't falter. You getting to come as well was just as important to him, and you were pretty close by the clench of your cunt.

It's like you have been shattered into the tiniest fragments and banished to the void, your mind parting from your body and your whole existence ceasing for a moment. You believed you and the stars above have become one, and that even perhaps you had perished from too much pleasure.

You are reminded you are very alive when Jace gathered his spend dripping out of you. "If you want to be the mother of my children so desperately," He started before pushing two fingers back into your sensitive cunt, which made you whine and squirm. "We cannot waste a single drop." 

And as simple as that you are conscious of your surroundings again, too aware of the salty air and the ripples of the waves. You were shivering so much your teeth chattered, and you panted as if you had run a thousand miles, your throat sore from the cries and eyes heavy due to the tears.

Jace deluged you with many caring pecks on the cheek before undoing the tight knots and turning your slack body over.

"You did so well," He praised as he softly kissed your bruised wrists as well. "My perfect little wife."  

He caressed your damp hair before helping you to sit up, flushed against his chest. Jace cleaned you up with the hem of the blanket, for lack of a better option, and grabbed a waterskin near, bringing it to your lips and you didn't waste time to drink it enthusiastically, your chin getting wet as well.

"Are you alright?" He asked concerned, the waterskin soon being emptied.

You took a few deep breaths before answering him, your voice somewhat raspy from the screaming. "Yes," You leaned more into him. "That was… very intense." 

"Indeed." He hugged your waist and you looked up at him, finally regaining your breath. Jace pressed his lips to yours in a long and chaste kiss. "You are the absolute love of my life," He brushed your face with his knuckles. "Don't ever forget."

"And you are my heart and soul." You smiled at him, who stared at you with immense adoration in his eyes as if you hung the moon and the stars.  

Cuddling up, sleep does not find any of you, but instead you spent the night talking away, and got to watch a beautiful sunrise together.

TAGS: @m1ndbrand ♡⋆˙

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 18

Day Seventeen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Nineteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Masturbation; mutual masturbation; fingering; handjob; vaginal sex; unsafe sex

“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” 

His tone was as calm as always, his gaze steady on yours. You suddenly found that you couldn’t move. The weight of his attention pinned you to the bed, your stomach muddling with the twin sensations of arousal and embarrassment. Why was he home? He wasn’t supposed to be for a few hours yet. 

Tommy pushed off of the doorway, drifting closer to the bed. He had one hand tucked into his pocket; the other held his cigarette to his lips, the end flaring as he drew a drag.

“Go on,” He urged as he lowered his hand to gesture toward where your fingers had gone still between your legs. You swallowed thickly as Tommy came to a stop at the foot of the bed. 

“You’re not supposed to be home,” You managed. 

“Oh no?” His lips quirked with a small, amused smile. “I’m almost certain I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.” 

He reached out, yanking the covers out of your reach before you could cover up.

“Don’t get shy on me now. You were putting on quite a show before you noticed me.” 

Christ, how long had he been standing there before you noticed? 

“Go on,” He repeated. “Close your eyes if it helps. Pretend I’m not here.” 

“That’s sort of impossible, Thomas,” You gritted out. His lips quirked again, his long fingers twiddling his cigarette. You didn’t have to do what he told you. You could stand up, put on your robe. You could yell at him for embarrassing you. 

…Or…

Tommy’s gaze lowered to your hand as you swept them over your slick opening. You drew them up against it, sighing softly as you brushed your fingers over your aching clit. You forced yourself to keep your movements up as he leaned against the bed frame, propping his arms against the metal. 

“I suppose an apology is in order.” 

“A-Apology?” You stuttered, your breath hitching. 

“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I.” 

There was no point in lying or pretending otherwise. Lately, Tommy had been more occupied with business than usual. It felt like you’d hardly spent any proper time with him in the last few weeks. He was either out of town doing god knows what, or he spent an hour or two with you in bed. He never woke you when he came in late. You only knew when he had been there when you rolled over to find his side of the bed mussed, with a couple of cigarette butts in the ashtray. 

You gave a slow nod, and Tommy tutted sympathetically. 

“You poor thing,” He murmured, rounding the bed. 

“Tommy.” 

“Keep going.” He ordered as your hand slowed. “Show me what you’ve wanted me to do to you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“I don’t exactly have the same equipment.” 

He smiled, huffing a warm chuckle. 

“No,” He agreed, “But you have got those pretty fingers.” 

“They don’t feel as good as yours.” You pouted up at him as best you could. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed beside you, stubbing out his cigarette. He reached out, trailing his fingers over your bare shoulder, chased by the brush of his lips. You swiped your fingers just a little bit harder over your tingling clit as his kisses trailed across your skin. You drew in a sharp breath as you felt the warm, wet swipe of his tongue across your nipple. You raised your hand, fisting it in his hair. You yelped as Tommy nipped roughly at the swell of your breast in turn. 

“Put them in,” He grumbled.

“What?”  

Tommy reached down, curling his fingers around your wrist and forcing your fingers lower. You shivered, spreading your thighs wider as his knuckles brushed your slick lips. “Put them in,” He repeated. 

“I want yours,” You whined, canting your hips up against your joined touch. Tommy turned his head, pressing his face into your neck as he guided both of your fingers together into your slick cunt. You bit your lip as you felt his hips roll, his hardening cock brushing against you. 

“Tommy,” You mumbled, “You, too.” 

“Me, too?” He chuckled. “You want me to spaff in my pants like a schoolboy?” 

“I want you to cum with me,” You pleased, turning your head and knocking your forehead gently against his. You shifted your hips down into your hands. “Take your clothes off. I want to feel you properly.” 

“You’re sounding awfully needy.” 

“I’m entitled. I’ve been neglected, remember?” 

“You do realize that for me to undress, I’ll need my finger back?” 

You pouted at his salient point. 

“I’ll manage…For a moment or two.” 

Tommy huffed a soft laugh before murmuring, “Very well,” and carefully drawing away to acquiesce. You watched him as he stood, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt with meticulous slowness, then shrugged off his suspenders. You swiped your tongue across your lips as they were removed, revealing the henley beneath. His hand dropped to his pants, working slowly at the fastening, his smile widening as you groaned in frustration. 

“Are you trying to torture me?” You whimpered. 

“Torture seems to strong a word.”

But he took your irritation into consideration, disrobing far faster than he had just moments before. Your tongue swiped across your lips as you eyed his cock, thick and bobbing between his thighs. He climbed back onto bed beside you, sighing softly as he cuddled close against you again, his skin pressing indulgently against yours. You reached down, taking Tommy’s length in hand and pumping him gently, easing your fingers in and out of yourself at the same speed. Tommy’s hand slipped back between your legs, nudging yours away before easing two fingers into your needy pussy. You sighed softly, pressing your hips down into his touch and groaning. Tommy took advantage of the sound, slipping his tongue between your parted lips.

You shivered, running your thumb over the head of Tommy’s dick on the upstroke. He hummed, pressing into your grip encouragingly. He drew back to get a better look at your heated face, twisting and curling his fingers as your pussy throbbed greedily around him. You fisted your free hand in Tommy’s hair, dragging him down again, and whimpering as he bit your lip roughly. He growled, finally moving back, nearly out of your reach. He shifted from your grip, and you pouted up at him until he settled between your thighs, drawing his hand away as well. 

“Tommy—” 

“Shush.” 

“But—” 

“Is this enough?” He shoved his hips against yours, and your mouth fell open with a cry as he filled you. He groaned at the feeling of you adjusting to him, hardly giving either of you the chance to catch your breath before he began to pump his hips against yours. You raised your hands to run over his shoulders, drawing him down over you. Tommy’s heated grunts and sighs brushed against your cheek as his temple rested against yours. 

“I missed you,” You admitted shyly. It made Tommy nearly fall out of rhythm, then plant his knees against the mattress for better purchase.

“I missed you, too, love,” He murmured against your jaw. You slid your hand into his hair, dragging his lips back down to yours for a consuming kiss. Your tongues slipped and played together messily as Tommy’s thrusts became harsher. 

“Tommy,” You breathed, hips rabbiting up against his as a familiar feeling curled tighter and tighter in your lower belly. “I—Oh, god—”

Tommy hummed, encouragingly gripping your thigh and drawing it up around his hip, sinking even deeper. You came with a yelp, his name spilling from your lips as Tommy fucked you through your orgasm. He came a few moments later, his grunt punching out of his chest as his spilled into you. Tommy lowered himself atop you after a few moments, nuzzling against your neck as the two of you came down. He lifted his head after a few moments, sweeping his fingers along your forehead and giving you a good, long look. 

“What is it?” You murmured. 

He smiled, shaking his head.

“Thinking.” 

“About what?”

“Just that I should try to come home early more often.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ;

[moirindeclermont]

Welcome, welcome Bridgerton folks!

It's time for the fifth episode of "The Captain and The Spy".

We left Captain Colin Bridgerton and Pen in a very interesting position... Let's see how it goes from there.

Spoiler 👅 💦 🍆

---

Colin gets closer to her, finally touching her skin and it's like every part of her sets on fire.

"I want to take my time with you, Pen," he says before kissing her and she nods, following the already familiar rhythm of their kisses. There is something new though, as she can feel him on top of her, and that part in between her legs it's aching somehow. She needs something more.

She must have talk or he must have understood her need, because he is whispering in her ear. "I know, baby, I know. Let me take care of you"

Colin starts kissing her neck, her collarbone, then goes down and uses his big hands to cup her, making her tremble again him.

He pinches and roll the nipple like she did before, but better... And it's so different when it's another hand doing it.

He tastes the little bud with his tongue and oh gosh... Colin sucks and she moans, the throbbing now aching even more.

His hands go to her thighs, keeping them open for him as he tastes the other br3ast, before kissing and nipping the soft skin of her tummy.

He goes lower and lower until it dawns on Pen what he intends to do, but before she can say something the first kiss is already on her skin and the "it's improper" get stuck in her throat as it becomes a moan as he licks her folds.

Then, Pen loses her mind. Her hand goes into his hair, the other hand seeking his to steady her under that assault and he give her his hand as he uses his forearms to keep her in place as he feasts on her.

It's good, so good she can't talk, she can't think, she can only feel.

And right before she is about to explode... He stops.

Pen looks at him, planning his demise.

Colin chuckles "sorry babe, I want for you to come on me" and he kisses her, making her taste herself. Ohh.

Ohhh. She feels now the evidence of his pleasure, poking at her folds.

"I'll go slow love, but tell me if it hurts too much."

She doesn't have time to overthink it or feeling nervous, as she feels the tip inside her. Her mouth opens in pleasure as he takes her. Quite literally.

When he is fully inside, she hears him saying "breathe, Pen" and she does, as she didn't even realize she was holding her breath.

"Alright?" He asks, full of concern and she nods.

That's when he start to move.

He is very slow in the beginning, but soon she is the one asking for him to go faster. It's too much, she is almost certain she will explode from pleasure, he drives into her now with speed and power, making her sob and whimper. She kisses him, desperately. He is also in a similar state and soon she feels again the same sensation. "Don't stop, please"

This time he doesn't stop.

"Come, my love. Come for me!"

He says and she feels this wave watching over her, as her skin tingles all over from pleasure. She feels him thrusting a couple of times again before coming inside her and then they both stay still, looking in each other eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asks her, now more sweet that passionate and she nods, caressing his cheek.

"Was it good?" He asks again and she nods, a powerful emotion chocking her speech. She lets him hug her as he rolls over, so they are side by side.

It's a moment if quiet after their passion, and small they could do is look at each other, smiling like idiots.

She never knew love could be this.

Messy, passionate... Almost rough.

Yet, it makes sense that he loves her the way he does everything else. She likes that he truly commits to everything he does.

Colin catches at her thinking. "Penny for your thoughts," he asks, kissing her.

"I love you," she says ad it's the simple truth.

Colin smiles. "I love you too" before kissing her again.

They don't leave their room for a couple of days...

[jplupine]

Soft Dom!Yoruichi x Male!Reader

Pairing: Yoruichi Shihoin x Male!Reader Word Count: ~1.3k Date Published: November 4, 2023 WARNINGS:18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Soft Dom!Yoruichi, Established Relationship, Praise Kink, Handjob, Pet Names [Love, Sweet Boy, Sweetheart, Pretty Boy, Good Boy], Cum, Terms such as cock/dick are used - Reader is AMAB

A/N: @centerpointstation requested a softdom Yoruichi with any reader, but my ass RAN with it- I've been itching to do something with a male!reader and took my chance. Hope you don't mind, bud 😂<3

  Her breath was warm against your skin as her lips brushed over your jaw. Her body was pressed close to your side, but you dare not touch her. There were rules Yoruichi had given this time around; a challenge more like.

  The rules outlined that you weren't allowed to touch- not yourself and not her, either. So you had your hands planted on the bed, clutching the blanket while trying to fight the urge to run your hands over her warm skin.

  Yoruichi's own hands were on you as she straddled one of your thighs. She kissed just beneath your ear and trailed her kisses lower down your neck. Her scent was enticing, woody with undertones of florals- it drove you wild having to sit still with her so close.

  She hummed against the side of your neck as she grabbed your shirt and inched it higher. Exposing the front of your pants and some of your stomach, her face tilted to look at what her kisses and touches had caused. With a soft chuckle, her hand ran over the bulge pushing against the fabric of your jeans.

  "You're doing so good, sweet boy." Her voice was lower and sultry. Your breath hitched when she added more pressure against your erection with her hand rubbing in a teasing manner.

  You bit your bottom lip as your cheeks burned, knuckles going pale from clutching the blanket tighter. It was getting harder to keep from touching her when her fingers traced the outline of your bulge and traveled up to the button of your jeans.

  Once the button was released, the zipper followed as she took her sweet time in everything. You were eager and fighting to abide by this game of hers, but she was dragging it out and enjoying it. Yoruichi nuzzled your cheek while you were unable to look away from her hand as it danced over the waistband of your boxers.

  "Remember what I said, love." Her other hand caressed your jaw before brushing some hair behind your ear. "If you can keep your hands to yourself, you'll get a reward." Yoruichi purred as her fingers hooked behind your boxers. You could only nod in acknowledgment. "Think you can do it?" You nod again. "Let's see, then."

  She pulled your boxers down far enough for your cock to spring free. Her fingers trailed up the shaft with a light touch as she purred. Her thumb rubbed over the head, causing your thighs to twitch.

  "Such a pretty boy." Yoruichi whispered before nipping your ear. Your heart was pounding as she pressed her chest against you more. Her hand left your cock to grab the bottle of lube that had been sitting to the side.

  The cap popped when it was opened, and she poured the clear liquid directly onto the head of your dick.

  "Yoruichi!" You flinched from the cold liquid coming into contact with your burning skin.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think to warm it up first. Let me fix that." Her purr sent a tingle over your skin at what that could possibly mean.

  Feeling her hand wrap around the base of your cock, excitement sparked. Yoruichi began to stroke her hand, spreading the lube more as it slicked your skin. Finally having friction, you let out a heavy breath.

  Her other hand went up the back of your neck to play with your hair. She kissed your cheek sweetly as if she wasn't busy palming your cock and making your thighs twitch when she touched certain spots. When her hand squeezed just a little tighter around the head, you moaned.

  "Feels good?" She questioned as if she couldn't tell. You nod while watching her hand pumping around your erection. "Then tell me."

  "It feels good." Your voice came out barely over a whisper.

  "Yeah? Then speak up."

  "It feels good." Repeating yourself with a more clear tone, Yoruichi seemed satisfied and smiled.

  "That's it." Her fingers twirled in your hair at the nape of your neck. Her face dropped until you felt her lips on the side of your neck. She was still stroking from base to tip and back, the lube making squelching noises as you panted.

  Yoruichi's tongue lapped at your skin, tasting the thin layer of sweat forming as your fingers twitched and ached to touch her. Her soft lips closed around a spot near the base of your neck before she started sucking. She released with a soft pop and licked the newly formed hickey that would start to darken soon.

  You managed to catch yourself with your hands hovering over the bed and quickly grabbed the blanket again.

  "Good boy." Yoruichi purred, having seen the movement and how you still obeyed. You melted at her words as your hips bucked. "Oh? That needy, are you?" She chuckled and leaned back with her hand on your shoulder and the other still on your cock. "Go on then, pretty boy."

  Confusion flashed across your face until she gestured with her head and looked down at your cock in her hand. She had stopped stroking, and the realization of what she wanted dawned on you.

  "Yoruichi, c'mon." You felt too embarrassed, and she simply kissed you while smiling.

  "Show me how badly you want it." Her eyes glittered with delight as she looked at you. A whine came from the back of your throat, but she didn't relent, keeping her hand still.

  Swallowing, your gaze went back down as your cock throbbed with need. She held her hand in the perfect circle to fit your length that was still slicked up with lube. With a shaky breath, you rocked your hips up, driving your dick further into her hand.

  Yoruichi didn't try to stop you, showing that this is exactly what she wanted you to do. Seeing her approval, you gained a little more confidence, thrusting more into her hand until the tip breached the other side of her fist. It felt good but lacking.

  Panting, you began to fuck her hand, thrusting until your pelvis hit the side of her fist only to pull back to feel her fingers around your tip. It was increasingly difficult not to touch yourself or her. Especially as she watched you please yourself with her hand while smiling and licking her lips hungrily.

  Your head fell back with a moan, your eyes closed from the pleasure. Heat rushed beneath your skin as your hips rocked. Yoruichi's lips were on your neck again, taking advantage of the bared skin to nip and suck and add to the pleasure.

  It was a war inside to keep your hands on the bed. But Yoruichi made it worth it.

  "That's my good boy. You're doing so good for me." She cooed and licked your throat to your chin.

  "Yoruichi!" Your voice wavered, and she purred in delight at how close you were already. She decided to stop the delicious torture by having a firm grip on your cock and focusing her movement on the head.

  Her thumb even swiped over your slit, collecting the precum that had gathered there. It mixed with the lube on her fingers. The slick friction of her fist around the glans and corona of your dick had your head swimming as she went faster.

  Your toes curled as you moaned with Yoruichi whispering sweet words in your ear.

  "That's it, sweetheart. You're almost there. Just a little more, and you'll get your reward." Her breathy voice caressed your ear. You'd managed to keep your hands on the bed this entire time, you could make it just a little longer. You truly wanted to do what she had asked of you- her rewards were always mind-numbing and worth whatever trial she put you through first.

  Loudly moaning, your hips bucked. Cum spurt out from her fist, coating her fingers and leaving a mess on your shirt with each twitch of your cock. She chuckled while releasing your softening member and brought her hand toward her face.

  "My, my. What a mess you've made?" Yoruichi's voice was so sweet before her tongue rolled out to lick the cum from her hand. "We should get you out of those dirty clothes." Despite her tone, her gaze was devouring you, promising a wonderful reward was coming your way.

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

Flufftober Day 2. “Left. Other left!”

“Left. Other left.”

"What do you mean, other left?" Michael asked in confusion. "I only have one left."

"My left," Gerry explained, absently waving his free arm as an example. He barely glanced away from the canvas as he did, his other hand occupied with a paintbrush. "Little more."

"Your left is still my left," Michael argued, adjusting his leg again. 

"Left from my perspective." Gerry still wasn't making sense, but Michael decided not to continue distracting him. His job was supposed to sit on the sofa and be a good reference‒ hell, Gerry wasn't even drawing him, he just needed a pose as the base to draw from. It was just that it was a rather uncomfortable pose, and Michael kept slipping out of it without noticing. 

He was also quite naked, but that didn't really bother him, not in front of the man he loved. It wasn't like Gerry hadn't seen it all before. Many times.

"Okay, almost done," Gerry assured him, wiping his paintbrush on his leg. "Just one more thing." He stepped out from behind his canvas and approached Michael, reaching out to cup his face and angle his head up. "This is very crucial. I need you to hold this pose very carefully." His paint-flecked thumb slowly rubbed over Michael's lip. "I need you to look like I've just kissed you."

Michael arched an eyebrow at him. "I think I'll need some encouragement for that, my love," he prompted, and was immediately rewarded with a quick kiss, short and sweet. Gerry leaned back, considered his face and shook his head with a smirk.

"Hmm, no, not quite." He ducked in, stopping just before their lips touched. "May I try again?"

"Yes," Michael breathed, leaning in for the next kiss. It was a long and lingering one, his absolute most favorite kind of kiss, especially since Gerry had perfected his methods. Michael could feel his lips tingling afterwards, cheeks flushed and eyes lidded heavily. Gerry seemed similarly affected, looking a bit dazed as he studied his expression. "Another?" Michael asked desperately.

"Yeah." Gerry dived back in, kissing him fervently, nipping at his lip until Michael opened for him, falling out of his held position with the force of his kisses. It was his other favorite kind of kiss, because it usually led to certain activities, and touches like the ones Gerry was giving him, caressing his arms up to his chin, holding him still as Gerry devoured his mouth. Michael gasped raggedly, arching into his kiss, drowning but so happy to go down. When Gerry pulled back Michael nearly seized him and dragged him back, only stopping when Gerry cupped his face again.

"Yeah," he panted, deep and pleased. "That's the look I want." He pressed another intoxicating kiss to Michael's lips, making him whimper with want. "I actually don't need an example, I've got your face memorized by now. I just wanted to kiss you a bit."

"You fucker," Michael admonished hazily. Gerry's kisses never failed to fuck him up. "You're just gonna snog me and leave?"

"Well…" Gerry trailed off, a glint in his eye. "I did get the outline done. I don't have to start the rest of it now‒"

He didn't finish, because Michael lurched up and grabbed him by the shoulders, yanking him down onto the couch and into the cradle of his arms and legs. They didn't get much done after that.

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 25 - Exhibitionism

More Spider hottie hours. >:3 Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re not entirely certain how you found yourself in this situation. It wasn’t that you were complaining, oh no. Aside from the location, the fact that you were bouncing on Miguel’s thick erection to clear your body of leftover adrenaline, you were happy as a clam.

“Oh mi amor,” Miguel growls, his claws digging into your thighs. It was a welcome pain that blended so beautifully with the pleasure. You feel his sharp canines nip at your collar bone, dragging you impossibly closer.

You were lost in this blissful haze for…well, you’d long lost track of time. Your spider suit was torn to shreds, but you couldn’t even be mad. That last mission had been a near disaster and this was the perfect way to get that leftover adrenaline out of your system.

All was going so well and you were inching closer to your end when your spider sense began to tingle dully in your head. “Fuck…n-not now…” you whined, leaning into every single touch the Latino man laid on you. You did so well at ignoring it all up until you heard the door to Miguel’s office slide open. “Heads up lovebirds, you’ve got company,” you could hear Lyla advise. As if having the slightly-obnoxious AI present during this all wasn’t enough.

Your lover pulls you down all the way onto his cock, forcing you to effectively straddle him in his lap. He used that absurd super-human strength to hold you in place, not letting you continue to ride him. You tried to whine, but bright red webbing wound it’s way around your throat. It didn’t stop you from breathing, but certainly cut off your whine. 

“Hey hey Miguel!” Oh fuck it was Peter B. Parker, of fucking course. “Don’t worry, I promise I didn’t bring my little bundle of joy with me. But I do have some new pictures I just have to–”

“What do you want?” Miguel’s tone was cold as always, as if he didn’t have your sloppy walls gripping his member like a vice. “I’m in the middle of something here, so whatever it is make it quick.”

“In the middle of what? Brooding?” Peter laughs. Many members of the Spider Society gave your lover a hard time for how hard he was constantly working. None of them blamed him of course, and it was perhaps their own way to try to help him cope with his past. 

You could hear the tell tale signs of the society’s local dad release some web. Next was the sensation of his feet touching down onto the pedestal where their leader loved to sit. You looked to Miguel with panic in your eyes, knowing damn well you two were about to get caught. He shot you one back, one you knew all too well. 

“C’mon you gotta see–” Peter’s words dropped from his mouth when he saw the situation the both of you were in. Your arms were wrapped around Miguel’s neck, his claws digging into your hips as if to claim you as his. You were seated firmly on his cock, and you couldn’t help but laugh internally at the blush Peter was now sporting.

Without a word, Miguel leaned forward and bit into the juncture of your shoulder and neck. The pain and pleasure blending with each other had you gasping, a long moan falling from your lips. The Latino man lets you go, licking his lips while making direct eye contact with Peter.

“I’m in the middle of something,” he says again, eyes never leaving your interloper. “Can. It. Wait?” Each word gets more and more forced. You can practically hear Peter nodding, a series of “yeah” “sure” and of “of course” leaving him as he makes a quick escape.

Once the door is shut, your lover sighs in annoyance. You feel your body involuntarily clench around the hot, thick cock inside you and piercing ruby eyes look to you. “What? Did you like being watched?” Miguel purrs, giving you a devious smile.

You feel your cheeks heat up, any thoughts getting cut off as you’re lifted up so your boyfriend’s member can slam back into you. “Answer me cariño,” he commands, setting a brutal pace of fucking you again. You’re barely able to think, but by some miracle, your answer falls out.

“Y-yes!” You moan, gripping onto Miguel’s forearms like a lifeline. “L-loved being watched. W-ant you to cl-laim me in fron-nt of them…! Mmh! Mi-guel…!” You can hear the Latino man groan against your skin as you are all but pushed over the edge. 

Your skin buzzes with pleasure as you milk his cock for all it’s worth. Your sex leaks against the remains of your spider suit and a bit onto his, but you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Miguel is not far behind you, his hot cum painting your insides. 

The grip on your hips doesn’t lessen at all by the time you are both finished. You’re held close as you feel Miguel inhale your scent. You press a kiss to the top of his head to assure him that you were still here, still solid. A soft chuckle that reverberates against your collar bone catches your attention.

“So mi corazón likes to be watched huh? Maybe we’ll make him stay next time.”

[ronearoundblindly]

If its ok what if

Lloyd hansen x reader x steve rogers

🥵 smutt

ya know, it took me a loooong time--this ask is from september--to come up with something, but today's the day apparently! And, AND! The lovely @darsynia made me an awesome graphic whilst I wrote all this filth! Thank you, bestie!!! WC 3.3k

Warnings for oh fuck these two are terrors, smut, goddamn fighting (obviously, bc they can't get along in any universe), possibly the worst fucking puns ever and I no longer care, terrible/inaccurate/but very mild dom/sub vibes, not much but knife play. Please note that this work does not involve the two men together. Alternate title: Ro is 1,000% [nope, better make it 1,000,000%] going to hell. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you!

You can tell Steve is about to crawl out of his skin as the knife touches yours.

"You buy these pretty things for me?" Lloyd coos, tucking the point of his switchblade beneath a lacy seam. He knows damn well the navy set with bright red hearts is not for his enjoyment at all, so he turns his head to stare at your husband.

"Useless," Lloyd growls, flicking his wrist deftly.

The sliced fabric springs back to reveal your thatch of hair. You have no idea whether Lloyd was talking about your panties or Steve, and frankly, you're too turned on to care. There’s a certain amount of goading you expected aimed at the awkward hunk leaning on the far wall.

Steve clenches his arms tighter across his chest and sucks in a breath, eyes darting to your skin in case Lloyd drew blood, but his gaze lingers at your almost exposed core.

He hates this whole idea, but you have tried talking to him so many times about how to make sex more interesting. Steve can't stand to even listen to the words much less do what you want. This is the compromise.

Lloyd Hansen will do anyone for the right price, and sure, usually, that's killing, but who doesn't love a good fuck? Who wouldn't get half-hard just thinking about taking Captain America's wife to pound town right in front of the guy?

Lloyd simply smirks, returning his eyes to you and nudging the lace a little farther. The flat of the blade on your mound feels cold and so fucking dangerous that you shiver, neck tensing to throw your head back.

"How's that feel, pumpkin?"

"Golden," you whine, mewling when he nicks the other end and pulls your panties off. Lloyd doesn't like safe words and shit, but he agreed to a few check-ins, and you do have a way to stop him because, let's face it, the money is the real goal for him. The rest is gravy.

Lloyd stalks over to Steve's corner of the room, lifting the ruined garment for the other to take. "A souvenir--" he chuckles "--what's that smell like to you, huh, big man?"

Steve grimaces, unmoving, so Lloyd shoves your panties in his face.

"Smells like team spirit to me."

You should laugh. You really should. You should not fucking moan when you see Steve's chest expand and his eyes flutter shut briefly. You should not have such a surge of tingling heat race to your center that your thighs slam together.

But you do. And Lloyd notices.

"This is gonna be fun," he whispers, likely to himself, as he drops the fabric and walks over again.

His fingertips slide from your knee up your thigh, and Lloyd bends to nip at your neck.

"Lie back from me, sweetheart. Go on."

You have to cover a squeak while you flop onto the mattress. This sort of dominance is nothing like Steve Rogers even on his most confident day. Steve is always measured and a little tentative, his force reined in to the point of being boring after so many years. This is all flush and feral with the promise of oblivion, and in the strangest way, you still associate every second as with Steve, not Lloyd Hansen. The exercise in trust--the sheer fact that he was willing to entertain this idea, much less the practice--is a show of devotion from Steve you never thought possible.

And then Lloyd kneels down and pushes your legs apart. "Open up for me. That's it. Good girl."

"Ah fuck," you moan into your hand, and thank god if Steve does hear you, he doesn't say a thing.

Lloyd skips finesse and plunges into the dirty end of the pool by licking all the way up and down your cunt, hands spreading your ass to expose every bit of you to him, and he pauses to speak with his mouth against your clit.

"Do I need to give him a lesson or can I just fucking taste you?"

"I know how to--" but Steve's protest dies behind the noise Lloyd makes sloppily eating you out like a man starved.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, and your hips buck into the wild ride. His mustache burns in the best way. You gasp so much that your throat burns dry, too.

He says other things, things that rumble up your spine and settle deep in your brain, but you can't process what those words are until the white-hot lightning finally cracks your body apart.

Lloyd is shockingly soothing as you come back down from your high but unshockingly smug when he sweeps his face clean of your cum.

"You're doing star-spangled spectacularly for me, slut, now why don't--"

There's a thunderclap of noise that wrenches you out of your bliss. You’re knocked onto your side as Lloyd falls to the floor.

Steve raises his arm again but hesitates when you call his name.

"He doesn't...he doesn't do well with language like that," you manage to say, still fuzzy and out of breath.

Lloyd wipes blood from his nose. "Yeah, I picked up on that. Thanks,” he spits sarcastically, followed by a real spit to clear his mouth. “Down, boy. I'll play nice--" he winks at you as he rises "--but not too nice."

Lloyd climbs back to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand spreading over your throat gently. "Feels good, don't it? Feeling golden?"

You nod vigorously.

He licks more blood from his lip. “Yeah? Can we move on, pumpkin, or is your pussy still needy—“

Lloyd catches Steve's fist this time, jumping up to punch your husband square in the neck.

Steve, to his credit, doesn't even go down, but he drops his arm and steps back, rubbing the point of contact as he wheezes for a minute.

"Can I please continue?" Lloyd screams in annoyance. The man is not in any way used to sharing, or going slow, or giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room for that matter. However, Lloyd is a dedicated professional, so he’ll continue because he knows what’s in it for him. "God damn it,” he barks, spitting at Steve’s feet.

Lloyd takes a beat to compose himself and returns to your side, facing away now, his hand plunging between your legs.

"Time to earn participation points, Golden Boy." Two fingers breach your entrance without warning. "On your knees."

Lloyd snaps his other fingers and points to the ground like he's training a dog to heel.

Slowly, with wide eyes and hesitant steps, Steve places himself exactly as Lloyd did before. He strategically keeps his focus glued to yours until the squelching sound of Lloyd's fingers thrusting in and out of you becomes too loud to ignore.

That look--that fucking moment where your husband sees your core and hunger darkens his whole face--could send you back over the edge right here, but suddenly, Lloyd stops.

"Now we've got his attention," the cruel man laughs.

Like your panties before, there's no ceremony to Lloyd shoving his fingers into Steve's awe-parted lips, but the biggest shock is how your husband doesn't fight the intrusion. No. Steve grabs Lloyd's wrist to keep him there until Steve is done sucking your taste off another man's fingers.

You're pretty sure that's when your soul left your body, but it's a toss-up between that and every other moment tonight.

With more patience than you thought possible, Lloyd waits, comically making an “O” with his mouth and looking at you. “Someone’s eager for the beaver, I see.” He takes the same wet fingers and tucks them between your breasts, snapping the front of your bra sharply against your sternum. 

“Finish unwrapping your present. I wanna see what you got—” and when Steve immediately reaches behind your back for the clasp, Lloyd’s eyebrows bob up and down “—and he’s good at following orders, too.”

Your husband plants a gentle kiss on the swell of one breast before Lloyd stops him, tutting while he holds a fucking knife against Captain America’s chest to sit him back on his heels.

He ticks the blade down. “That’s your half now. This is mine.”

You’re practically panting while Steve’s eyes go hard in possessiveness, locked onto Lloyd in a challenge you don’t quite understand until the fancy man flips the blade back into it’s handle.

“Fine,” Lloyd grouches, tossing the knife farther up the bed. He shuffles closer to face you, a warm hand cupping your breast before he tweaks the nipple harshly. “Why don’t you relax for us, huh, good girl?”

Lloyd coaxes you to lean back again, orders Steve to hold your legs open and tease you, buries painful fingers in your hair, and forces you to watch.

“That’s it. Don’t you want to hear her beg? Doesn’t she sound so sweet? Oh, I like her desperate…”

Not in years has Steve Rogers whispered anything so filthy as the shit that falls from Lloyd’s mouth, but goddamn, every word is like kindling stoking the vigor with which Steve consumes you. You lap up the praise while your husband gulps down every ounce created by every word.

Lloyd lowers to suck and bite all over your chest, marks blossoming across the tender skin as he takes a sort of sweet revenge for his bloody nose. A kink for a kink.

“You want to tell him what’s next,” Lloyd rasps, straining your neck back to look at him in the last few moments before you come again, “or should I?” His devilish smile is the last thing you see before he pushes you to meet Steve’s eyes, the perfect, final flick of tongue rolling over your clit.

Dutifully—sweetly almost—Steve lifts away from you as your legs shake, replacing his face with his fingers to gently bring you down, and Lloyd does not like that. He swats Steve’s hand off to slap your raw bundle of nerves and shove his fingers in again, brutally hitting that spongy spot until the dam of orgasm doesn’t just rupture, it explodes inside you.

You cry out and flail. Lloyd pins you down with a knee to your ribcage, and it hurts but not enough to give a shit over the rush of cum soaking his hand and the sheets below. Steve holds your ankles so you don’t kick him in the face while squirming, transfixed on every move Lloyd makes to milk you stupid.

With one last wet slap, Lloyd rests his hand on your belly and tosses a gelled lock of hair out of his face.

“Wifey here wants to suck you dry,” he boasts, and your hands fly to your face in hot embarrassment.

You confessed that after drinking quite a lot during the ‘negotiation’ of terms for this little arrangement, but only when Steve excused himself to the restroom. Lloyd wasn’t supposed to repeat your fantasy.

“That’s right, big guy. She’s gonna blow your—“ his eyes drop and raise “—mind,” he continues, unpinning you and pushing your arms to the side. He leans down to smear your own slick across your mouth messily, quietly adding, “he won’t even notice I’m right behind you.”

The air rushes out of your lungs before you can stop it, making a downright pathetic sound of anticipation.

“Strip,” Lloyd commands, waving a hand casually at Steve and sauntering over to a bottle of water on the dresser. “The…uh…lady should get on her knees.”

Steve turns to the other wall, unable to meet your eye, bright red blotches spotting his neck and cheeks. He’s embarrassed, too, but from the speed at which he unzips his jeans to relieve his still-straining erection and then pulls his shirt over his head, Steve is also painfully aroused. You even catch him rubbing his cock with each conceivable pass while disrobing. It reignites that weak fire between your tired legs.

“Face up, Captain. Give ‘er some room,” Lloyd snorts, capping his water.

Of course, Steve spreads his legs in front of you, and instead of acknowledging how fucking hard he is, he helps you balance into position.

You capture a quick kiss and smile as your husband blushes even more.

“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” Lloyd mutters behind you.

He’s just so, so fucking evil, but you admit the contrast has you drooling to get your mouth on Steve. You’re already planning on adding orders to your regular routine. You buzz with excitement at all this play implies, now and in the future.

Steve isn’t just letting this happen; he likes what’s happening.

Lloyd’s warm hand pets down your spine until it rests heavily on your lower back, the heel of it pressed against your spread ass, an encouragement and a threat.

“Take him how you want. Just like you told me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to Steve’s ragged breaths amidst Lloyd's criticism.

“You don’t just lick him, do you, kitten? You can do better than that. I thought you wanted to swallow him whole. Don’t disappoint me now. More. You can take it. More.”

Your nose nuzzles into Steve’s pelvis as you feel his cock jump in your throat. You swallow around him but force yourself up for air after.

“Is that the best you got?” Lloyd teases, his hand sliding tauntingly down your crack and through your folds before he’s gone.

You open your eyes when he grabs your wrist and presses the closed switchblade into your palm.

“Go on. Hold it, pumpkin. Right there.” Lloyd makes your hand rest on Steve’s thigh. For balance, you have to open your fist and press the metal to your husband’s skin as you take him back into your mouth.

Steve fucking groans, pinching his eyes shut and grabbing the sheets beneath him.

“Oh yeah,” Lloyd chirps, “he likes a bit of danger, huh?” A flat hand cracks against your ass, making you whine with your lips around Steve’s dick.

The sound of Steve whimpering is coupled with the snap of Lloyd's belt. His fingers return, and you just know he’s unabashedly staring at your pussy.

“Whoo-ee, if you weren’t already gaping for me, I’d think you weren’t into this. Put your back into it.” You hear the rip of a zipper only moments before the thick tip of him lines up.

You can’t help but moan low and long over Steve’s length.

“Baby?” Steve breathes above you.

“She’s fine,” Lloyd answers instead, pushing in. The head of him pops past the first ridge of your walls, and his hand clamps down on your hip, the other flat over the small of your back, guiding, controlling.

The spit of both men coats your core and inner thighs, you remember, and the slow swirl of ambient air proves it. That thought makes your eyes roll back as much as the glorious pressure of Lloyd’s cock filling you.

But Steve’s fingers find your chin and raise you to look at him, repeating his question until you let him fall heavy from your mouth and lick your swollen lips.

“Golden,” you say just as Lloyd bottoms out. “Fff-ahh.” You barely stop yourself from cursing when he thrusts forward and another SMACK hits your ass. “Golden,” you promise, because you know Steve is watching with extremely mixed feelings.

You return what attention you can to stuffing your mouth full. A rhythm progresses while you rock between them, but it’s too gentle for—of all people—Steve.

His hand knots through your hair to guide you faster. You have to plant yourself steady on the mattress, the knife digging into both your flesh, and hold your hips still.

Lloyd isn’t even fazed as he takes over his own selfish pace, his balls slapping so hard they sting your thighs. He keeps talking, too.

“See how much she likes that, buddy?”

Oh, that is not going to go over well with Steve.

“Bet she’d drop to her knees for you daily.”

He’s not wrong there…

“Damn, babygirl—“ Oh shit “—sometimes a bitch just needs fucked doggy-style.”

You can feel Steve’s chest fill to correct him, the deep v-line of his Adonis’ belt pressing against your nose to cut off your air, but Lloyd purposefully slams into you. You lurch forward to deep-throat Steve with a scream of alarm, and the constriction nearly topples Steve over the edge.

Just for a moment, his hand holds you down, choking you. It’s Steve choking you on his dick, and your nails happily dig into his meaty thighs. You’ve dreamed of this day.

With a strangled sound, Steve pulls you off him, strings of spit drip from your abused mouth. You’re gasping for air but also not done enjoying yourself, so you lick and kiss up Steve’s length until ready to take him again.

All the while, Lloyd darkly chuckles and kneads at your ass.

When one spanking lands so hard that you cry out, Steve bucks down your throat and punches the bed, clearly torn between sensation and situation. 

“Such an asshole,” he grits through clenched teeth. 

“Oh,” Lloyd tuts, “she wants it in the ass? Well, when in Rome…” He swipes his thumb over the cream pooling at the base of his cock and shoves his thumb hard against your puckered hole. 

Honestly, you have no idea if it even breached because you scream and fall forward on Steve's dick. This time, Steve comes with a roar, a raging, animalistic thing you have never heard before, but you’re pulled away just as fast. 

Lloyd hauls you up to his chest, telling you to look at what a fucking mess your husband is for you. Steve desperately grips himself until it’s over, half his spend glistening on his abs, half rolling down your chin while Lloyd continues to thrust into your sweet spot.

He’s given up controlling his language entirely.

“Fuck, she’s close. Come on, big guy—“ he pinches your nipple and bites at your neck “—finish her off.”

Lloyd drops you like a stone into Steve’s waiting arms, and Steve wastes no time slamming his mouth to yours and furiously rubbing your clit. You’re so stretched out that three of his thick fingers feel like nothing until they curl.

This time you can’t help but shout your own curse. Steve just keeps kissing you, holding you two together as you writhe. You hardly notice Lloyd painting his cum across your back and ass but neither does Steve, it seems, because the next thing you know you’re laying beside your husband in bed while your guest grins in triumph.

“I’ll just take this,” Lloyd drawls, reaching beneath Steve’s bare leg to retrieve his knife. He slaps Steve’s ass, too. It’s as if Lloyd knows Steve will let him get away with just about anything in the post-coital fog. “Don’t want you to feel left out, buddy.”

Your husband makes no move at all except to kiss your forehead.

“How are you?” He smooths your wrecked hair out of your face.

“Oh wow,” you say with a rough voice and runaway breaths, “I’m golden, just golden.”

Lloyd grabs his water bottle, joking. “My work here is done, and you two—“ he swigs and swallows dramatically “—I don't mind repeat business from. Anytime. Fuck.” 

He struts to the bathroom, pants still undone and hanging open, uncaring. With a shout, he slaps the top of the door frame.

“That’s America’s Cunt!”

Steve’s whole body tenses. “I hate that guy,” he grumbles into your sweaty skin.

You snuggle closer, surrounded by familiar body heat and musk. “I know. Isn't it great?” 

Because it’s so, so true. There is nothing about Lloyd Hansen you actually want for one second longer than necessary. That's the beauty of teamwork: everyone serves their purpose.

Honorable mention to the line I promised but ultimately couldn't fit in (that's what she said):

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[v-ternus]

where the delicate stops

Day 13+14 of Kinktober- Size and Magic

[prompts courtesy of the lovely @kroas-adtam ]

thank you to @ghoultrifle for your absolutely nasty, filthy help on this. (i hope it lives up to the hype)

Explicit | Mountain and Aeon

Summary: Aeon didn't come for slow. He didn't come for sweet. But Mountain seems intent on giving him it anyway.

warning: dubcon (the magic use)

below for your consumption :)

“Fuck me already.” He barks, tilting his head to the side and marveling at the cold fabric against his heated skin. Mountain insisted on prepping him properly, so here he lays, sprawled on his back with Mountain between his legs, the scent of evergreen washing over him and a finger barely two knuckles deep in his achingly empty hole. 

“It’ll hurt bug,” Mountain says softly as he drags a rough hand along Aeon’s flank. He’s big, in every department, and he knows it. He’s been around the block enough times to know how to make the stretch feel good– and it has to start here. He’ll drag his warm tongue against intimate skin, nipping at thighs and sensitive muscles. He could spend hours working his fingers in, petting at soft walls that clench tight when he drags against a certain spot. Time never matters, not to him, not in these moments, as long as someone ends up tied tight around his knot. He’ll give them as long as they need.

His cock hangs heavy between his strong thighs at the thought.  

“Wait a little bit more Aeon,” He says as he presses a second finger in. There’s a reverence to his words, a sense of caring worship, and Aeon wants none of it. Should’ve gone to Dew, he thinks to himself, should’ve gotten the ghoul angry.

He rolls his hips, grinding himself further onto Mountain’s fingers. He feels the pad of a third finger press in next to the first two, and his brain all but shuts off. The slightest burn from the stretch has pre welling up on the tip of his neglected cock, dripping onto his happy trail, making a mess. If he needed Mountain to hurry up earlier, he needs him to move at light speed now. He wants more, needs more. He’s desperate. 

Mountain must sense his impatience growing into frustration. 

“—Dont want to break you.” The large ghoul says, and something in Aeon snaps. He isnt usually troubled by his size. Sure, he’s built on the smaller end of things, slimmer, a little shorter than most ghouls— he’s never cared. But tonight? Mountain’s words make wrath burn hot in his chest. He’s not fragile. Not delicate. 

A quick hand moves to wrap around Mountain’s wrist, around the hand that's been teasing him all night. He pulls the hand out and groans at the loss. Temporary, he reminds himself.  A confused look sprouts on Mountain’s face, but Aeon doesnt let it stay for long. 

A tingling static blooms in Mountain’s palm. It wraps around his nerves and crawls up through his arm, over his shoulder, until it wraps around his neck, tightening around the base of his skull. It all happens so quickly, leaving him no time to get out of Aeon’s grip before they’re flipped, with Mountain flat on his back and Aeon straddling his hips– with how angry Aeon is, Mountain feels as light as a feather. 

If there wasnt a tinge of fear coursing through Mountain, he might chuckle at what this looks like– him pinned under a ghoul who can just barely spread his thighs wide enough to set himself on his lap. 

Mountain isnt used to Aeon’s magic, the numbness, and the way it creeps across every fiber of his being. It isnt quite Aether, tender and warm, and it isn't like Omega, calculated, weaving in exactly where it's needed. Aeon’s magic is wild. Stronger. Unpredictable. His heart rate quickens.

“I told you to get on with it,” Aeon drops his hips, just enough to slot his cock next to Mountain’s, and Satan below he’s never been more sheepish about his size. He knows he’s well endowed– that’s been made fact by Rain choking on him after a few really good rituals. But compared to Mountain, his cock is still a good two inches shorter.

He can barely fit his hand around when he reaches to hold them together. He uses his free hand to glide over the ruddy head of his cock before smearing the slick onto Mountain. He fucks into his straining grip, feeling Mountain throb where they’re pressed together. 

“Should’ve listened big man.” he scolds, dragging his fingertips over the head of Mountain’s cock that’s so red it's almost purple. Mountain tries to groan, to make any noise, but it's just so hard. It’s like he’s forgotten how. 

Aeon watches the light purple streaks swirling through Mountain’s glassy eyes and knows his magic has settled in fully. He knows he’s got him right where he wants him– dulled in all the right ways and putty in his hands, ready to be molded into the perfect fuck toy. 

“Gonna show you how to fuck me right,” he says as he rocks up on his knees, lining Mountain’s cock up with his tight ring. He takes a deep breath and holds it as he sinks down. A deep groan leaves his lips, followed by a drawn out ‘fuckkkkkkkk’. He remembers then, of just how big Mountain feels. He hisses, spearing himself on the generous girth. He works himself down inch by stretching inch and doesn't quit till his ass settles on Mountain’s hips. He breathes through the sensations, lost in how he’s so full he thinks it’ll kill him. 

It’s what he’s been waiting for all night. 

“Gonna fuck myself on your pretty cock Mount,” he starts a lazy pace, enjoying the way his body rushes to fit around Mountain. “Can’t believe you needed my magic to make me feel like this.”

“I’ll look for one of the older ghouls next time, maybe Omega. Or even Alpha. Anyone who’ll fill me when I ask.” Mountain tries to speak but his tongue is heavy, useless in his mouth. The way Aeon has him, he cant do anything but sit back and watch as he’s taken apart. He keeps his eyes trained to where Aeon is stretched around him– he wants to reach out and touch, run his thumb against the stretched out rim. 

Aeon slams himself down and it feels like the world has knocked the breath out of him- he swears he can feel Mountain in his throat at this point. 

Aeon leans back, planting his hands on the tops of Mountain’s thick thighs, barely covering the muscle as he puts himself on display. The new angle bounces his cock against his stomach, and Mountain’s eyes move to watch. He works his sight over the expanse of the ghoul, he marvels at the lines of his body, the slight hint of muscle on his chest, the rise and fall of his ribs with his breath, the lithe torso, and oh–. 

Him

Just under Aeon’s belly button, a foreign bump pokes through, rising and falling in sync with his bounces– him. 

Mountain manages to mewl, loving how he fills him so well, but powerless to touch, to feel. Mountain can't press a hand down and feel each stroke move through him. He could cry, and with the way he’s choking on his breath, he thinks he just might. 

Aeon, sensing distress, decides to dig his fingers in even more, sending more of his magic into Mountain. This time, it burns, carves him from the inside out, etches into his bones. It borders on too much. His skin starts to feel itchy, like he’s meant to grow out of it. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes. 

“Can you see yourself in there?” It's a teasing question, he knows Mountain can't answer, but his cock kicks, his own silent form of yes. Mountain’s distress only gets him harder. Aeon’s hand drifts to press down on the bulge, making himself whine, high and reedy.  

“Wish you’d just given it to me like this,” Aeon settles, knees aching from the insistent bouncing. He rolls his hips instead, somehow working himself further and further onto Mountain’s length each time, feeling that familiar bump at the base grow with each passing moment. 

Each slick glide around his cock has Mountain’s brain melting out of his ears. His eyes go frantic, blinking and shifting at random patterns. His mind screams for release, a repeating mantra of ‘Please, I need to cum. –m sorry, please” echoing in his head.

Aeon can hear him of course, he’s known everything in Mountain’s head since he first doped him up, but his pleading makes no difference. Aeon is only going to let him cum for his own pleasure. 

“Gonna get myself stuck on your knot Mount,” He reaches his other hand forward and wraps his sly fingers around his cock. He’s nice and slick, timing each roll of his hips with a stroke of his hand and it has him right on the edge. The muscles in Mountain’s stomach tighten, fire ripping through his body. Aeon grips around his own full knot and it's all he needs to slam himself onto Mountain’s. 

Milky white ropes shoot over Mountain’s skin, nestling into his happy trail, filling his navel. Aeon thumbs at the space right under the head, milking himself dry but still barely coating the ghoul beneath him.

Mountain thinks he blacked out. He must’ve. Cause now, Aeon lays prone on his chest, spreading the sticky mess of his spend between them and pressing his cock into the softness of his stomach. He’s still lazily grinding his hips, tugging on Mountain’s knot each time, clenching around his sensitive cock. He can't push him off, can't get him to stop, and it's too much. The tears that he’s managed to hold back finally fall. 

Aeon gives a pleased hum against his chest, placing a quick kiss to the flush skin before tilting his head up, sticking out his tongue to lap at the salty streaks as they work their way down Mountain’s face. 

“Thanks big guy.”

[crimson-calligraphyx]

Things have been getting better between me and Noah over the last few weeks, especially now that the boys are wrapping up with their album. He made a conscious effort to be finished with recording at a certain time each day so that we could at least have dinner or watch a movie together.

Not to mention, the sex has been great. It was like he was stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert, dying of thirst, and I was the drink of water he so desperately needed to survive. I wasn't complaining by any means—waking up to him between my legs day after day was better than my morning coffee.

I laid on his chest with a leg splayed over his nude body, listening to the sound of his pounding heart as he slowly ran a hand through my hair. It was late morning, the sun pouring in from our skylight accentuating the red on his arm; he hums when I start to delicately trace his ink with my index finger as we both tried to get our breathing back to a normal pace.

"I'm definitely gonna miss waking up like this," he sighs after a few minutes, nearly comatose. I picked my head up with my eyebrows cinched together in confusion. I take note of his relaxed state, unbothered, with his eyes closed. "What?" "Shit," he hissed and cringes before slowly opening his eyes, hesitantly gazing at me. "Did I forget to mention that we're headed out on tour soon?" "Seriously, Noah?" I groaned in aggravation, pushing myself into a sitting position.

"I thought you might've seen the announcement online," his hand glides down my arm, grasping my hand lightly while he runs his thumb over my knuckles. I scoffed. "You didn't think to just tell me? You know I don't use social media much." "There were talks of it a little while back, and I've been so caught up with recording, it must've slipped my mind." I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, it must've," I mumbled and started pushing myself out of bed—I could feel my chest start to get heavy with disappointment, and I needed to excuse myself to process.

He sighs and follows suit, wrapping his arms around my waist before I'm able to walk away. He pulls me back, having me sit on his lap as he rests his chin on my shoulder. "Liv, I'm sorry. It's not for a few weeks, anyway," he says quietly and presses a kiss to my cheek. "We get a break after a show in Sacramento around Christmas, so I'll be able to come home for that."

"Did you forget that we're supposed to head to Richmond for the holidays, too? I won't be home." I grumbled, my patience starting to wear thin. I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold around my midsection, keeping me pressed against his chest. "Then I'll book a flight to Virginia," he tries, now rubbing a thumb against my side. My body involuntarily moves away from the touch, a tickle coasting down my side. "I've really been enjoying these mornings together, let's not have it be ruined by something silly, okay?"

He moves his lips to my neck, placing feather-light kisses against my skin. I took a deep breath and nodded, settling into his hold some. "Yeah, you're right. If you were leaving tomorrow, though, you'd be in deep waters," I chuckled, trying to lift my dampened mood. I feel his lips pull into a smirk against my neck. "I already was about twenty minutes ago," he says lowly, humor lacing his tone. I snort, swatting his arm playfully, "Don't be gross." "It wasn't gross when you were screaming my name and begging me not to stop, now was it?" he retorts, nipping right below my ear. A tingle runs down my spine at the feeling of his teeth against my skin. "Enough," I bite my bottom lip to suppress the tiny moan that was forming in my throat. "I need to shower; I'm already running a little behind schedule."

He chuckles lowly and mutters a quick 'okay' before retracting his arms, allowing me to head into our bathroom. I turned the shower on before placing my palms against the vanity, hanging my head as I huffed. How do you just casually forget to tell your wife that you'll be gone for several weeks, and forget that there were plans to head home during that time?

It must've slipped my mind.

I wrenched my eyes shut and breathed deep, the weighted feeling in my chest only got worse as his words cycled in my mind. I could feel the needles digging into my throat and the tears burning behind my eyelids as I tried not to cry, once again feeling lesser than the music he was producing.

I sucked in a raggedy breath as I felt the first tear escape my eye, slipping off my face and into the sink. I picked my head up and looked at myself in the mirror, taking note of the contrast between my porcelain skin and the reddened marks along my collarbones and breasts. I trailed a finger over my skin delicately, connecting the dots of his love bites with a saddened smile tugging at my lips.

This was why he couldn’t keep his hands off me as of late—he just wanted to get his fill before he leaves for weeks at a time. His actions were influenced by lust; he didn’t actually care about the time we were spending together, so long as he was getting his dick wet. If he did care, he wouldn’t have left it for social media to break the news to me. He would’ve remembered that we were going back to Virginia for Christmas.

Another tear silently rolls down my cheek; I wiped it away hastily with a sniff before peeking out the bathroom door. Noah was back to lying in bed, preoccupied with his phone in his face, one arm behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles. I shook my head lightly and turned my attention to the vanity, crouching as I opened the cabinet and reached behind the multitude of cleaning products.

I pulled out the bottle of Smirnoff, careful as to not knock it into anything so I wouldn’t make a noise, and quickly unscrewed the cap. I took a swig, the liquid replacing the burn already in my throat from holding back my cries. I took quite a few pulls from the bottle, screwed the cap back on and placed it in its hiding spot before standing up with an exasperated sigh.

I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash to mask the scent of alcohol on my breath before hopping into shower. I closed my eyes and ran my hair under the spray head as the booze began to ice my veins, the comforting buzz removing the weight and settling into my chest. I took a deep breath, pushing out the remaining negativity as I exhaled, a smile grazing my lips.

If Noah could get his fix, then so could I.

-

The bell on the door jingles, alerting me of a customer entering the bakery. I finished wiping the crumbs from the counter and into my palm before bringing my attention to said customer, placing a friendly smile on my face. Though my vision was a tad skewed, I could see that a pair of kind eyes and a mop of sandy-blond hair stood before me.

“Good afternoon, Steven,” I greet the familiar face, immediately reaching for a piece of wax paper after tossing the crumbs into the nearest trash. “Lemon poppyseed?” He flashes me a kind smile, bobbing his head. “Please, thank you. And a cup of—” “Dark roast, milk, two sugars,” I finished his sentence with a smirk. He chuckles lightly as he accepts the muffin that I handed to him over the display case, leaving me to prepare his cup of Joe.

Steven was one of the regulars here at the bakery, always coming in shortly after noon to grab a muffin and a coffee for his lunch break. He would make himself comfortable in the alcove near the front door, typing away on the laptop laid out in front of him as he ate. He would strike up a conversation when the bakery was quiet, much like today, about nothing in particular. I think he just liked to hear himself talk, but I didn't mind it. It was nice to have some sort of sound other than the occasional hum of the coffee grinder or the squeak from the back as the racks in the oven spun.

I grabbed a paper cup and began making his coffee, dispensing the milk and scooping the two teaspoons of sugar into the bottom of it. I moved a little too quickly when I had turned around to face the pots, feeling as if the room lagged behind me. I had to place a hand on the counter to ground myself, and I mentally scolded myself knowing that there were eyes on me.

I felt the heat rise up my neck and to my cheeks with embarrassment, and took a deep breath to steady myself. I shouldn't have drank before coming to work. Still, I tried my best to cover it up while I poured his coffee, getting lost as the dairy mixed with the black of the coffee and clouded into a deep caramel color. I smiled softly to myself, oddly being reminded of Noah's eyes—it quickly faltered when the thought of how disappointed he would be if he knew my current state loomed over me.

A loud pop brought me back to my senses, paired with an overwhelming burning sensation on my hand. "Fuck!" I hissed, letting go of the handle that remained in my hand, the glass of the coffee pot scattered about. I immediately wrapped my hand in my apron, drying it off and hoping to alleviate the ache.

"Are you alright?" I hear someone ask, to which I nodded and let go of my apron to carry on with handling this mess. I snatched a towel and picked up the trash can under the counter, holding it underneath the lip while swiping the glass and coffee into it. "Are you sure you're alright?" They ask again, and I responded by nodding once more, this time tears springing to my eyes.

I finished cleaning what I could before I realized that a shard had nicked my palm, the towel in my hand now stained crimson with my blood. I sighed harshly and tossed the rag into the trash before I made my way out to the back, letting the tears fall freely down my flushed cheeks while trying to catch my breath.

I make it to a handwashing sink, turning the faucet on and scrubbing my hands with soap just as Juliana, one of my employees, sidles up beside me. "Shit, Liv, are you okay? What happened?" She asks, and places a reassuring hand on my back. I sighed, "Yeah, I'm alright. Not something I haven't done before." "Are you sure? You're bleeding pretty good," she presses, leaning over to get a look at my hand. "I'm fine," I nearly growled, now becoming irritated, "it's just a small cut." I rinsed my hands off and grabbed a handful of paper towels, wrapping it around my wounded hand before brushing past her. I just needed to get away, the constant questioning of my well-being setting me into a sensory overload.

I couldn't breathe as I barged into my office, kicking the door shut and nearly collapsing into the computer chair. Taking a staggered breath, I squeezed the towels against my hand, finally letting out the sobs that I was suppressing while out on the floor. My hand was throbbing, my chest was caving in on itself, I was drunk while at work and embarrassing myself, and things weren't as patched up with Noah as I thought they were.

I cried for what seemed like an eternity before I was left a sniffling mess, wiping my nose and under my eyes with a clean spot on the towel still wrapped around my hand. I knew that I couldn't work in this condition and decided it was best if I went home for the day.

I gathered my belongings and locked up my office, making my way over to Juliana. "I'm sorry, Jules," I mumbled as she looks over at me, concern heavy in her features. "I didn't mean to snap at you, but I-I need to go home. Would you be okay with closing up with Holly tonight?" "Sure, of course," she gives me a saddened smile, placing the item in her hand on the dish rack to dry. "I hope your hand is okay." I glanced at my hand, shrugging; it was the least of my concerns. "Thanks," I grinned, nodding before making my way out to the front of the bakery.

I reached the door, about to make my exit when Steven grabs my attention. I see that he's finished his muffin, the skirt and remaining crumbs in front of him, and that one of the girls had taken over for me and made his coffee. I huffed, hanging my head in shame.

"I'm so sorry about all that," I start, motioning behind me towards the counter. "I must've hit the corner of the burner while putting the pot back. Your lunch is on me tomorrow." "Don't worry about it," he waves me off, that friendly smile still plastered on his face. "These things happen. You're okay, though, right?" I glance down at my hand again quickly, letting out a dry laugh, "Yeah, I'm okay." I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and shifted my weight onto the foot closest to the door, "Anyway, thanks for checking. I gotta run."

I pushed the door open, my body halfway through the threshold, just as he speaks up again. I step back to turn my attention towards him, throwing my balance off briefly. I righted myself, hoping he didn't notice. "You seem a little...tense," he tilts his head slightly, eyebrows pulled together in what seemed to be concern. "Would you like to meet up later tonight down at The Virgil for a drink? Let off some steam?" I sucked in a breath, his question catching me off-guard. "Oh, um...that's okay. I-I don't drink," I sputtered out, dropping my eyes down to the floor.

Liar. Dirty, filthy liar you are, Olivia.

He nods in understanding, "That's cool. Even so, could always come down for a bite to eat and chat. It's good to have someone to talk to. I'll be there after 8 tonight if you change your mind." I bobbed my head in thanks, throwing a fake smile on my face before finally making it out of the bakery. The smile quickly falls into a frown as I made my way back to our home as efficiently as I could without stumbling, as the world was still blurred before me. I shook my head at myself; I hated how tempting it was to go down to the bar, with someone who was basically a stranger nonetheless.

When I made it home, I threw my bag down in the bedroom and made my way into the bathroom so that I could properly tend to my hand. I tossed the used paper towels in the trash, happy to see that the cut on my hand, nor the burn, wasn't anything significant and had stopped bleeding. I washed my hands again, applied a dab of Neosporin for safe measures, and covered it with a bandaid before flopping down onto my bed.

I shoved my face into my pillow and groaned, aimlessly kicking off my shoes and hearing them tumble across the floor. Today was absolute shit, and it was nobody's fault but my own. I shouldn't have gotten upset with Noah, I shouldn't have drank and gone to work drunk. I wouldn't have broken down from people asking me if I was okay from a stupid cut, resulting in me having to come home to gather myself.

My phone chimes in my back pocket, and I reached behind me, blindly grabbing it. I picked my head up to read the message, one eye closed as I focused on the screen, which was much too bright all of a sudden.

Noah: hey love, we're having a movie night at Jolly's, feel free to stop by after work if you want. if not, see you when i come home. love you

If you want. Not 'I want you to come', but if I wanted to. If not, see you when I come home. It's like he couldn't care less if he saw me or not.

Frustrated, I huffed and threw my phone down on the mattress, rolling onto my side, and pulled Noah's pillow against my chest. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the familiar cedar wood scent radiating from the pillowcase, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms for comfort. The sad thing is that I wasn't even sure if I would get the comfort from him if he were here, not with this mindset...but I knew of something that absolutely, without a doubt, would comfort me.

Fuck it, I'm going to the bar tonight.

A/N: yeah sorry this is shit lol, Liv is just being overly dramatic, but what else is new?

|Chapter 6|

[ahintofblue]

To New Beginnings

Ship: Antares/Sung Jin-Woo Rating: T Chapter: 2/? Summary: Jin-Woo is thrown into a timeline where he is bound to the Monarch of Destruction as his husband and an army of dragons are now his to care for. Antares has no memories of their previous fights, the desire to destroy and ruin is entirely gone, so a new challenge awaits for Jin-Woo instead.

It is not what Jin-Woo expects his new life to be.

Perhaps a change of heart is required?

Tags: Alternate Timeline, Fluff, Romance, Family, Bond, Interspecies Relationship, No Beta We Die Like Antares Notes: Chapter 2 is here with more drabbles AO3!

“You were right.” Antares dips his head, having a little fill of his husband with a delicate nip along his neck, sending Jin-Woo into a state of embarrassment, the latter hitches his breath at the slight graze of Antares’ pointed teeth that sends tingles down his back. “You do not require an army to get what you want, my dear. But know our dragons will take to the skies if you desire. You only need to say the word.” Jin-Woo grips Antares’ shirt, needing to hold onto something for support because Antares’ voice, he learns, has a certain effect on him, his body shudders in response and he spills an illicit noise that erupts into a pleasant sensation like fireworks through their connection. He knows he can’t let this go on for any longer. Before he loses himself, he makes another attempt to converse, “Thank you… And I believe you were in the middle of something before I arrived?” Jin-Woo swallows down the inhibitions to let this continue and doesn’t push Antares away exactly but gently tugs Antares’ hair back, signaling him for a break. “Since I’m back, let me help you—Oh.” The retaliation comes in the form of a bite, enough to mark Jin-Woo’s skin and a tongue licks the forming red beads. Antares likes his hair pulled, Jin-Woo discovers. It comes in the form of a sharp melody. The King of Dragons hums in thought, agreeing to Jin-Woo’s statement almost immediately and adds a more fervor kiss on the lips, another spoil he takes because he misses his lover and Jin-Woo is indeed having an internal crisis. “They are in need of a bath,” he answers after pulling back, and Jin-Woo has a strong, strong feeling that he will soon learn about Antares’ mouth being the death of him.

Jin-Woo hasn’t seen the familiar human envoy anywhere, so he can’t ask his questions but he thinks this is their answer to his ultimate happiness or whatever they’re calling it—Antares as the perfect sacrifice to fit Jin-Woo’s needs and wants. They fought as enemies, so why not switch it up? Funny. Jin-Woo doesn’t appreciate the silence he’s given, he deserves to know the reasoning behind their plan. So for now, Jin-Woo cleans the young brood with renewed focus and finds he’s having a bit of fun, watching them squirm and cuddling against his hand for head rubs. They are cute and mischievous in their own way too, some attempt to splash Jin-Woo with water in the wooden tub, while their wings beat with excitement because they wanted to play with Jin-Woo after. Antares’ laugh sings, and Jin-Woo is quick to snatch one from escaping before placing it back into the warm water. He’s not pouting when a tail swishes water at his face and sees Antares brushing away the wet hair from his eyes with such a delightful expression that causes a squeeze in his chest. “They think it is your turn for a bath.”  There it is again. Their bond melts into two shooting stars soaring across the black sea. “Oh really?” Jin-Woo surprises Antares with a handful of water at him. His face drops at the sight of sharp teeth, a menacing grin before Jin-Woo cools him down with more.

Jin-Woo knows nothing about how bonds work except understanding the emotions that Antares feels when they’re close or a touch is enough to form an idea in his head. Antares probably understands him the same way but he should be careful. These idle thoughts of his should be kept guarded before Antares catches that something is off, and Jin-Woo doesn’t want any of it to slip through the cracks. It is as if they cannot lie to each other. Antares is a highly smart individual, he probably knows Jin-Woo is hiding something already but bothers not to ask and continues life with him, content as his days remain.

What Jin-Woo does know is that Antares enjoys the sound of his voice when he speaks, how Antares can easily fall asleep in his arms with a brief smile on his face, and Jin-Woo finds himself unable to move away and tentatively strokes Antares’ head, convincing himself that Antares deserves his sleep, deserves the peace that he’s built with him. Jin-Woo has no memories of the past with him, only the sheer ferocity of their battle and carving a path of destruction in their wake. In their bond, it’s a relief at the end of the day and the awe of a setting sun casting its warm glow on the horizon. And when Antares’ open his eyes and looks at him, Jin-Woo sees a sleepy king whose heart only belongs to him.