#and just like that it was all undone by my desire to feast my eyes on my current favourite heterosexuals lmao I played myself

[argisthebulwark]

A Feast for My Eyes Only

summary: Small things that I believe would turn on some of our favorite Skyrim guys. gn reader, no y/n or pronouns used. featuring: Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Vilkas, Balimund, Mercer, Teldryn warnings: Sexually suggestive content, minors do not read or interact. tagging @daedrabait because once again i am mercerposting

Miraak claims to be unaffected by mortal temptations until he meets you. When he witnesses how naturally you control the Thu’um and he feels the ancient power that resides deep within you. It is when you have him pinned, blade at his throat and eyes brimming with determination that his blood heats. He's never seen such beauty. Apocrypha crumbles at your voice, hand twisted into his robes to hinder any chance of escape when he dives in for the first kiss, unable to contain himself any longer.

Farkas is a sucker for your touch. Something as simple as you brushing hair out of his face or aiding in the placement of his armor is enough, he loves being able to touch you. After a long day he leaves Jorrvaskr behind to return home at your side. Farkas wants nothing more than to sink into a warm bath together, no armor in the way of allowing him to appreciate each inch of your body. He loves the way his hands look on your skin and the way your fingers trace along his scars, every small touch fueling the fire in his heart.

Brynjolf has become rather addicted to watching you work. When you skulk through a wealthy neighborhood in search of all their easily forgotten baubles and he struggles to track you his blood starts pumping. He follows you upstairs into some nobleman’s lavishly decorated chambers, stealth forgotten in his bid to spread you out on that ridiculously expensive bedding. He wants to make you writhe, to hear you moan until the neighbors know just how exquisite he alone can make you feel. 

Vilkas finds it extremely difficult to maintain composure when you are demanding. When you command that he rests he is entirely at your whim. He is thrilled by your hands on his chest shoving him into bed, your body straddling his, the bliss of someone else in complete control of him. He’d never admit it to anyone else but he would beg for just one more taste of you. He gazes at you, knowing that he made the right choice loving the one person who brings him to his knees.

For Balimund, he finds that he is most undone by you when you are free from all the titles and duties. When you are wearing his shirt and lounging together. He finds you the most alluring when you are warm and cozy, wrapped around him without a worry in the world. He cannot keep his hands to himself when you are relaxed in his bed, everything forgotten but one another. When your skin is warm against his, hands sliding easily under loose clothes and sheets twisted around your bodies.

Despite his many secrets, Mercer seems to get a thrill out of the danger of being caught. Whether you’re spread over the messy desk he treasures or against the Vault’s chilly metal doors he loves to hear you moaning his name, each sound echoing through the Cistern. It's like he's daring one of the thieves to notice, blood heating each time someone mentions the marks you've left on him.

Teldryn has always enjoyed your banter but found himself head over heels when the mutual flirtation began to seep in. It is only when you cut the innuendo and lay it all out that he feels himself at a loss for words, when you tell him how badly you desire him and every impure thought that’s plagued your mind. He loves the way you speak to him, how vulnerable you are when it's just the two of you.

[fayes-fics]

Enthralled

Pairings: Vampire!Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader x Thomas Dorset

Summary: You and your new husband invite a handsome stranger to your rooms, but all is not as it seems...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub undertones, bisexual male characters, slash content, oral sex (f to m, m to m, m to f) blow jobs, deepthroat w smidge of breathplay, facesitting, edging/orgasm control, vaginal sex, anal sex, simultaneous penetration, multiple orgasms, biting, bloodplay, blood-drinking.

Word Count: 9k

Authors Note: The reader remix of this story. A gothic-ish Halloween threesome with Vampire!Benedict. This is my first foray into writing slash content. If you are looking for a plot or backstory, this will likely disappoint; it's just an excuse for vaguely spooky, unrelenting smut - I cannot celebrate a holiday any other way lol. I wanted to choose a minor show character as the husband, and Dr Dorset screams secretly adventurous to me. Please heed the warnings above; this is pretty full-on. If you proceed, I hope you enjoy! <3

Credits: Thanks to @colettebronte for advice and betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for her Vampiric expertise. Artwork includes edits made weeks ago for this story by our dearly departed @bridgertontess. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Benedict smells it long before he ever sees you.

Fresh blood, sweet young bodies in the flushes of arousal; it makes him hungry in every sense of the word. The almost painful need to feast and fuck. He inhales deep, lewdly, letting the tempting scents fill his being. He pulls on his cloak and goes out to find you.

—

Mrs Dorset.

You practice the name, sitting at the vanity table of your rooms at the inn, feeling cosy in the soft candlelight glow as the autumnal wind howls portentously beyond the window. The quill scratches the paper as you loop the letters, learning the structure of your new name as it flows under your hand.

“What are you doing, my love?” Thomas rounds behind you, returning to your rooms with steaming hot tea as promised.

“I am practising my new name,” you reply proudly, twisting to look up at your husband of merely two days as he places aside the tea tray, squeezing your shoulders lightly.

“Oh, I see, that is… well, that is wonderful,” his cadence wavering. It seems as if he is embarrassed at how something as simple as your desire to write his name could make him burn physically, the glistening, dark, looped strokes causing a primal wash of possession. His fingers flex instinctually, mapping your collarbone, your flesh irresistible under his fingertips. You squeak as he rocks his body into your back, something insistent pressing into your spine.

“Husband,” you drawl, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you aroused?” Your question isn't judgemental, but pure curiosity and desire, leaning back into him.

“Yes, darling wife. You have my name. It is…. Appealing,” he answers honestly, a touch winded, his fingers trailing lower over your warm skin onto the swell of your breast.

Your eyes flash in the reflection, and then suddenly, you spin around on the stool and bury your face into his trousers, nuzzling his hardness. His growl is deep and wracked. So utterly undone by how forthright you can be with your intentions. 

You look up at him, fluttering your eyelids as you pluck open his trousers determinedly, push down his underwear, and wrap your hands around the back of his thighs to draw him even closer. Immediately you encase his tasty warm cock in your mouth, so very keen for him. 

He groans to the ceiling as if disbelieving in his luck.

—

Benedict finds himself outside the quaint country inn barely a quarter mile from his country home. No wonder he could smell it so strong. 

As he stares up at a mullioned window, russet leaves swirling around his feet on this cold, crisp night, he sees the glowing candlelight signifying the room’s occupation. Indeed, it is the only one lit as such on the first floor. He surmises the couple are likely newlyweds, perhaps passing through the area on their honeymoon—the first ones who have done so since he was turned a few months back.

While he has trained himself on the scent of the people in the proximal area and taught himself they are not food, he is powerless to resist this. Them. From scent alone, they are in their twenties, and right now, they are engaging in something carnal. He can smell ripe juices swirling in the air along with the thronging of their hearts, blood coursing. It makes his cock strain painfully against the wool of his britches. 

He never used to be like this—a creature of such base instinct. Yes, when human, he had his fair share of lovers of all persuasions, but it had been an occasional bacchanalian indulgence. Now. Now, he can barely contain himself. His tongue licks around the point of his fang, tasting the air, knowing without a doubt they will be under his thrall within moments of meeting and lost in a temporary reverie of how he will enjoy them.

—

“Y/n….” it’s throaty, raw, wrecked, a hand buried in your locks.

His taste is strong in your mouth as Thomas flops back upon the bed, utterly sated after he finds completion. You had pushed him backwards from the vanity table onto the edge of the bed and sunk to your knees before him, eagerly taking him into your mouth, motions wanton, brazen, your skill and enthusiasm blossoming under his few days of tutelage. Learning his body and needs; learning to use your tongue in ways that make him breathless and unerringly grateful. 

You delicately wipe your chin of his seed with a handkerchief and rise to your feet as gracefully as you can as he lays there panting, staring at the velvet drapes over the four-poster bed, his mind blanked out from pleasure.

“Husband,” you coo in a light tease, “I do believe it is now time we took dinner; 'tis nearing 7pm.”

Thomas pouts, looking as if he wants to feast only upon you, not mere food. The grumble in his stomach, though, gives away his status, and your giggle makes him sit up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his clothes.

“I suppose sustenance is required,” he smiles indulgently, standing up and wrapping you in his arms. “If only to provide energy for our later activities,” he adds teasingly into your ear; a light shiver runs through your being as he says it. 

“Then let us eat, Dr Dorset,” you murmur into his jaw, running a hand down his waistcoat. Feeling light as air, you gigglingly tumble down the hallway and staircase to the public house below, wrapped up in each other’s arms, barely noticing the tall, cloaked figure as it slips in through the main door.

—

Benedict nods to Jenkins, the publican and innkeeper behind the bar; locals always having an open invitation to drink and dine any night of the week. Tonight, the public house is deserted save for a regular - drunkard Willie, propping up the corner of the bar as ever - and the newlywed couple now ensconced in an alcove by the roaring fireplace.

He sets eyes upon you both properly, and his insides almost feel warm. You are both beautiful in ways that make him ache. The man is tall, fair of face and built handsomely. You are just his type of woman physically with a spirited mien that looks like you would be the very best kind of challenge to tame. He longs to strip you both naked and run his tongue down your healthy contours, revel in your bodies, coursing with life.

Taking the brandy awaiting him on the bar, he glides towards you, flicking up his velvet collar as he does so, knowing of his powers and how to wield them to his advantage when needs must.

“Welcome to Wiltshire,” his opening gambit, smooth and dusky, raising his glass.

Both you and Thomas look up, startled at a handsome stranger’s interruption to your intimate conversation. Still, Benedict doesn't miss for a second how both of your eyes dilate rapidly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Thomas Dorset stumbles, raising his glass without thought in a silent responding toast.

“Please call me Benedict. May I join you?” his ask is unfaulteringly polite, but with a lopsided grin, he has long learned is his ticket to everything he may want in this world.

Dorset immediately gestures for him to do so, despite himself, and Benedict slides smoothly onto the bench seat across from them with a dramatic swish of his ample velvet cloak.

“And you are?” he smiles at you both expectantly.

“Oh, where are my manners!?” Thomas decries as if snapping back to reality. “I am Dr Thomas Dorset, and this,” his arm wraps tighter around your shoulders, “is my wonderful new wife, Mrs y/n Dorset.”

You smile at Benedict; he can sense your apprehension at this stranger joining them but also hears your heart fluttering just a fraction harder as he meets your gaze. Can smell the uptick in your bodily response, a new tang to your natural scent that speaks of piqued interest. He knows with just a few well-deployed lingering looks and chosen words, he could throw you over the table right here in front of your husband and fuck you so well you would beg him for more. Again, he is grateful for the cloak he wears, hiding the bulge in his clothing that has barely slaked since your arrival to the area.

“It is so wonderful to meet you both,” he drawls, running a finger over his bottom lip to draw attention to his mouth. If you stare long enough, the thrall will be so easy. “What brings you to our fine village?”

“We are passing through on our way to Cornwall for our honeymoon,” Dorset confirms what Benedict already suspected. 

“This is rather off the beaten path to such a place,” Benedict states dryly with a wink, knowing he is reeling you in with every word he utters.

“Indeed,” Thomas concedes, “my new wife insisted we come via this route to allow us to call upon her sister during our journey.”

Benedict smiles, subtly scenting your bodies as you and Thomas lean in without realising, falling under his spell.

“Well then, I insist I purchase your dinner and drinks this evening,” he declares, watching bemused as you both attempt to remonstrate. “I will not accept no for an answer,” he appends, victory glowing as you acquiesce, not realising this will be the first of many permissions you will grant him tonight, all being well.

—

You chew upon the venison slowly, one eye on your additional party, still unsure why he has chosen to join you and, indeed, pay for your meal when he apparently is not eating himself. Engaging you in conversation that seems peculiarly beguiling and dangerous all at once. 

He is undoubtedly attractive. Hazy blue eyes under a mass of chestnut hair, a pale-skinned face with exquisite sharp lines. Feeling guilty to admit it silently, you find him just as attractive as your husband, maybe more so—something so hypnotic in how he holds himself, moves, and speaks. Finding yourself drawn to him, a stirring in your underwear that you swear he can sense. Every time a little frisson runs through your body, his head unerringly swings towards you, a slight curl in his luscious lip, like he is smelling your arousal and thinks it the tastiest treat in the world. 

You could swear he is trying to steal you from your husband - and to your horror, you realise you would absolutely let him - except… his attention is just as rapt upon Thomas. Benedict’s gaze is just as covetous when he speaks. His tongue flicks the corner of his mouth as your husband casually leans back and crosses his legs—as if Benedict is scenting his body, too. It's confusing but intoxicating, as if your wine is laced with a far more potent substance.

—

Benedict knows he has won you both over before you put down your dessert spoons, now hanging on his every word. 

“Let us repair to somewhere more intimate for a nightcap,” he suggests, and your joint responding consent is instant. “How about your rooms here at the Inn?”

Were you in your sound, sober minds, it seems unlikely you would invite a stranger to your rooms, but as it is, you enthusiastically do. Benedict snags the remainder of the brandy bottle from the bar as he settles the bill.

“Friends of yours?” Jenkins frowns, vaguely intrigued.

“Everyone is a friend yet to be made, Jenkins,” Benedict answers, intentionally vague.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “Bloody poets…” he is heard to mutter under his breath, but Benedict lets it pass. If the man invoked the name Byron, perhaps he wouldn't have. Might have stolen a chicken or two from the coup outside to exsanguinate in revenge.

Benedict trails behind you, both pleasantly inebriated now, holding the wood panelling as you negotiate the narrow corridors of the inn to your rooms, inhibitions lowered. He knows you are just in that sweet spot where you will be so open to suggestions but not so out of your minds to be a pointless fuck, unable to respond. There is nothing less appealing to him than a lifeless, limp, unconscious being. Yes, easy to feed upon, perhaps, but no challenge. The only thrill he gets these days is that of the chase. Of the crackling potential of any moment, human hearts beating wildly in his presence, blood pumping hard—that is what brings him exhilaration.

—

Dorset fumbles the heavy iron key in the lock, leaning into you as you giggle along with him. The attractive, imposing man stood patiently behind you, seemingly sober, which is impressive given he drank more than you both. Still unsure what is possessing him to allow this, Thomas nevertheless feels compelled to do this man’s bidding, to allow this whatever he wishes. 

It may be a secret he has kept from you, but Dorset is not immune to the charms of a handsome man. In his youthful days at Cambridge, he had many a clandestine encounter with his fellow students. Late drunken nights of experimentation. He knows the power of a man’s touch, enjoying the taboo feeling of being taken roughly, clawing the mattress as he is mounted without mercy. A man's body may differ greatly from a woman’s, but it is no less of an attractive wonderland.

Little does he know just how soon you will learn of that predilection.

—

You twirl around the room as the men take a seat and pour more liquor, feeling ebullient, basking in the heat of the fire on this cold autumn night, dizzy and fizzling with energy. You feel the gaze of both men, knowing both track your moments from the wingtip chairs they inhabit. Your insides feel ripe and pulpy, compelling you to be daring, a peculiar impulse to strip and dance naked in front of them. 

There must have been something in my drink. Surely?

Your husband interrupts just as you think to act. 

“Darling, come sit with us,” Thomas appeals, patting his knee enticingly.

He would never typically invite you to sit upon him in the company of a stranger, but everything about tonight feels different, so you allow yourself to be swept into it. To see what may arise with the handsome, mysterious visitor. 

You float over and sigh as you fall into Thomas’ lap, the heat of his leg seeping through your dress, warming your bottom. He pulls you snugly into his lap, bumping a stirring hardness and without a doubt, you know this evening will go somewhere you never expected…. And yet, you can't wait for it to do so.

“Isn't my wife beautiful?” Dorset slurs, his breath hot on your ear, turning you both to face Benedict in the chair next to you as if he is seeking his approval for his choice of spouse.

“Indeed she is,” Benedict responds, dark and silky, a shiver tracing down your spine as he voices it. “As are you handsome, good sir,” he adds, and you know they are very much out of your depth as you feel the same shudder pass through your husband's being beneath you.

Oh, good lord, who is this man?

—

Benedict sees you reacting to his voice, sees the ripple in your beings, hears it in your breathing, and knows he has you fully enthralled. You are his to do precisely as he wants now. Tumbling images flash through his mind as to how he can have both of your bodies—sweat and skin, blood and bone, moving together in a carnal symphony. 

His instinct is to take you and then your husband. He can see the willingness there, but he’ll need more enticing to allow that dormant flame to be relit. Perhaps watching you, his new wife, give yourself so readily will be just the nudge he needs to submit, also.

So when Thomas turns to Benedict, offering you on the plate that is his lap, he decides this is the moment to strike. Downing the rest of his glass, he stands and tugs at the string of his velvet cape, which falls to the floor with a heavy whump… to reveal his fitted cropped jacket and tight britches, tailored in black fabric like a second skin, giving away everything about what he has to offer. 

He hears your sharp inhales at the unmistakable tented outline.

“Desire is such a funny thing, is it not?” he rumbles, moving closer, and your legs fall apart on instinct, the air suddenly filled with a potent scent of your arousal that makes his tongue itch to taste.

“In what way?” Thomas hitches, his hands grabbing your waist reflexively as Benedict can hear his heartbeat in his breathy cadence.

“You both want me, and yet you offer your wife to me first,” Benedict assesses cooly, raising an eyebrow as he takes a step closer, watching you squirm as your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

“I did nothing of the sor…” Thomas’s response dies on the spot as one long, slender finger lands on his lips, hushing him, a sharp fingernail resting under his nose.

“We both know you did,” Benedict argues laconically, “And lucky for you…” Benedict almost chuckles as you gasp when his other hand cups your jaw. “…She wants me too. Right now, her thighs are soaked with delicious slickness; I can smell it,” he states casually, holding you both.

“Is that true?” Thomas inquires, side-eying you but not moving under Benedict's finger.

“Yes,” you exhale shakily, unable to peel your gaze from Benedict's face now he has tilted your jaw up to him. “I want him, husband,” you confess raggedly, not knowing why you are voicing it. “And I want you to watch, to participate.”

Benedict chuckles again. “Of course, you do, little one. You love him, even if you are tempted by the fruit of another.” He traces a knuckle down over your chin, your throat, where your pulse is beating wildly, pausing on your clavicle. You know your eyes are wide and beseeching, begging for more.

Benedict swings his gaze to Thomas, then leans in. “If you truly love your wife, you will kiss me right now,” he taunts, his lips hovering so close, “give her a good show; I need her trembling before I take her.”

Come on, sweet prince, dance with me.

—

Thomas can barely comprehend what is transpiring. But he doesn't want to fight it. The man’s finger is cool on his lip as he poses the question. You are writhing deliciously in his lap, making his cock swell painfully against the cleft of your bottom. The next decision is inevitable, fated.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He gently purses his lips and gives permission by bussing a featherlight kiss onto Benedict’s finger. The predatory smile that unfurls across the man’s face doesn't seem human, more akin to creature than man.

Then his jaw is tilted back, and his world swims as the man closes the few inches between their faces and kisses him. It's biting, hungry, desperate. A skilled tongue rolls over his, and Thomas feels a groan bubble up from deep inside. Possessed, overwhelmed, taken. Benedict tastes like sin but something odd like decay, too, at the edges of the fragrant brandy—some tart undercurrent that is wholly otherworldly and unnerving.

Thomas feels as much as he hears your moan. Feels the weight of your gaze glued to their faces, no doubt seeing a peak of their tongues entwining. Feels the weight of your body in his lap, moving rhythmically, grinding insistently, tilting your hips forward brazenly to drag your clit over the creases in his trousers. Your shameless want and desire are potent and arousing. Even as Benedict’s kiss steals his breath, a faint voice in his head gnaws about your actions being as inexplicable as his, but it's mostly drowned out by the roar of blood pumping hard in his system, seeming so loud around this man, as if he is in tune with it somehow.

As Benedict pulls back, Thomas's vision swims, awash with sensation. He watches, dazed, as the pale man turns and captures your mouth just as covetously.

—

You have only known the passionate kiss of one man—your husband. Yet a mere three days after your first mind-blowing experience of that, you have another first. Your first kiss with another, a whole other creature, not that you can likely comprehend. Unaware of the dance with death. 

When Benedict turns and seizes your lips, you peep in surprise. But he swallows the noise, opening your mouth with his tongue, the kiss instantly intense. It's more of a take than the pliant dance you usually share with Thomas. A plundering that floods your senses and steals every breath from your lungs leaving you feeling shaky, unmoored, and taken somewhere dark that is metallic and brimstone. His kiss seems at once ephemeral and infinite. No wonder your husband looked dazed. As Benedict withdraws, the smile on his face is rapacious.

He suddenly pulls both of you to your feet, like ragdolls for him to puppet. Wrapping you up in a joint embrace, he whispers for you both to strip before releasing you just as swiftly, taking a seat on the edge of the imposing bed. As if in a trance, you begin undoing your own clothing.

“Nuh-uh,” Benedict clucks, holding a halting hand that you instantly obey. “Undress each other, my precious ones,” he elucidates, wanting a show.

Your heart thrums as you turn to your husband and he to you. Invisible strings seem to direct your frantic movements as you paw at each other, fabrics tearing in your swift pursuit of skin. You only stop panting wildly and staring when nothing is left, both frowning in confusion at the flurry and intensity of it.

What on earth just happened?

Uncertainty roils oleaginous in your stomach as if, on a gut level, your body is trying to send a warning signal. Still, at the same time, it feels detached and far away, as if your mind is in another realm, a place of edgy desire and boundless pleasure. 

—

“Well, that was quite the brief show,” Benedict pipes up, bemused. “Not that I am complaining,” he adds, smirking, his eyes raking you both greedily as he runs a casual finger down his cheek.

Your bodies are ideal, as he suspected. The man is tall and lithe, not unlike himself, his skin pale and smooth, his cock, aroused and leaking, springing from a small thatch of hair that tapers to a narrow point under his belly button. So far, so similar. His cock is nice, sizeable but not intimidating, and weirdly he feels pleased for the woman. It is not as good as his cock; he's a Bridgerton, for Pete's sake, but entirely up for the task of bringing satisfaction to anyone who interacts with it. You are his ideal shape, your contours reminding him of a violin. And such an apt metaphor, your strings so ripe to be plucked, to be properly played, perhaps for the first time. 

But mostly, what he tastes thick in the air of the heated room is your fluids. The rush of fresh blood pumping vigorously from your hearts, pulses elevated by the thrall. Sticky, sweet, and life-giving for him and you both. He is so glad he feasted on local farmstock before picking up your scent; otherwise, you would both be dead right now at his feet, lifeless and pale, every drop coursing through his mouth and swirling in his stomach like the indulgent meal your very hearty lifeforce represents. His hunger is slaked just enough that lust is his primary driver, at least for now.

He opens his mouth, engaging all the olfactory senses like a feline. Since he passed, his ability to pick up scents has been both a blessing and a curse, but right now, the best possible outcome from the dreaded experience. 

Thomas’ precum is deliciously sharp, perhaps a shade too much. Benedict makes a mental note to offer him the luxury of some pineapple should this entanglement last longer than tonight, with them both still upon this mortal plain. You would undoubtedly be grateful for the improvement in his flavour, too. 

As for you… his mouth froths. Your scent is sin itself to him, honeyed but also sharp like an undeveloped apple still clinging to the tree. A swirl of flavour in the air so plush, it takes all his willpower not to throw you to the ground and drink from between your legs. Knowing it would only take a blip, a momentary loss of careful control, to sink in his fangs, mixing your juices with your blood, what an absolute symphony of flavour that would be.

He realises he is staring at you both, panting lasciviously, lost in the jumble of scent and potential. You awaiting his next order, not even realising yourselves in suspended animation. 

“Dorset, lie in the middle of the bed,” Benedict orders gruffly, drawing himself to his feet and standing aside.

Thomas does as bidden, his cock bobbing as he climbs onto the raised mattress and settles as instructed, looking at Benedict bright-eyed, awaiting any subsequent command.

“Watch me,” Benedict tutors you, then he crawls over your husband and, without preamble, takes the man's cock deep into his mouth as Thomas howls like he did for you earlier tonight.

—

Thomas almost hits the ceiling as his cock is suddenly surrounded by strong suction, vacuumed into Benedict's mouth. In fact, Benedict keeps sinking, and Thomas pants in shock as his tip slides into the man’s throat, something he has not had in many a year. The tightness, the pure depth of sensation. It seems strange the man does not need to take a breath or even fight as if there is air in his lungs, but dammit all to hell if this isn't already the most exquisite blow job of his entire life. Benedict apparently has no gag reflex; holding him deep, a mind-bogglingly long tongue unfurls to curl around his balls and lick covetously, a wet muscular stroke over his most sensitive skin that has his fingers curling into the sheets. He cannot school the booming, guttural groan. If he had not come merely an hour ago, thanks to his dearest you, he would likely be embarrassingly close to orgasm already; this man’s skill stupendous, another edge that doesn't seem human. 

Thomas looks over frantically to you, his eyes bulging in shock, and he groans again at the sight of you. Your mouth hung open, lips rosy and damp, you have your fingers buried between your legs now, and there is a faint, lewd, wet sound as you invade your cunt with your fingers, just as he taught you on your wedding night. The sight before you is too beautiful and arousing to resist; you know your nipples are puckered, and Thomas’s tongue longs to run over them. 

He wants to fuck and be fucked, sandwiched between you, his ravishing vixen of a wife, and this devil of a man, sucking his very life essence via his cock, intent on draining him dry. Just as Thomas feels a flush all over his body and a tightening in his sac, Benedict pulls up and away, smirking victoriously as he twists towards you, ignoring Thomas’ huffed, wretched pleas.

No! No, please, please do not leave me in this state!

—

You self-consciously whip your hands away from between your legs, and your eyes cut to Benedict as he addresses you.

“That is how you ensure your husband here never leaves you, little one,” he coos, running a thumb provocatively around his drooped lower lip, licking his thumbpad of every flavour. “Now it's your turn; show me what you can do.”

Benedict reaches out a draped hand. You take it, his touch light, helping you hop onto the bed to join them. He snatches your other hand and brings the fingers you had buried in your cunt up to his nose, sniffing lewdly. 

Oh my god, this man is feral.

“I'm glad you enjoyed the show so much,” he smirks, running his nose up and down each digit. “Now I am going to taste you, darling girl,” it's low, akin to a threat.  “You will sit on my face as you take his cock in your mouth, but do not let him come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, scarcely believing what he says. Benedict scowls slightly as he drops your hand. 

“Don't call me sir, call me Count,” he snaps.

“Yes, Count,” you amend dutifully, and his smile, yet again, is devilish.

“Good, now ensure your husband is mindless with need while I provide you the same favour,” he purrs and slides under you with balletic grace. 

Butterflies roar in your stomach as you feel the sharpness of Benedict's cheekbone press the skin of your inner thighs, draping yourself forward into your husband’s lap and tentatively licking a strip up his weeping cock as he mumbles your name weakly and moans.

Then you scream as a muscular tongue parts your folds with a force Thomas has never subjected you to. Whip-like, lashing your swollen clit with determined spirals before plunging lower and pushing far into your cunt, further than your husband's tongue has ever dared. Your groan is smothered as you take Thomas’ tip into your mouth, needing the distraction. Benedict’s hands grasp your hips and pull you down forcefully onto his face, his nose jammed against your pubic bone. Thomas has never been this engaged, devouring, a violent delight. You garble a curse around the cock, hurtling towards ecstasy as Thomas’ whole body tenses under you.

“Don't let him come,” Benedict reminds, words gusting hot over your slit, sensing what the man’s body signifies better than you do.

You pull off and breathe raggedly, staring up at your husband’s wrecked pleading face, where he leans on the headboard.

What is this? You mouth at him, nearly scared of how good it feels to ride Benedict's face so brazenly.

—

“Do not stop; use him, darling,” Thomas practically snarls through gritted teeth.

He is utterly enthralled by seeing another man taking you somewhere wild and untamed. The look of equal parts shock, fear and bewildered pleasure on your face is a picture he wants to remember forever.

He groans as you follow his advice, wrapping a hand loosely around his cock, a tease that makes his brain itch, as you concentrate on riding Benedict's invasive tongue, biting your lip, moaning vocally.

Yes, this is the best kind of sin.

Thomas mutters words, barely cognisant of what but compelled to urge you on. To take from this mysterious man so willing to give to you both, so far asking nothing in return, still fully clothed himself.

The jagged edge of his denied orgasm licks insistently at his mind, begging for release but paradoxically wallowing in the jangling ache of being so close but denied. Making him unable to think straight. As a doctor, he usually prides himself on keeping a cool head when all around may lose theirs, but tonight…. Tonight feels so peculiar. Out of the ordinary, out of control, out of his mind. And somehow craving carnality like a bestial creature, clawing at the bed, watching you be debauched by the same man who made him equally mindless.

—

Benedict cannot get enough. This wondrous pair. The husband was so responsive to his throat, and now you are bewitched just the same. Writhing your nub shamelessly over the tip of his nose, your juices trickling copiously down his nostrils to coat his throat as he plunges and twists his tongue inside you. 

He wants you both so close to ecstasy, so close you can almost taste it, but not let you just yet. The thrill of how utterly base a human can be when dangling over the edge of lust fascinated him before… but now? Now, it’s his primary driver—to make a beast out of man, woman, any human, for them to feel one ounce of what he can. That heightened state when you crave something—so frenzied every base instinct emerges, shows your true nature: growling, greedy, hungry.

So when he feels the telltale ripplings in your cunt, he rapidly withdraws, and as predicted, you cry out, the sound ringing up the walls. He smirks, grazing your inner thigh with his fangs, the urge to sink into your soft skin and drink your other crimson nectar thronging in him.

Not yet, not yet.

The calm voice centres him, even as you keep moving, attempts to frottage yourself vigorously over his face, whimpering, desperate to push over the edge you are circling.

“Shh shh, sweet one,” he soothes, pulling out from under you as you pant wildly.

His hand rests on your lumbar spine to quell you. You slow, whimpering, collapsing forward, burying your face in your husband's lap, his cock leaking on your cheek, your hips swaying in the air. Both of you are shaking, sweaty and overwhelmed.

That’s it; we are getting there now, my darlings.

—

This doesn't feel right.

That voice is whispering again, but Thomas brushes it aside, ravenous, rooted in his body. Yearning to know what is next, a willing marionette in this sinful theatrical.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Benedict slide off the end of the bed and tug at his clothing, buttons popping open until lithe alabaster skin glows in the soft, flickering firelight. Shadows play over lean, muscled torso. He is beautiful: lean, virtually hairless, carved like a marble statue, just as pale and smooth. In fact, his beauty seems too ethereal, like his skin is no longer capable of tanning in sunlight. Still, Thomas longs to touch him, run his tongue over the sharp lines, and kiss every stunning contour.

“Y/n…” Thomas softly shakes your shoulder as you are still whimpering facedown in his lap. When you weakly raise your head, he nods for you to turn over and see the show you have been missing, Benedict now reaching for the buttons on his britches.

Lethargically, you flip over, your head cradled in Thomas’ lap as your eyes fall upon the man, and you inhale sharply. Benedict seemingly stares you both down as he lowers his britches, a smirk on his face entirely immodest. And when the material relents, you understand why. 

Thomas’ cock pulses against your neck at the sight. He knows you have seen precisely one cock in your life, his, and this may come as a shock. It's larger and prettier, objectively than his own. You nuzzle him, biting your lip as you twist to look back up at him, eyes wide with concern.

“You can take it, darling,” he reassures, intuiting your apprehension as his knuckles brush calmingly over your cheek.

”As will you,” Benedict adds darkly, addressing Thomas. You watch your husband visibly gulp. Then you do the same, tongue feeling too large in your mouth, as Benedict mounts the bed and crawls predatory over your body, a sinful, crooked smile that is at once gorgeous and scary, that cock bobbing ominously as he draws nearer.

—

You feel butterflies under your ribs, unable to look away from his cock, suddenly nervous about the idea he might fuck you. Thomas is a perfect fit; it never hurts and feels designed to bring you gratification, but that? 

It might be too much.

“Don't pretend you don't want me, little one,” Benedict boasts, edged with a darkness that is almost chilling.

“I-I do,” you stutter, unable not to speak the truth, your legs falling wider open reflexively.

“I know, I could smell you from 500 yards away; it drew me in like a clarion call,” he sighs wistfully, and it doesn't sound like he is exaggerating. 

Benedict roughly grabs both of your legs and pushes them up and apart, making you gasp. Leaning over, he draws Thomas into a sinful kiss above you, making you mewl slightly at the sight, a burn in your tendons from the position, head now pulled out of Thomas’s lap onto the mattress.

“Hold her ankles,” Benedict orders over Thomas’s lips, gesturing to take over the hold. “Keep her wide and open for me, my prince,” he purrs as he leans away to slide a pillow under your shoulders, your head tilted backwards.

“Why like this?” you ask falteringly, feeling odd staring at Thomas's thigh upside down.

“So your husband can easily use your mouth as I fuck you, little one,” he explains calmly, hands now raking your flesh as he pulls you into position.

Nerves flare brightly in your belly, Thomas’s grip around your ankles harsh as he holds you so wide open. Then, there is intense pressure around your weeping hole. You whimper, your body quivering at Benedict’s attempted entry. He reaches up and touches your temple with two fingers, and the strangest thing happens; a preternatural calm soothes your mind, breath slowing, body pliant, racing now with nothing but want.

“Good girl,” Benedict tutors as he slips inside your body, the invasion blunt, the stretch as thrilling as it is raw. 

He keeps pushing, the heat and size so much you can think of nothing else, even as Thomas shuffles closer, his cock nudging your chin, also demanding entry. 

For someone innocent merely days ago, you willingly, excitedly, let both men slide into you at either end, your husband stealing your breath as he invades your mouth deeply, Benedict pushing you so wide you can feel him moving below your belly button as he bottoms out. 

You feel them lean in towards each other above, Thomas sliding deeper as the sound of them kissing fills the air. You ache to see them, their mouths hot and entwined, but all you can do is close your eyes, swamped in sensation, so much hypnotic heat and scent. Fingers, you don't even know whose, pinch your nipples as both whisper your praises as they start to move in tandem, rocking into and out of your body in the same rhythm. They start slow, allowing you to draw breaths around Thomas' tip before he slides deep.

The drag of Benedict’s cock makes you moan; you can feel every contour and vein, your channel clinging tight to him, a noise of slickened suction as your body struggles to accommodate him.

But they begin to move faster, and you have to breathe through your nose, the insistent press of Thomas’ balls giving you limited air. The struggle makes it heady and soporific, like you can’t get enough and wants to die right here with both men buried deep inside you. You writhe as pleasure courses in your veins. Already pushed so close to coming, pliant and obedient to their use.

—

Benedict looks down upon the filled body of the woman beneath him and groans. Your cunt, such a tight wet vice surrounding him, delicious squelching sounds as he plunders you with increasing speed. Your plush lips wrapped around your husband's cock, your throat exposed and dewy with sweat, his teeth itching to sink into the vein bulging prominently as you fight to take him as well as swallow and breathe. He can’t help but reach down and run a sharp-pointed fingernail over your diaphragm, fascinated by the play of delicate muscle and bone as you ripple under his touch. 

“Such a good little thing, and only recently plucked; you are a lucky man,” Benedict opines, his voice gravelly even to his own ears, looking up again to the man in front of him.   

“Yes, I am,” Thomas agrees, and Benedict sees the imploring look in his eyes, begging for another kiss.

“Come here, sweet prince,” Benedict murmurs, feeling a spike of victory as Thomas effusively leans in, lips glistening, flushed and plump.

As they kiss anew, Benedict runs a fang over that juicy lip, wanting to sink down and bite, feeling his life force pulsing so strong right there underneath ripe, fleshy fibres. Thomas's hands twine around Benedict’s neck, his tongue tentative, asking for entry, and Benedict swirls and sucks upon it greedily, only breaking when he hears your attempted gurgling of words, your hands wrapped around your husband’s fuzzy thighs, requesting reprieve.

“Slide deeper; make her take it just a touch longer,” he growls into Thomas's ear, teething his lobe. “She will be feisty, but the lack of air will deliver her so close to rapture,” he counsels as Thomas thrusts and holds still. You start to struggle with muffled calls of increasing urgency. “Now slide out,” Benedict advises moments later, and Thomas follows his bidding. 

Benedict moans as your whole body judders as you gulp deep breaths. “Perfect. Oh, my prince, you should feel how tight she gets when she’s fighting to breathe; dear god, it’s the best kind of pain.” He stutters, tone deep, wrecked, stupefied by the grip of your convulsing cunt.

What a perfect little thing. I want her as mine.

—

Thomas is also panting, the tightness of your throat squeezing him so close to orgasm for what feels like countless times tonight. He falls back against the headboard instead. To watch. To watch you, his once angelic wife, be taken, wrecked, destroyed by this gorgeous creature. 

Your eyes shoot open as you realise he has withdrawn. 

“Husband,” you reach a shaky hand up above your head, glad when he takes it, watching your body roll with each punishing thrust Benedict takes, his eyes seemingly fixed upon the hammering pulsing in your neck as you ratchet higher, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in a wanton glistened point.

Just as you are pushing your hips into each thrust, screaming with ecstasy, Benedict pulls out, and Thomas feels your anguish as you suddenly cry out, your whole being heaving with unmet needs, eyes pleading.

“Do you miss my cock already, little one?” he preens, trailing your own musky juices over your belly as he teasingly passes his cock over your heated skin.

You nod viciously and growl, Thomas barely recognising you—a creature reborn of pure lust and submission. Craving this man in a way that makes jealousy and want war uneasily in Thomas’ gut. You have never been this feral for him,  your husband, but yet he completely sympathises, feeling the same pangs of want to be taken, wrecked, destroyed endlessly by this thing resembling a man.

“Alas, that is your misfortune, my beautiful thing, for ‘tis your husband's turn now,” the cold glint in his eyes and the harsh lines of his razor-sharp cheekbone glowing as yet again he leaves you a whining, whimpering mess, your body leaking, your voice hoarse, more wild animal than woman. As Thomas lifts his gaze from you writhing to Benedict, one thought haunts his very being with a growing disquiet.

What exactly are you, if not man?

—

You feel inhuman, something clawing at the edges of your mind that feels like madness. A desire to be possessed by this man. Your insides branded as his. So when he withdraws just as you are fluttering once again, it feels like insanity, like sandpaper drags over your brain, your toes and fingers stiff from flexing so hard in utter wretchedness.

This is ecstatic torture.

“Please, my Count,” it’s forlorn, ragged, almost not recognisable as your own voice, your throat still sore from the harsh tip of your husband's cock.

“No, little one, it’s only right you should take your husband's seed, not mine,” he clucks, even as he rakes his hands covetously over your sweaty body, his tone sounding reluctant as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Sweet prince, claim your wife,” he calls, clamping a hand around Thomas's neck, compelling him to slide over you.

He does as bidden, and you groan as the familiar stretch of your husband's cock overtakes your senses. Not nearly as punishing or brutal as Benedict, but curved perfectly to glance at that spot inside that makes you clamp down and scream with every pass.

“Darling,” Thomas's familiar voice whispers in your ear, and it’s a balm you need, centring you on him and his lovely face, moving over you in a surging wave.

“Thomas, my love,” you call, wrapping your limbs around him and taking comfort in his embrace, his body, familiar and musky, a flavour you know well dripping on your tongue as you kiss his salty neck, mumbling encouragements, your heels digging into his bottom.

Benedict watches you from behind, and when you look beyond Thomas, you see eyes inky black with desire, fingers ghosting Thomas’s back as if wanting to flay his skin open.

“Are you ready for me, my prince?” Benedict purrs in a way that makes even you shudder, unable to look away from his tongue as it slides into Thomas’ ear.

—

Benedict reaches for the vial before Thomas even moans his weak assent. The smell of clove swirls as he unseals a small vial and pours it down Thomas’ crack. 

He can taste how much Thomas wants this, a heavy fug of desire in the air that is his pheromones begging more than his words ever might. 

Thomas shudders, and his movements falter as Benedict slides a finger between his cheeks and swirls the oil over his heated skin, over his puckered hole and his balls. 

Benedict can feel the weight of your stare over Thomas’s shoulder. Intrigue and desire. You have likely never seen a man fuck another man. Certainly not your husband. Certainly not while he is inside you. 

Little one, hold on tight.

—

Thomas is staring into your eyes when Benedict’s cock slides between his cheeks, demanding entry.

He knows he has stilled his movements, and his breathing is ragged and uneven as that long-forgotten breach occurs. He groans loudly; it's the largest he has ever had inside him, and the burn is intense.

“Are you alright, my love?” you call, holding his face delicately and stroking his cheek.

“It’s intense, my love,” he answers through gritted teeth and a shaky exhale as Benedict keeps inching slowly into him. 

He’s never had his cock buried in someone while being fucked before; intense exhilaration and so much stimulation. To fuck and be fucked simultaneously.

When Benedict bottoms out, Thomas collapses onto you, his elbows sinking into the mattress under your armpits, his hands clenched in fists over your breasts.

You reach for one and pries open his fingers, silently bringing the hand to your mouth and kissing then sucking his fingers as if his cock, a tease that titillates and distracts as Benedict starts to rock in and out of him. Thomas cannot look away from your mouth, your pleading eyes no doubt telegraphing your devotion and lust.

My darling wife…

—

You feel the moment Benedict moves within your husband, his motion a catalyst to the slide of Thomas's cock within you.

He has found a way to fuck us both.

It is all your mind can think as you watch your husband's face contort a thousand ways, rapture and fear, his whole body becoming a puppet stuck between you and the Count.

“Can you feel that?” Benedict growls, staring you down, eyes black now.

“Y-Yes,” you stumble, seeing something wild in him that genuinely scares you now, your tummy oily even as your clit twinges with pleasure, your husband's cock being driven into you at a pace that you know will make you come within moments.

“Good… don’t you dare look away from me,” Benedict growls when your eyes stray to Thomas.

You obey but watch with growing disquiet as he smiles wickedly wide. Two extended ivory fangs glow in the low flickering firelight. His tongue licks over them provocatively, drawing your attention.

What in God's name?

“God can’t help you now, little one,” Benedict sniggers ominously, and your heart pounds that he can read your mind. “Indeed I can,” he winks, making you gasp.

You are trapped. Trapped under your almost rag doll-like husband, his groans gusting hot into your neck now as he is slumped over you, being fucked so harshly by Benedict, hips snapping as he stares you down, pointed nails scraping down Thomas’s back, his entire mien a sinister seductive leer.

“You are mine, both of you,” Benedict declares. It’s dark, possessive, unearthly. 

Confusion rips through your being as, for the first time, you see something other than man—a creature. Utterly terrifying, beguiling, erotic. A shadow moves over his face that is all menace and not of this world. Yet, at the same time, your body is so close to ecstasy, a taut thread holding all your muscles so close to breaking. Horror, fear, lust, and want are a continuous swirling loop in your very being.

Time slows, treacle-like, as you start to convulse despite yourself, taken over the edge by the carnal push and pull of Benedict fucking your husband into your body. Clinging tight to Thomas, you watch in slow-motion as Benedict leans down, those fangs looming large. Then, you feel a searing, sharp pang as they make contact with the meat of your arm, where it is wound around Thomas’s neck. Utter terror grips your heart, even as a flood of chemicals so strong courses into your bloodstream. Strong suction over the wound has you screaming, pure unbridled ecstasy, euphoria coursing in every fibre even as it dawns on you far too late precisely what he is.

VAMPIRE!

—

Benedict has only known immortality for a few months when he tastes his forever. Your blood floods his mouth, and it is the nectar he has been seeking since his turn. The thing that calms and sates him. The sweet delight that means he will never leave your side: he is yours. He will feed from others, for sure, but he is imprinted upon you forever now. He shall always be careful never to drink too much to kill you; he needs this taste more than anything, and just a few drops will be enough to keep him sustained.

“My goddess,” he moans, making your eyes pop open, fear but something else, too, swimming in your depths. It's not revulsion; it's anything but–it's yearning, even from your trance-like bliss.

He stops sucking before you lose too much blood; it’s just enough to make you light-headed and extend your rapture. He can feel you convulsing, Thomas’s limp body a conduit for your intense orgasm. Buried deep in Thomas, closing his eyes and feeling the pulses as you milk your husband’s cock, him just awash and pliant, sandwiched between you.

Benedict feels from inside the moment Thomas breaks, feels his balls contract and his pelvis ripple as he groans loud and long, his seed forcibly painting your insides. It’s futility to resist the urge to feast again. Meeting your hungry, consuming gaze as you crest a secondary wave, he sinks his fangs into the nape of Thomas’s neck, the man calling out lustily. And as he sucks greedily, Benedict falters and moans hard. It's like Thomas’ flavour is the other puzzle piece he needs. The ying to your yang. Together, the taste in his mouth is a symphony. A magnum opus, what feels like the very reason he now exists such as he does.

“My prince, my king,” he garbles, roughly suckling from Thomas's neck, watching the crimson line of blood ooze down his spine and licking it covetously, wantonly, his very purpose.

And it's the catalyst that flings him into the cauldron too, a shuddering snap that consumes his whole body and has him coming so hard he cannot hold himself on his knees anymore, slumping onto Thomas, panting as he empties, a visceral unloading that feels like the very best catharsis.

—

You have never known paradise like this. A continuous loop of thrill; every time you think it is over, you feel first your darling Thomas and then your beautiful nightmare Benedict come, and it pushes you over another precipice. Each is as precious and encompassing as the last. 

The weight of them both slumped upon you as the shudder is something you cannot withstand, and you have to call out in protest. Somehow almost preternaturally, they rearrange around you, a tangle of limbs, sweat, cum and blood entwined like a knot of vipers as you all find a comfortable hold, panting hard from the exertion.

“What are you??” you demand, ragged, staring Benedict down around Thomas, who seems to be hovering semi-conscious, his face a picture of complete rapture.

A finger traces down your cheek as he does the same to Thomas, which you track askance. 

“Darling precious, you already know. I’m your worst dream masquerading as your perfect fantasy,” he chimes. “And I am yours forever.”

“To which of us do you speak?” you gulp, barely able to form the words; your whole world tilted and forever changed.

“You see, therein lies the beauty,” Benedict smiles, running the edge of his incisors first over Thomas’s neck as he groans drowsily, then yours, making you inhale sharply. “I speak of both of you.”

Thomas twists and places a sleepy, sated kiss on you and then Benedict.

“Enthralling, is not, my love?” Thomas slurs, nuzzling you both. “We have our very own creature of the night.”

“You knew?!” you stutter, disbelief warring with every other emotion alive in your body.

“Mmm,” he hums peacefully. “I knew on some level from the moment he kissed me. And yet here we are. Hearts still beating, bodies utterly sated. This is the best possible outcome. I, for one, cannot wait for every adventure with our delicious Vampire,” Thomas lazily pats Benedict's cheek, who smiles and kisses his temple. 

You are rendered speechless.

“Come on, y/n, my goddess,” Benedict goads, his tone dusky and irresistible as his lips ghost your husband’s, his long pale fingers smearing a droplet of blood into your breast, spidering over your flesh in a way that already has your cunt swelling again. “I am yours. And I can give you such pleasures every night,” he promises.

Well, that is perhaps the most enthralling prospect of all.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Paradise Itself - A Thor/Reader Smut Short.

A little smutty gift for my lovely @jemmalynette, and all you other Thor girls, too!

Words - 785

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

When he’s been gone, it builds up in you, the need for him, the craving, the desire.  

How can it not? Your love is Thor, a god of a man, a feast for the eyes, the heart and all of the senses, too.  

Needless to say, he hungers for you just as much when you’re parted, the urgency of that shown when he returns, making everything that burns golden in the bedroom with you his first priority. 

That evening, he begins by wrapping you in the sanctuary of his huge arms, loving kisses scattered, the removal of your clothes down to the finest of arts. He makes you feel truly worshipped, hands and mouth gliding over your flesh, provoking an almost feral keening for him. Beneath his bulk, you rise and fall gently like a wave against the warmth of him, his fingers moving to part the petals of your sex, fingers snaking inside of you.  

He kisses the gasps that fall from your lips, your body bucking against his hand as his fingers root deep, his thumb rubbing sensations of bliss at your clit. “You feel like paradise itself around my fingers, my love.” he sighs, mouth claiming yours again, drinking back your little cries like wine. He can feel you keening for him, his cock flushed dark as it bobs against your thigh, hissing a breath when you reach for him, stroking that sublime hardness as you guide him to your streaming folds.  

“Please, Thor.”  

He chuckles, his head dipping to suck your nipples in turn. “Who am I to make my lady wait,” he groans, moving his fingers to slowly sink into the velvet clasp of you, mouth pressing to yours. 

Those gentle ministrations eventually culminate in him having you rested against a stack of pillows, your legs over his shoulders, cock cutting through the silk of your cunt while you roll your hips up into him to ensnare those final few delicious inches of his thick erection. He groans carnivorously, hands all over you in reacquaintance, clasping your face, fingers grazing your neck and squeezing your breasts before finally settling at your bum, lifting you off the bed a little, deepening your join. 

God, it’s pure heavenly bliss.    

You’re pressed against him so tightly, your clit rubs against his abs as you grind the length of his cock, sending lustful tingles through your body, making you jolt and quake ardently, panting against his mouth. His thickness drags your walls deftly, lips at your neck, fucking you assiduously, charging towards your complete undoing.   

It’s unbridled, passionate, have-to-have-you sex, his cock hitting your summit as you flutter around him, the lewd sound of him cutting through your wetness filling the room, along with your mutual heavy breathing.   

Your cunt clenches on him, sparks crackling through you as the heat of him cuts right through to the marrow of you, hard and unrelenting. He steals your cries with sumptuous, hungry kisses, knowing you’re close, reaching between you to thumb your slick across your bud, sparks skittering through you, lightening bouncing beneath his touch as he fucks your release into you. 

He gives you a little time, slowing down, leaning to kiss you as his hardness slips slowly in and out of your softly clenching centre. That gentleness, though, it doesn’t last for long. He arrows into you so deeply, your breasts bounce, your nipples becoming his focal point as he grips your hips, fingers digging into your skin as the pebbled pink peaks are further furled in the warmth of his mouth. He has you moaning soft and sweet, your nails flexing at his shoulders as he assaults your walls with deep, hard thrusts, momentum gathering, containment abandoned. 

“Come undone one more time for me. I know you can, my little dove.” he groans, assailing you wantonly, wanting to drag it from you, make you crest once more. 

He’s heavy within you, coaxing sparks from your fluttering walls, hot breaths whirring against your cleavage before his mouth claims yours once more and you drink back the groan that pours from his lips, your insides twisting pleasantly as you feel him shudder against you.   

Pleasure fizzes through you, everything feeling incredible in its intensity once more, your sun blazing over his horizon for a second time, your cries helpless, your flutters around him milking his cock as he shatters within you.  

Dreamy contentment rolls over you both, Thor moving to rest at your side and wrap you in his arms. His hands stroke you, loving whispers uttered, stroked into a blissful sleep. A rest well earned, after what you’ve just shared. Satiating the appetite of the god of thunder isn’t for the faint of heart.  

[lunarw0rks]

TF 141 as Hozier songs

A/N: I love hozier so much. genuinely listen to his songs for inspo while writing quite often. here's some of the sounds that remind me of the 141 boys. I seen others doing this w/ their fav artists/songs, so here's my version. Warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, trauma mention, fluff/smut/angst, basically. // Word Count: 1.5k

☆ MAIN MASTERLIST ☆ 141 MASTERLIST ☆ ASK BOX

『 PRICE 』

As It Was: And tell me if somehow Some of it remained How long would you wait for me? How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now You're shaping the doorway Make your good love known to me Just tell me about your day

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A relationship with Price is anything but triumphant. His lovers spend more time waiting for him than with him, yet you've stuck around long enough to savor every waiting moment.

The putter of your heart and foot against the floor as you wait for that door to open. Finally greeted with the rugged man after several months, in various battered states every time.

But there aren't powerful conversations paired with physical leaps of joy; all he wants is someone to wait for him. To love him, despite the state he's in when he comes home. It's the little things.

Eat Your Young: I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin' Let me wrap my teeth around the world Start carvin', darlin', I want to smell the dinner cookin' I want to feel the edges start to burn Honey, I want to race you to the table If you hesitate, the gettin' is gone

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ All of Price's restraint is out the window once he comes home to you; finding you in your natural stated. Relaxed and waiting for him to arrive.

Forget the filling meal — his hunger is much deeper than any entrée on the stove.

It's become a game of sorts, the race to the finish with every step. To peel your dressings, to fumble through his with haste, to wrap his lips around your warm body and feast.

Movement: When you move I can recall something that's gone from me When you move Honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Nothing is more natural to him than his love and need to observe. All your flaws, all your frustrations, every little bit of you in his sights — they're savored.

Whether it be your quirks, your qualms for the day, or the way you've come undone from his famished hands.

There's nothing more cherished, either a mundane act or a carnal one. They matter most to him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SIMON 』

To Be Alone: Honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes I feel like a person for a moment of my life You don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He had to get used to being loved, being touched by another person who didn't want to make him bleed.

The sensations of being human, being present rather than lost in his void of memories — it's foreign.

You've made him feel resuscitated as if the blood finally pumped through his veins once again. Now, he's forced to cope with being a person again, plunged headfirst into the agonizing act of loving another soul unconditionally.

Arsonist's Lullabye: When I was a child I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame Something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away // Don't you ever Tame your demon But always keep 'em on a leash

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Spent hours in his childhood disassociating, finding mindless ways to pass his miserable time. Especially as an adolescent, any time away from home was desirable, even if it meant being troublesome.

The military was his only escape, yet the phantoms of his past never left him.

Simon wasn't sure he wanted them to, either. They're such a vibrant portion of his whole being, and he despises it. But he keeps them around to be the soldier he needs to be.

In The Woods Somewhere: I raised myself My legs were weak I prayed my mind be good to me An awful noise filled the air I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Simon's flashbacks were always vivid and as agonizing as the moment in time he endured them. The worst of them all, the most suffocating — the day he was buried alive.

Every ounce of his strength to get out of that box, his muscles burning and exhausted.

The screams he's heard haunt him; civilians, hostiles, his family that had been slaughtered. They taunt his ears as if he's suffocating alone all over again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SOAP 』

Work Song: When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ When Soap is with someone he's whipped.

That's what makes leaving you so hard, especially when there's no guarantee he'll be home by the end of the run. His letters, his tags, and the cherished memories might be all you have left.

But even in death, he's with you; no matter how hard the journey it will be when that inevitable day comes.

Dinner & Diatribes: Honey I laugh when it sinks in A pillar I am of pride Scarcely can speak for my thinking What you'd do to me tonight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He's an arrogant lover, oozing pride and vigor with every move he makes on you. Oh, how he loves to have you at his mercy — but how he loves being at yours.

Keep him in the dark, surprise him; let mounds of restraint double the reward, and he's yours. Wrapped around your finger and ravenous for the coquetting you indulge in together — and more.

Moments Silence (Common Tongue): Who views the deed as power's creed, as pure authority This moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me // Like a heathen clung to the homily Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me So summon on the pearl rosary Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His carnal need for you is never satiated, it's ever-lasting and as ferocious as his mouth. Soap's wicked tongue, either occupied on you or tight against the roof of his mouth when he clenches his jaw.

There's no act lovesome enough, not in comparison to your wicked tongue devouring him in all ways.

Whether spouting back and clashing with his pride or silencing him with lascivious ecstasy in the most biblical form — it's your choice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 GAZ 』

NFWMB: 'Cause the rest of you, the best of you Honey, belongs to me // Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby // If I was born a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ If there's one sure trait of Gaz, it's covetousness. However, only where you're concerned. Though you aren't a possession, nor a warm body to be claimed, and never viewed as one — you're his.

It better be clear, too, and not from your side. It's his job to keep the envious eyes and acquisitive palms far from you.

There's no doubt in his mind that you're devoted, either. It's the sick world around him he lacks trust with — stemming from the depravity he's witness to each day.

Talk: Imagine being loved by me I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the thing I would do // How I'm imaginin' you I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love I'd be the sweet feeling of release

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His hands; calloused and ever-useful to you. The scars that litter them are a patent voucher of all they've been through — all they've done to keep the world clean.

Through his walls, and the subconscious armor that he uses as his protection, he's a whole new man. You seemingly materialized into his life, intertwining yourself with every bit of him — in every way. Your body knew it, too, as did his.

He'll have you yearning for his touch — the sweet release it gives you. It's the least he can do, considering all he asks in return is loyalty, and that's what he's gotten.

Sunlight: Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight // Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Few people see the tenderness deep within his rigid exterior, and for good reason. It's intentional, who does or doesn't get a glimpse of his most merciful portion.

You, devoted and accepting of his demanding lifestyle, have earned that right. No matter how far he is, you know you're both watching the same burning star in the sky.

Kyle was in deep; like all his foes, you become the forefront of his psyche, his reason for getting home — the face he sees when looking at the sunlight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Thanks for reading this far! <3

`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · divider cred. - cafekitsune

[theostrophywife]

4,5,22 with cassian??? Thankss luv💕

devilish.

author's note: it's baby boy cassian's turn and he's feeling quite devilish. warning: smut under the cut

Scarlet and gold bathes your skin in a soft, hazy glow as Cassian's wings swallowed up every ray of light in your bedroom. The Illyrian warrior kneels between your legs with a predatory smile as he fastens your wrists to the bed with rope. That molten hazel gaze of his burns with desire as he traces the curve of your bottom lip.

"You look so pretty all tied up for me."

You wanted to reach out and touch him. To tug on his long, raven locks and run you hands all over his toned chest and sculpted abs. You wanted to wrap your legs around his waist and claw at his back as he brought you to the edge over and over again, but instead you could do nothing but watch as the beautiful male appraised you with a predatory gaze. You were entirely at his mercy tonight and he promised to reward you if you were a good girl.

"Play with me, Cas."

Cassian smirked, drunk on the needy and desperate tone of your voice. Gods, he loved seeing you like this. Laid bare and spread out on the mattress like his own personal feast. He hummed in appreciation, his gaze raking over your naked form. Cassian didn't even know where to start. He could bite and nip at your neck or flick his tongue over your sensitive peaks or make you come undone with his fingers alone. There were so many choices, but the scent of your arousal swayed him to the latter option.

You watched with rapt attention as Cassian spread your legs open, a growl racking through his chest when he found you wet and dripping for him. Your folds were slick and glistening with your juices, ready for Cassian's fingers, tongue, or cock. Whichever he preferred to give you first.

Your mate sucked in a breath, his eyes nothing but black depths of desire as his gaze flickers back up to your face. "Look at yourself, all wet and I haven't even touched you yet."

You bit your bottom lip, fluttering your lashes up at him. "I can't help it. This is what you do to me, Cassian. You make me so needy. So desperate. I'm so fucking wet for you."

Cassian growled, tilting your chin up and capturing your lips in his. The kiss is full of passion and heat, that heady desire stretching between you as his tongue slips past your parted lips. You moan into his mouth and the sound echoes through his entire body, making him come alive with pleasure. He nips and sucks at every inch of your skin, leaving trails of saliva all over your neck, your breasts, your navel, until he comes face to face with your pussy.

Your mate buries his face between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds that had you writing underneath him. Cassian holds your hips down, flashing you a chastising expression.

"Stay still, baby girl. I want to take my time tasting you."

You whimpered, wanting nothing more than to feel his tongue buried within you. But you knew that you had to be good. So you lowered your hips and stayed perfectly still as Cassian watched.

"That's my good girl."

The praise washed over you as Cassian kissed the inside of your thighs, dipping lower and lower until his tongue expertly flicked against your folds. You gripped the sheets to stop yourself from bucking your hips upwards. You wanted to be good. You wanted to please your mate.

But gods, it was absolutely excruciating to maintain control of yourself.

The Cauldron must have heard your plea because Cassian picked up the pace, sucking and swirling at all the right spots. He teased two fingers at your entrance and they slid inside your pussy with ease, lathering his digits with your juices as he pumped in and out of you. It felt good—so good—but it didn't stop you from wishing it was his cock instead.

"Cas—please. Fuck."

You were an absolute mess as he curved his fingers within your walls, hitting that spot just right. His tongue flicked over your clit and you could feel the tension building up in your core, the precipice of your orgasm rearing.

"Please, what?" Cassian prompts, pumping his fingers inside of you once more. "What is it that you want, baby girl?"

"I want you to fuck me. Please."

Cassian was absolutely fucking done for. He grunted, pulling his fingers out of you and positioning himself between your legs. Your juices glistened on his middle and pointer fingers as he brought them up to your lips. You opened your mouth, sucking his digits clean. Cassian groaned as you took him to the back of your throat before releasing him with a pop.

"So good for me, you ready for your reward?"

You eagerly nodded, making Cassian chuckle as he released his cock from the constraints of his trousers. Your mouth nearly watered at how long and thick he was and you could already feel the stretch it would take to accommodate his size.

He slowly eased the tip in and even that made you wince, feeling your walls hugging around his thickness. Cassian moaned in pleasure as you hugged around him.

"So fucking tight. You feel so good, baby girl."

You wanted so badly to claw at his back, but the restraints kept you from doing so and it only served to heighten the pleasure. You wrapped your legs around Cassian's waist, pushing him further in as you both groaned at the tight fit. When he was finally all the way in, your mate brushed the tears from your eyes and kissed your temple.

"You take me so well, sweetheart. It's like your pretty little cunt was made just for me." He thrusts into you, slamming his hips against yours. You moaned as he hiked his leg over his shoulder, fucking you right into the mattress.

"So good, Cas. So fucking good."

[merv606]

Okay, but Terry forcing Daniel to look at himself as Terry fucks him. Maybe in a window or a mirror. "See what a beauty you are when I'm inside you, sweetheart? See what I do to you?" Maybe Terry even refuses to continue until Daniel keeps his eyes on himself the entire time.

“Only when you’re inside me?” He snarks and Terry’s blood sings at the attitude, as it always does. While he loves when his boy’s claws are out and looking for soft flesh to do damage, he knows, right now, that it’s because he’s uncomfortable.

Not with Terry fucking him.

No, they’ve long since moved past that issue.

Fucked out of him, once might say.

No, his boy is uncomfortable with watching himself … uncomfortable with the intense gaze of Terry upon him - the pure love and desire there - a look he has only even seen directed at him by Terry.

Uncomfortable with how he looks in the throes of pleasure - as Terry’s cock moves in sure, knowing thrusts inside him.

It doesn’t help that Terry is dressed, his pants undone just enough to get his cock out and into Daniel, who, conversely, is completely naked in the reflection of the glass.

All that skin free for Terry to feast upon, and he has gorged himself, even if he’ll never be full - his hungry for the younger man is only ever satiated temporarily at best.

“Just please, Terry,” he whines. “I want to come.”

It took awhile but his boy comes hardest now only when Terry is inside him.

He smirks. Placing a soft kiss behind his ear - where hard bone of his skull transitions to the vulnerable soft skin just behind his jaw.

“Can you come for me?! Just from this?”

He can come hands free - just from Terry moving inside him, hitting that spot, but it’s not easy - not yet anyway. Considering everything that went into Daniel taking his cock comfortably, it’s his next goal.

“From my cock inside you.”

A helping hand to get him there, over the edge, although normally Terry only gives it to him when he’s close; begging for it. It only ever takes a few strokes once Terry takes pity on him, showing his mercy by wrapping a large hand around his cock.

Daniel doesn’t answer.

A hand on his throat, head tipped back, Terry’s voice in his ear sending shivers down his spine and goosebumps erupting all over his skin.

Then, Terry is forcing Daniel to look at their reflection in the glass, first at himself, then in Terry’s eyes.

“Do you see? What you do to me?”

Daniel can’t look away, their gazes locked on each other in the glass.

“Feel what you do to me….”

That he can always feel, even days after, if Terry lets him go that long without being inside him.

He’s come to appreciate that feel; come to crave it.

Like a lot of things with Terry, he had to be shown first, but now he can’t live without it.

Tries not to think about how he ever did before.

Terry grabs his hips, fucking in faster and harder.

God, the look on his eyes, Daniel can barely stand it but he knows better than to look away.

Terry comes first, which usually isn’t the case but Daniel can feel every throb and pulse pushing the older man’s release deep inside him.

Can feel the light graze of teeth on his shoulder and Terry bites down, adding another prize to the existing array that adorn his collarbone, and neck.

He starts moving again, and Daniel doesn’t realize how close he is, until Terry commands him, through their locked gaze in the glass, “I want you to come for me.”

He does, painting the window infront of them, and he watches as it slowly moves down the glass.

Terry pulls out, and it’s not long before Daniel can feel the telltale signs of Terry’s cum dripping out of him.

“I love you,” he says, wrapping large arms around the smaller body, Daniel’s hand coming up to grasp them.

Starting at the window, Daniel is able to, for a moment, see past their reflection, out into the inky black of night, the vast expanse of sky.

The freedom of the stars as they hang, twinkling their brilliance again the black void.

Terry comes back into view.

If he was ever really gone.

“I love you too, Terry.”

The older man buries his head into the juncture of Daniel’s neck and shoulder, his whole world contained in his arms.

Daniel continues staring out, his whole world just beyond the glass.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 24th

Festival

Ah, a slightly ambiguous one, I shall not lie.

Dedicated to @maglor-my-beloved and @arofili who have been great inspirations in my short writing career. ❤️‍🔥

Words: 718

Warnings: Sadness, ambiguity...Be advised, it's not Bad!Fëanor all the way

Ñolofinwë didn’t want to go.

He had pleaded his case with his mother – not daring to disturb his eminent father in his critical dealings with monumentally eminent dignitaries come from afar – but she had simply ruffled his braids and told him to wear the blue tunic and to make haste.

Biting down on his lip now to keep it from trembling with dismay, he looked at the gawky youngster staring back at him from the looking glass despondently. He hated those feasts where people kept milling around endlessly, chattering about this and that and – no doubt – looking upon him, that other, lesser son, with disappointment and disapproval.

Of course, he could not be like Curufinwë, nobody was, and nobody ever would be. 

Maybe, he thought desperately, if he pretended to be taken ill, they’d let him stay in his chambers; it was highly unlikely that anyone other than his siblings – his mother’s children, not Fëanáro, as he preferred to be called – would even notice let alone regret his absence.

“Ñolofinwë…” The bored drawl of the older brother he had just been musing about crept into the room like a venomous snake much too mighty to be wrestled into submission by a mere princeling. 

“Your mother desires to see you in blue,” Fëanáro went on as he stepped into the chamber confidently, “and I am here to fetch you. Why are you not dressed? Why is your hair not done?”

Shame flooded Indis’ son like an overwhelming, suffocating tide and he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from patting his half-undone braids helplessly.

“Come here, you fool,” the other commanded and – pulling the younger boy rather forcefully towards him by a slender wrist– he yanked a brush through the dark, silken hair that was so much like his own.

“I don’t want to go,” Ñolofinwë whined and bit down on his tongue as he heard how pathetically weak and shrill his words had sounded; no doubt, that son of his father’s, who stubbornly denied being of his kin, would now reprimand and mock him harshly.

To his utter surprise though, Fëanáro’s hands stilled immediately and he let them sink heavily onto the bony shoulders of the boy standing – tense and miserable – before him, staring still into the mirror at an awkward angle that only highlighted his sharp, handsome features into which he’d no doubt grow faster than the seasons could change.

Their eyes met and there was unlooked-for understanding in the flaming gaze of the eternal prodigy; an echo of loneliness and stubborn ambition resonated dully in the cool air of a room that was halfway between a child’s bedroom and a lord’s chamber. 

“We each have our role to fulfil,” Fëanáro hummed finally, pensive, “and we must do our father proud. Finwë has sired great sons and it is his prerogative to display them for all to see.”

“I am not great,” Ñolofinwë sighed, lifting his yet spindly arms to flap the wide sleeves of the overcoat he was shrugging into while his hair was no longer being tugged at.

“Not yet,” came the sombre, premonition-laden answer, “but – I well fear – that the day will come when the tides shall shift.”

That generous mouth which was the fountain of so much wisdom and cruel jibes tightened into a pale line of discontent and the brush returned, all the more vicious after this short reprieve.

“I shall be loyal to you,” Ñolofinwë promised under his breath, not sure if he wanted his brother to hear him, ashamed of the childish gratitude soothing his frayed nerves. The creature in the looking glass resembled a prince – thanks to his brother’s competence – and Ñolofinwë felt heartened by the sight.

“Let’s go down and be scions of a king,” Fëanor huffed in a choked voice as he wound the last silver ribbon around the end of an expertly crafted braid and righted the cloak around the other’s shoulders needlessly.

Despite his misgivings and innate jealousy, he held his brother’s slender hand encouragingly in his own as they descended the stairs and walked up to the big ballroom. 

Fëanáro – the great and mighty smith and inventor – did not know then that he had lifted a heart from misery and dejection and that it would be, for better or for worse, his forevermore.

@fellowshipofthefics we're almost done, almost...

I hope this will not get me into too much hot water lol read it as you wish...I love you all and I promise that I did not mean to force down your throat what you didn't want to read!

Lots of love

-> Masterlist

[niuxita21]

I go on ONE YT binge for fanvids of my newest obsession (*cough*) and get royally spoiled for another show I haven't started watching yet FUCKING ALGORITHM

[kallikrein]

SWEET FAVOR

— in which imaushi wakasa treats himself with a snack.

genre. smut. MDNI.

contains. fem!reader, uhh explicit content (help idrk what to tag lol) and not proofread.

word count. 1.1k.

note. this is just supposed to be a timestamp but it reached a thousand words so... haha. welp, here’s my first fic of the year. it’s a thirst lmfksksks. might edit this later. idk.

Wakasa must have something inside his mouth at all times. May it be a sweet rice cake, a hard lollipop, or the straw to his drink that always ends up looking like it has been chewed by a dog.

He needs to keep his mouth preoccupied. Or hell, amongst other barbaric tragedies, would unleash on the very earth he walks upon.

So it has become a habit for the two of you whenever alone together that he would place his mouth somewhere on your skin: on your fingertips, the delicate back of your hand, the silkiness of your temples.

He would, without fail, keep them there, inhale the blissful scent you harbour that he found so soothing, and purse his lips after some time to plant a tiny kiss on the side of your head.

He would always trail those warm lips down to your ear, slowly caressing your lobe with a heavy breath before taking it between his teeth, nibbling on the lug like it’s the perfect snack to treat himself with. Upon sensing your shiver, his tongue would dart out, licking a stripe on the inner shell of your ear to create goosebumps that ran along the expanse of your forearms.

Your lips parted slightly, a wordless message that you welcome his inviting actions — how your one hand nimbly wrapped around the back of his head to guide him further on the enticing skin of your neck.

He’d hear his name come out breathlessly from your lips when he bit the sensitive spot he so dearly adores to abuse, bruising the skin until it’s all red and splotchy, marking what is clearly his — and only his. “Waka,” you would murmur and it’s all he ever wanted to hear.

Wakasa traced down the fine column of your throat, tongue poking out every now and then, teasing you what he could be doing to your other areas instead. However, he didn’t want to stop taunting you just yet. He was still having fun being coy. Your little gasps, the squirmish moves that your hips make alongside the grip you have on his colored streak hair getting tauter and harsher, he wanted to make you feel loved by his mouth alone.

He then dipped low into the collar of your shirt, calloused hands headed for the mounds he never ever wanted to let go, fixing his parted lips right above your clothed nipple. His palms pawed skillfully at your breasts, pushing them upwards as though it’s the only bra you would ever need before rolling the pink muscle that was his tongue on your pert, unattended nipple.

The reaction you let out made him keen in an instant, going straight to the appendage between his legs, hardening and throbbing to be relieved by you. His mouth hungrily closed in on the bud, wetting your shirt — his shirt in the process, watching you mewl and trying to contain your squeals with one hand.

He’d move to the other side, feasting on your clad breast just like he did with the previous one. His right hand softly stroking your tummy down to your navel, and beginning to undone the button of your pants.

He slowly smiled against your chest when you shimmied the obstructive thing away, a bit shy when speaking but your actions were undeniably hurried. “You want this so bad, huh?”

Although seeing you nod, helplessly as he must say, the once provoking grin he has turned into a searing look of need. Amethyst eyes flaring with heavy-lidded desire whilst the evident arousal he has in his pants got even harder and all the more painful. He didn’t think twice, he knelt down before you like a servant preaching his goddess, spreading your legs wide open as a wet patch of your heat became the sole thing he focused on.

Wakasa’s mouth immediately salivated, planting harsh bites on your inner thighs with his tongue soothing the painful sting right after. He could smell your own slick, your own need, dripping down the sofa you were arousingly perched on. He could even taste it in his tongue, running down through his throat. He could just dive right in, but he wanted to hear you say it first — needed for you to demand him to eat your pretty pussy out.

“What do you want, Princess?”

Instead of proper words, he only heard a whimper. Your hand pressing his head closer to your core, trying to get him to do his job even though he’s utmost willing. He deemed he should be renounced as a saint for trying not to indulge into your wild temptation, cooing his own words of encouragement against your skin, breathing them right where you need him the most, “Say it.”

“I- I want your tongue inside of me.”

There, and Wakasa didn’t waste a second anymore. Giving your clit its much needed lick, he did it over and over until you’re tugging at his scalp, legs twitching by the sides of his face as he laps up rather greedily at your soppy lips. He took your little sensitive nub to his mouth, sucking it in whilst he closely watched how you threw your head back moaning, and your beautiful eyes squeezed shut tight from pleasure.

He slithered his tongue between your folds, observing how your voice became an octave higher, keeping him in his place with both of your hands as you rolled your hips against his face, gasping his name weakly again and again, yet riding his face with much enthusiasm.

He could only grunt whilst his tongue and lips do its job, his bright eyes memorizing every curve and gyrate that your body deliciously makes. He even traced letters of his name on your needy hole, watching you tremble each time he finished one — so much that he could also feel himself wetting his own pants.

The sticky leaks of his own arousal made his mouth move rougher, teetering you over the satisfying edge he loves to orchestrate and push you over. He groans whenever you whine a ‘please’ or ‘fuck’, but nothing could be better than his name being moaned by his perfect, pretty girl who’s right now very much desperate for some sort of release.

Seeing how you’re all teary-eyed from his ministrations, Wakasa reached for your spot — the spot where you never fail to whimper, twitch uncontrollably whilst sobbing his name, and feeling the tight coil in your tummy that he slowly built becomes freely unraveled.

And he would just watch you become limp from euphoria, catching your breath, and reaching for him to give him a grateful, well-pleased kiss. “Good?” He’d ask. Determined, lilac orbs burning holes through your blissed out face, and still keeping his mouth preoccupied, kissing your lips oh so tenderly, even though he just tasted you. “Is it my turn now?”

taglist. @sugokawata, @baji-san, @gwynsapphire, @eriskaitto and @manjiroarchiviste.

[onlyswan]

meet me behind the mall | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x f!reader

→ genre: smut sigh, fluff kinda

→ warnings: exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, slight ? degredation, calls her a slut once, fingering, handjob, oral (m. and f. receiving), choking, spitting, cum eating / swallowing, unprotected sex, facial (this term is so 😭) lmk if i miss anything plz

→ word count: 3.3k

summary: jungkook makes you live for the thrill of it all.

note: this was an impulsive write idk what possessed me today frends but have at it >_> semi proofread it’s 5am goodbyr

—

it’s one of the things you first learned about him. jungkook loves taking photos. he loves capturing moments with a simple click of a camera. he finds an unexplainable comfort and bittersweet nostalgia in finding old photographs in his drawer, in his pockets, tucked in between the pages of his textbooks. it’s like finding little treasures all over the place, you can hear his voice in your head, can see the pretty twinkles of passion and fondness in his pretty doe eyes.

so when he told you all about the new photobooth at the arcade, followed by a text that simply said meet me behind the mall, you didn’t particularly imagine that you would end up in this position. you can see the shutter going off even though your eyelids are closed as jungkook’s tongue is basically shoved down your throat. your panties is pulled to the side and two of his fingers are thrusting in and out of your cunt, curling deliciously to stimulate your sweet spot that has your thighs shaking uncontrollably every fucking time.

how naive of you to think that your boyfriend spontaneously texted you at eight in the evening to meet up and simply take cute couple pictures in film. of course, you do have a fair share of scandalous photos, but they’re all conveniently stored and locked away in your phones. this is something entirely new and as embarrassing it is to admit, thrilling. yourself from one year ago never would’ve guessed what her future self is doing right now. how the desires in you can easily be fueled to life just by the trailing of jungkook’s fingers on the smoothness of your thighs, his lips nipping at your neck, or even the simple thought of having his cock filling you up to the brim.

you can’t help but to giggle against his mouth. all of your senses are heightened at this moment, your heart beating aggressively in your chest. he pulls away slightly but his gaze stays on your pink and swollen parted lips, drunk eyes taking in your disheveled state.

“what’s going in that pretty little mind of yours?” he smirks, thumb sneakily rubbing your clit. you try your best to hold out your moan but a broken whine comes out, your head throwing back against the wall of the limited space you’re both squeezed into. only a black curtain and an ‘occupied’ sign in red bold and capital letters separated you from the world outside, where games are being played by people of all ages; loud sound effects and songs from the 2000’s and 2010’s mixing into an ear numbing noise that can only be recognized from an arcade center; and tickets gathered are being exchanged for cute stationary items and trinkets.

“you’re so, so dirty.” you say to him, eyes rolling back as his fingers never let up on their toe curling pace, only making you lose your inhibitions and self-control more than anything else. you clench around them involuntarily, drenching his hand with your juices. “was this your plan all along?”

your eyes widen in shock when the sound of his palm slapping your bare cunt filled the booth, the stinging pain registering in your mind next. “are you fucking crazy? someone might hear!” you whisper angrily at him, but his dark and blown out eyes made you shrink back in your seat. his intimidating, and almost condescending, expression have you gushing against his hand that is now petting your pussy to soothe the pain he inflicted.

“watch your mouth. you and this fucking skimpy dress are the only ones dirty here. you know what this shit does to me.” he smiles at you sweetly. “are you sure this was my plan? are we playing mind games here, baby girl?” his hand comes down from your face to play with the cloth of your blue dress, the other thrusting two of his fingers in you again, then adding another. the stretch has you gripping tightly on his shirt, not having anything else to hold on to.

“fuck, ahhh- jungkook. don’t stop.” god, you are dripping all over, your wetness staining your seat. it makes your cheeks flush in shame.

“just wanted to look pretty for you, i-is all.” you mewl at him, blinking innocently. the camera is not forgotten by jungkook. in fact, it’s one of the things getting him more riled up. the almost blinding light of the flash shines on your soft skin, and the sweat that has formed on your temples and your neck. your pupils are blown and eyelids drooping caused by the pleasure he is giving you. it’s visible how difficult it is for you to keep in all your noises from the people outside the damn curtain when you’re so lost in the feeling of his fingers inside of you. all because of him. your fucked out state got jungkook gritting his teeth, his dick twitching inside his pants. jesus christ, you get him so fucking turned on and desperate for it without even trying. your beauty is seductive and enchanting and effortless. there is no point in hiding how crazy he is for you.

“my pretty girl. you dressed yourself all nice for me?” he presses a chaste kiss on your lips, before he wraps his hand around your throat, pressing at the right places just enough to make your mind all fuzzy. “i’m such a lucky man. i love you so much.”

your eyes roll back at the back of your head at the all consuming feeling taking over senses. you don’t think you can answer correctly if ever someone asks for your name or the colors of the goddamn traffic signs. “y-yeah, for you, of course. love you so much.”

he gives you a satisfied hum, moving down to squeeze one of your breasts with his large hand before pinching your nipple from outside the cotton of your dress. “mhmm, holy fuck. you’re always so sensitive. so easy to please. am i making you feel good?” you don’t know how he can act so casual while you’re basically falling apart in his hands, but for some sick reason, it stirs up the arousal in your belly even more.

“y-yes, kook, i’m so close, please, please, please,” you cry out desperately, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you squeeze his fingers with your walls uncontrollably. “wait, ohhh, stop. stop. i can’t cum here. i- it’s gonna be a mess, this is so embar- fuck, jungkook!” your squeal dies down in your throat when your boyfriend kneels on the ground and starts sucking your clit in his mouth as his fingers inside of you became more aggressive, hitting all the right places that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your desperate and whiny sounds, suddenly becoming aware of where the two of you are right now.

you grip his hair with your hands to steady yourself and unconsciously grind your cunt against his face, his eager tongue doing very sinful things for the sole purpose of making you come undone. he pulls you closer to the edge with his strong arm so he can have better access, eating you out like a man feasting on the divine food of the gods. divine. that’s one perfect word to describe you.

he flicks your clit teasingly before wrapping his pink and plump lips around it again. the overwhelming sight almost makes you want to burst into tears. “hmm, cum for me, baby.” your body jerks in his hold, his words of permission acting as the trigger for your orgasm. he drinks you up greedily, his tongue replacing his fingers’ place in fucking into you, letting you ride out your high.

he comes up to kiss you, making you taste yourself in his mouth. you can even feel his wet chin. you moan against him when two fingers dip inside you again, and then he’s having you suck on them almost too enthusiastically. you’re still in a daze from your release, and with jungkook, you’re basically down for anything and everything. you open your eyes to meet his, and if you aren’t already fucked out with his fingers choking you, his hooded eyes will have reduced you into a blabbering mess.

“you’re always so good to me.” he says with a raspy voice. he takes out his fingers and wipes it on his shirt before pulling you in for another kiss. “let’s get out of here so i can fuck you properly like my girl deserves, okay?” you nod meekly, trying to hide your excitement. he fixes you up to make you look presentable enough to walk in public, combing your hair with his fingers and straightening out your dress.

“can’t forget these. don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. it’s for my eyes only.” he gathers all the developed films from the booth, facing you with a teasing smile.

“for your eyes only.” you agree, looking up at him. you open the small backpack you brought along with you and he stuffs them all inside mindlessly, his cock still straining painfully in his pants and he might just lose his mind if he’s still not inside of your pussy in the next five minutes.

“can’t walk properly,” you whine out once you step out of the booth, your boyfriend supporting you by the waist.

“sorry, baby.” he presses an apologetic kiss on your temple. “but i’m not done with you yet.” he really doesn’t give a fuck if anyone heard the both of you at all, but he knows that you’re starting to worry, so he makes sure that you keep your eyes on him as you walk your way out of the place.

“are we going to your place? or mine?” you ask once you get out, the cool air of the mall embracing you. you shiver lightly. your boyfriend doesn’t respond, but when he starts dragging you towards the movie theater that is just beside the arcade, you realize the answer to your question.

“jungkook, really?” you hiss at him, but don’t make any efforts to stop him as he leads you to the restrooms.

“i’m so fucking hard right now, babe. i can’t wait anymore.” they’re about to close up in an hour, so the place is basically deserted. but still, you can’t believe what you’re about to do right now. he peeks in the women’s and once he made sure it’s clear, you go in to the farthest cubicle.

“damn woman,” his throaty chuckle makes your center throb again as you immediately pull down his sweatpants along with his boxers, his big cock slapping against his stomach. you lick a stripe from his balls up to his tip, then gathering saliva in your mouth and letting it drip down his length. his breathing gets heavier at the sight of doing such a filthy action without him asking you to. he strokes your cheek as you jack him off and give his head kitten licks, your spit acting as an effective lube.

“put it in your mouth now, baby.” he says softly, grasping your hair to guide your mouth on his cock. “choke on it, yeah?” you hum in submission to his request, relaxing your throat to take in as much of him as you can. you start to bob your head up and down to get used to the feeling, your hand still wrapped around the few inches left.

“fuck, you look so pretty like this. i’ve been thinking about it all day.” his confession made you all warm inside. you’ve always wondered how you managed to become his girlfriend. sometimes, it feels to good to be true. knowing the effect you have on him even when you’re not around made you even more determined to blow his damn mind. to be the only star of his wildest dreams.

you go down on him until your nose reach his pubic area, carefully breathing out through it. “oh my god, that’s my girl.” he thrusts his hip forward and holds your head down in place, making you choke on him like he wanted to. his moans sends tingles to your pussy and you rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to relieve yourself of some pressure. he lets you breathe in some air before you take him in your mouth again, swallowing around his length as you move your head up and down.

“ohhh, fuck. your mouth is s-so warm. you like this huh? sucking me off outside our rooms for the first time?” he can’t help but to move his hips as well, instinctively following your mouth. your moans vibrate on his dick, and he hisses at the added sensation. “and you called me what? so, so dirty? turns out you’re just as fucking filthy, baby.” and there it is again, the mischievous smile on his face that makes your knees (that you’re sure will be bruising soon enough) weak. you know that he’s right. you can’t help but to whimper around him when you feel wetness drip from your hole. you want to touch yourself so bad but your hands on your boyfriend’s flexing muscular thighs are what’s keeping you steady and grounded.

“ohh- ah, fuck fuck fuck! are you fucking kidding me?” his body jerks when you take all of him and stay still, contracting your throat around him and massaging his balls in your small and soft hand. his brain goes on a frenzy at the waves of pleasure rippling in his body, sweat rolling down his temples and abdomen working hard to stop himself from cumming down your throat. “s-shit, stop it, stop it, stop, i’m gonna blow my load.”

you pull him out with a pop, hand gripping his base to keep his orgasm at bay. his glassy eyes meet your own, and you give him a wink. “are you gonna fuck me now?”

a shiver runs up jungkook’s spine. “you’re so fucking hot. come here.” he helps you get up and snakes his tongue in your mouth, pinning you on the other side of the cubicle. his hand sneaks in under your dress to cup your center, groaning against your mouth when he felt how wet you are. “shit, you’re soaking. did you get this turned on by sucking my dick?”

“really turned on. i love blowing you.” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger, blinking up at him with a smile.

“you’re actually killing me here.” he chuckles, squeezing your ass and pulling you close to grind himself on you. he drags down your panties until you step out of them, throwing it on top of your backpack. he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers. “jump.” you obey, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he pumps his cock a few times before teasingly running the tip along your wet folds, a nudge on your clif making you moan quietly. “put it in, please. jungkook? i’ve been good, right?”

“shhh, i got you.”

you hold on to his neck tightly as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure. it’s amazing how you can feel so stretched out from the very beginning, only his tip yet breaching your walls. you never really got used to it. “you’re so big, kook.” you cry out against his shoulder as he sinks his entire length into you. your praise inflates his ego. he lets you adjust for a moment, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder.

when you gave him the signal, he begins thrusting into you, gradually picking up to a rough and unforgiving pace he knows you like. the lewd squelching sounds of your connected sex filled the empty room.

“sh-should’ve done this sooner. ahh fuck, why does this feel so good?” you’re out of your mind. you can’t remember a time you felt this horny. and to be brutally honest, he’s fucking you dumb right now. you can feel every ridge of his cock in you, can feel his tip furiously and consistently stimulating the spot in you that has you writhing in his arms, that along with his pelvis grinding against your clit each time he fucks back into you.

“jesus, are you hearing yourself right now? you like doing it outside with me, baby?”

“yes, yes! oh, harder, please. m-more, i’m close again.” you sob out, biting on his shoulder to cover your cries.

“can’t believe i got myself a filthy little slut here.” he shakes his head in mock disbelief, adjusting his hold on you and fucking you with a much fiercer drive to make you cream on his cock this time. “f-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he breathes out a laugh followed by a broken moan, your soft walls enveloping him in your wamth. “cum when you need to, hmm? you’ve been so good to me.”

you mutter countless thank you’s mixed with your moans and whimpers, the pleasure getting too much to bear. you throw your head back as you orgasm on your boyfriend’s cock, clenching around him uncontrollably as he fucks you through it, desperate to reach his own high. your juices drip down to his balls, and it makes him crazier. he takes the opportunity create marks on your neck, sucking and biting red and purple on your skin.

it’s not long before overstimulation takes place, but you don’t complain, not when it feels this good. another orgasm hits you, not as intense as the first two, but it still got you seeing stars and your body shaking against the wall.

“did you just cum again? oh god, fucking shit. i’m there- so fucking close. you feel so- oh, so good. love you. love you a lot.”

“i want to swallow your cum.” your voice is barely there, but jungkook hears you just fine. he almost chokes on his own spit upon registering your words in his brain. without wasting any time, he sets you down on the floor and you kneel infront of him, mouth open and tongue out.

he jacks himself off while you generously lick at his frenulum, looking up at him expectantly. the sight of you all eager and impatient for his cum finally triggers his release, aiming for your tongue but some still landing on your cheeks and chin as he’s too overwhelmed and shaken to see straight. you swallow happily, licking the rest from your fingers.

“god, i love you.” he says quietly, pulling you up from the floor and embracing you, but you wiggle out of his grasp.

“love you too but gross, gross, gross. i need to go home and shower.” you whine out, twirling as you try and fix your appearance again.

“not you acting like a brat once you got what you wanted.” he pinches your waist jokingly. he takes tissue from the dispenser to clean up the wetness that dripped down all the way to your thighs, being the loving boyfriend that he is.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you pout at him. “i’m so tired and gross. i hate you.”

“are you asking for it again?”

“no, i swear to god. you owe me a bubble bath and a massage.”

“okay, fine. my place then.” he gives up, shaking his head with a laugh at your change of mood. “i love you. can i get a kiss then?”

you tiptoe to reach him, slightly pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to give him a smooch. “i love youuu.”

once you both make yourself presentable (again) to the best of your abilities, you head out of the restroom first. you notice the cashier at the popcorn place eyeing you suspiciously, especially when jungkook comes out to meet you a few minutes later. you hide yourself behind him in shame.

you walk out of the mall with his hand over your shoulder, yours on his waist. you look at him questioningly when he covers your neck with more of your hair. “maybe i made a little too much.” he winces apologetically.

“we are never doing that again.” you sigh, your legs still feeling weak but you will yourself to make it all the way to the parking lot.

“what? you said you liked it!”

“it was during the moment. i was delirious.”

jungkook rolls his eyes. “you’re lying. let’s see, because that’s also what you said the first time we tried choking.”

“jungkook! shut up!”

—

note: i never know how to finish these runs and hides

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Dark Sin - An Angel Reyes/Reader/Happy Lowman One Shot Story.

Bit of Angel and Happy, anyone? Have.At.It. Because who wouldn’t want to be suck between these two? 

(GIFS not mine, found on Pinterest)

Words - 1,610

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

It winds slow, clutching at you like a fever, a hot tongue touring the skin over your sternum, another licking your shoulder, two hands clutched upon your breasts, kneading with a gentle grasp, two at your butt, squeezing harder, and you, caught between the summer and winter of them, the fire and the frost.  

You’ve never wanted anything more than both of them together, desiring them equally, always entertained by their advances, both eager to secure you. ‘You can have me, fellas, but you have to share me.’  

“You good with that?” Angel had asked, raising an eyebrow.

Happy had taken a moment to reply, grinning around the chew on his toothpick. “Absolutely.”  

And so here you are, both of them wrapping themselves around you like serpents in heat, Happy’s mouth lowering, trailing kisses of burning hunger over your abdomen, Angel moving his mouth to envelop your nipple in the wet tug of his lips, sparks beginning to glitter through you, your anticipation for more ramping by the moment the lower you feel Happy lay each kiss.  

“Mmm, fuck!” you grit, when finally, those kisses meet your folds, Happy kissing in tease, watching you squirm, vying to feel his tongue intrude.  

“Need more?” Of course, he knows you do, but you sense he’ll make you say it.  

“Yes, yes I do.” you gasp, your mouth then covered by Angel’s, your groan pouring into his throat as you feel Happy part your folds, the stiffened blade of his tongue firmly dragging through. A bonfire of bliss begins to glow deep within you, reaching to Angel’s shirt, undoing it, your eyes feasting upon the heavenly body beneath as he tugs it off, your hands gripping his belt, yanking it undone. If the sight of his bulky muscles wasn’t enough, when you pull his cock free from within his jeans, your eyes nearly fall out of your head.  

“Bet you can’t wait to be split around that, can you, baby doll?” he groans, mouth laying a blazing constellation of kisses over your throat.  

Licking your hand wet, you grasp him, gripping his shaft and tugging upwards firmly. Your hand only just about closes around it. “Yeah, just as much as I bet you can’t wait to feel my tight little pussy gripping on it. You want it badly, don’t you? Want to feel me getting this big cock all wet and slippery, while you’re fucking me so good, I’m crying?”  

He grasps your jaw, giving you the kind of grin that looks borrowed from the devil himself. “Shit, querida. How well you know me already.” While you’re having your tits focused upon by his hungry mouth, your hand keeping his moans deep and sinful, another hungry mouth gorges itself upon you, Happy making you shudder with pleasure.

He draws dirty curses from your sweet lips with each keen lap of his tongue, his stubble prickling at your soft flesh, cheeks hollowing as he begins to suck at you, your slick swallowed greedily as he devours the mouthful of your womanhood he has encased within his mouth, localising the next suck by covering your bud with his lips, sucking until it swells, your hips jolting at the soft flicks of the tip of his tongue administered thereafter.  

It’s too much, but equally nowhere near enough, his fingers pushing into you, clever and precise as he seeks out exactly where within the wet plush of your pussy you want to feel him press, having you wailing for him.

“Right there?”  

“Oh fuck, yes! Don’t you dare move them!” He laughs, his voice deepened even more than usual by lust, hooking his fingers over and beginning to rake them against you, pressing hard, looking up at you over the rise of your curves and watching as you lose control for him. “Jesus... fuck!”

“Oh yeah, baby,” he hums, grinning against your pussy, his tongue beginning to flutter over your bud rapidly. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” The grit of his words arrows right to your insides, your cunt clenching around his fingers. Tiny shocks skitter through you, your mouth hot and hungry against Angel’s, slipping to bite his neck as your hand wrings precum from his thick cock, thumb stroking silkily over the tip, his groan steeped in grit and gravel as his hips sway against your grip.  

“Fuck, you two are gonna ruin me,” you gasp, a soft burst of laughter following your words, your nails trailing over the tattooed serpent atop Happy’s shaven head.  

He looks up at you, the darkness swirling in his inky eyes. “Oh yes, we are.” His tongue presses flat against your clit, a hard, quick lick administered, another following, pausing to pull his t shirt off, unbuckling his belt, the sound of him shedding his jeans making you slick with the anticipation that mists over your body, the craving for his cock that consumes you headily.  

He holds you on the cusp of it, stroking his cock through your glossy folds, evoking your whimpers, entertained by your need. “Yeah, you dying for that big dick, princess?”  

“Happy, please! Please just fuck me!” Your demand is met with a raised eyebrow, Happy grinning to himself, the head of his cock stroking streaks of pleasure as it nudges against your clit before sliding to push at your opening in tease. He fucks you shallowly, making you keen for him, your back arching off the bed, feeling him finally fill you with a satisfied sigh, the hot silk of your walls bathing his cock in a warm dew.

Their hands stroke a blazing furnace across your skin, Happy giving you every inch of his cock so slowly, you mewl with every thrust, Angel’s teeth closing over your nipples in turn, his hand gently flexing at your throat, releasing to grasp your jaw instead, kissing you blindingly as he groans against your lips, feeding you his fingers, his tongue swiping the column of your throat.

Colours illuminate behind your closed eyelids, your mind swirling, overcome by ecstasy, foggy with the utter dark sin of it. You expect Happy to be rough with you, but to begin with, he lets you feel the sumptuous drag of every inch steadily, teasingly slowly, that calmness the spring shower that rains upon your earth, quenching your desire without giving you too much of what you crave.  

It’s just enough to keep you sated, the position changing slightly as you move onto your front, arranging yourself before Angel and stripping the rest of his clothes from him, taking his cock in your grasp once more, enveloping him in the warm hug of your mouth.  

“Shit, mamas. Fuck, yeah, you suck that cock. Damn, you’re good.” he groans almost incoherently as you work him with gusto, your eyes finding the dark fire of his irises, his hands tangling in your hair as the sound of Happy’s flesh smacking against yours as he builds a steady rhythm fills the air. He begins to alternate between a deliciously slow pace, switching up to rapid, your moans only muted by your continued suck upon the thick cock filling your mouth, Angel’s hands fisted tight in your hair.

“Dude, take over here. Only fair I don’t be hoggin’ up this amazing little pussy,” Happy rasps after a few minutes, exiting you with a slippery pop, Angel moving to sit up on his heels, pulling your body close. You climb astride him, gripping his thick shoulders as he steers you down onto his cock, the thick of him stretching you wide, your mouth falling open in silent exclamation. Happy hit deep, but fuck, Angel splits you, opening you around the thick of him, nerve endings sizzling as you gasp to be breeched by something with such girth.  

Feeling Happy shuffle behind you, you cry out at feeling his fingers tease your other opening, spit wet and firm as they begin scissoring you open, your narrow passage yielding to him, his cock, still slick with the soaking sheen of your arousal beginning to push once he’s sure he’s readied you enough, steadily filling you.  

He grasps a handful of your hair, pulling your head back, claiming your throat with predatory bites, making you feel as if you are a gazelle caught between two starving lions, the other side of your neck sucked upon by Angel as he fucks up into you mercilessly, fingers gripping hard at your thighs, his short nails dragging your skin, leaving crimson welts, your wails feral, wild desire charging through your veins, pleasure streaking over your body and burning through to the very marrow of you.  

So, there you are, sandwiched between two bodies, impaled to the hilt upon two long, thick cocks, moving with them in lustful abandon. If this was a dream, you’d never want to wake from it. The punch of them both within you has your burning to your very bones, pleasure sizzling right to your marrow as you wail yourself hoarse, clutching Angel as you feel lightning striking its way up your spine, your movements fervid as you begin to move against them, rather than be dictated by their paces within you, all three of you hurtling towards the catatonic crest of blinding light, a thousand lights blazing over neurons, their moons eclipsing your sun, darkness shrouding it before once more, the light blazes forth.  

You topple first, the hug of your viscid cunt taking Angel with you, Happy following moments after.  

“Well... you ruined me,” you pant, kissing Angel, turning your head to receive the same from Happy, who rumbles a deep chuckle.  

“Fair to say you returned it.”  

Yes. Very fair, you’d say.  

[traekenimagines]

Hunting Season, Part Seventeen: A Theo Raeken Imagine

Request from Anon: Hii, could you do a smut in which the reader is letting theo stay in her guest room instead of in his truck? and one day it’s really cold and stormy, so she goes to give theo extra blankets to keep warm and she walks in on him masturbating. Can you make it so that Theo is really flirty please? About my request, i really don’t mind what you write it as. Whatever you feel the most inspired by<3

So, I decided to make this Part Seventeen. Smut below the cut, as I’m sure you guys know by now. Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x 

“Are you sure about this, Y/N? I don’t mind staying in the truck, really.” Theo looked over at Y/N, who was being way too nice to him. She had offered to let him stay in her guest room after finding him sleeping in his car, and as he looked at her now, he realised that she had no ultimatum, no ulterior motive.

She was just being nice to him when he really didn’t deserve it.

God, he had never wanted her more.

The truth was he had spent many nights thinking about her in various positions, doing various things to him. In his dreams, he did equally filthy things back to her, wanting to make her scream his name, wanting to make her feel pleasure like she never had before.

“It’s fine, honestly.” The two turned to face the window as thunder rumbled outside. “You’ll be better off in here.”

“Okay, well, thanks.”

She smiled at him, and left Theo alone in the guest room. He pulled off his clothes, and instead put on the spare pyjama pants that she had left him, before climbing into bed. There was no point trying to sleep, not with the noise of the storm outside, so he tried to think of other things to do.

His mind wandered, as it so often did, to Y/N. Theo was conscious of an ache in his groin, of the hardening of his cock as he realised that she was only in the room next to him, that as she changed into her pyjamas, she would be naked.

He couldn’t help it when his hand wrapped around his cock and started pumping. He pictured her face as he did so, pictured her bent over the dresser in front of the bed, pictured fucking her. His movements sped up as his imaginary self mirrored his actions. He was almost there, so close to –

“Hey, so it’s got cold, and I thought – ”

Y/N dropped the extra blankets she was carrying as she looked at Theo, his hand wrapped around his cock. He expected her to say something, or just run out of the room. She did nothing, instead her bottom lip sliding between her teeth as her gaze lingered on him.

He could smell her arousal, was almost suffocated by it, and he couldn’t help but take advantage of that. She wanted him, that much was obvious, and with that pressure building in his stomach, the desire that smothered him, Theo decided to flirt, a wicked smile on his face. “Like what you see?” He moved his hand slowly up and down his cock, toying with her. “You know, Y/N, you could have this if you wanted to. It’s you I’ve been thinking of.”

She didn’t move, and Theo was pretty sure she had never been in a situation like this before. So, he decided to make it easier for her. He took of his pyjama pants, exposing himself fully, and climbed off the bed, over to her. “Come on, princess. Can’t you see how much I need you?”

He nudged his cock against her leg, grabbing the waistband of her own pants. She had no underwear on, which would make this ten times easier. He bit down on her earlobe softly, listening to her heartbeat accelerate. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Theo slipped his fingers under her waistband, skirting around her core. “You’re so wet.” He kissed her neck. “And I think that it’s all for me.” He smirked against her skin before slipping two fingers inside of her. She whimpered as he did so. “Good girl.”

He moved his fingers in and out of her slowly at first, letting her set the pace of how this was going to go. “That okay?”

And then Y/N did something he wasn’t quite expecting.

She grabbed his cock, and Theo groaned. God, the feel of her hand against him was better than anything he could have conjured up in his dreams. She didn’t start slow in her movements, instead going hard and fast as she pumped him. He matched her speed as he fucked her with his fingers, satisfied when he curled his fingers inside of her and she came over them.

He was quick to follow in his release, and as he looked at Y/N, he noticed how she was wearing a devilish grin. He removed his fingers from her, letting her undress completely. There was a change in her demeanour; gone was the nice girl who had kept him sheltered from the storm, replaced by one who wanted nothing more than to fuck him.

He was never one to deny a lady what she wanted, especially when she finally spoke, when if it was as if she had read his mind. “You’re going to fuck me, Theo Raeken, and you’re going to do it until I tell you to stop.” Theo watched in amazement, his cock already hard again, as she walked over to the dresser at the end of the bed, and bent over it. “Are you coming or not?”

Oh he would be coming, he was sure of that. 

In a few strides, Theo was positioned at Y/N’s entrance, his hand on the back of her neck. His first thought was to enter her slowly, but judging by her sudden change in behaviour, her lust for him, he knew that wasn’t what she wanted.

It wasn’t what he wanted either.

Obscenities spewed from Y/N’s mouth as Theo slammed into her over and over again. She begged for him to fuck her, to bury himself deep, to go faster and harder. He obliged, burying himself to the hilt, telling her just how fucking good she felt around his cock, just how tight, how wet she was, just how much he had been wanting this.

Theo usually hated being the person to reach release first, but with Y/N he couldn’t help himself. He pulled out at the right moment, the product of his release falling onto Y/N’s back as he growled. Panting, he watched as Y/N turned around, lifting herself onto the dresser, eyes on his dripping cock.

He needed her to come too, needed her to feel what he had felt, needed her to know that he was the one who had made her come undone. He crouched down, spreading her thighs apart with a violent force.

She pulled at his hair as he licked up her centre. She whined as he feasted on her like he had been starved.

She couldn’t contain her screams when finally she came, Theo licking up every last drop of her.

He stood, ready to grab some towels, ready to clean the both of them up when Y/N grabbed his arm. He looked at her, looked at the fury in her expression, the desperation for him, and it was then that he remembered he was under orders.

She hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And as he entered her again, he realised that he had no intention of doing such a thing. 

Hunting Season Masterlist

Masterlist

[mrsalwayswrite]

Magic and Firelight (Ivar x reader)

Oh God. you know how I said I never write smut....apparently I lied. I blame this entire thing on @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ for encouraging this. All. Their. Faults. 

This one-shot was inspired by the moodboard created by the ever-lovely @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ for a challenge. In the challenge she had to use Ivar, MagicAU and Licking....so I made sure to incorporate those themes into this written one-shot.  

Also this does not fit anywhere in the Vikings timeline because I want everyone alive and marginally happy, ok? So everyone lives in Kattegat but think season 5a Ivar. 

Warnings: SMUT, unexpected feels, like one swear word. 

Words: 4200

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ 

reminder: not my moodboard. this entire, glorious thing belongs to @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ who was kind enough to let me use it.

  Revelry filled the air, coating everything in the Great Hall like a fresh snowfall. The feast was well underway. The smell of roasted meat and ale rose steadily into the air, along with the laughter and cheers of those still in attendance. A contest of strength just finished, the loser ending up with blood dripping from his nose, tainting his teeth, as he laughed uproariously. 

 A joyous shout shot through the hall. The signal of the next form of entertainment. Fists pounded on the tables in delight, a few exclamations arising amongst the sound. All noise ceased when a slow drumbeat began, like the echo of a steady heart. It sunk into the skin, traveling to the chest until one's heartbeat matched in echo. 

 Ivar shifted in his seat near the base of the thrones. They both sat empty behind him, his mother having retired long ago, and Ragnar at a nearby table with Floki and a few others, laughing with a flushed face and ale horn in hand. Glancing around his table, he could see the wild excitement in his brothers' eyes…. for they all knew what came next. 

 As the drumbeat started to increase, the first of the swirling dancers emerged. Their bodies covered in thin fabric that teased as much as it covered, leaving one longing for a glimpse only to be denied as she continued her provocative movements. The six beautiful women moved through the tables like swans gliding through water, each step, each sway of their hips graceful and in tune with the beat.

 "Who are they?" Ivar asked gruffly. These women were not the normal entertainment at a feast. Nor did he did not recognize any of them. 

 "They came with a trader from the Mediterranean." Ubbe answered, never removing his eyes from the dancers. "He petitioned with father yesterday to allow them the chance to entertain us in the way of their people…. or something along those lines."

 "Remind me to ask that trader where they are specifically from, because I know where I am going to explore next." Hvitserk stated with a smirk. 

 Ubbe bumped shoulders with Hvitserk, an unspoken agreement in the action. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes at their antics and turned his gaze back to the dancers…. Only to freeze when one locked eyes with him. 

 She stood across the fire, the flames appeared to lick and dance upon her skin. Every curve, each dip of her luxurious body highlighted in the flickering light. Her hair hung long, swaying with each movement, its own form of enticement. It was those eyes though, that held him spellbound to her. Large, luminous orbs that seemed to peer into his soul, that stole the very breath from his lungs. All he could do was stare as she danced. Each movement was pure elegance and seduction. The whole time those mesmerizing eyes kept him spellbound, oblivious to all but her. With her eyes locked on him, it felt she danced only for him. Each twirl of her body, each shake of her barely clad hips, her hands tracing patterns in the air, it all felt like a dance to entrance him. To maintain his attention. To rile up his blood and desire for her. To make him yearn for her with his whole body and soul. 

 When she finally released him from her gaze to spin away, he gasped in a lungful of air. Not realizing until now how he had forgotten to breathe while watching her, so enthralled by her, even air became unnecessary. 

 "You alright, Ivar?"

 The raven-haired Ragnarsson looked at Hvitserk, noticing the smile that teased the corners of his mouth. 

 "This is the closest he's seen a naked woman besides Margrethe and we all know how that went." Sigurd snarked, bringing his cup of ale to his lips. 

 "Shut up before I rip your tongue out and feed it to the flames." He snarled at his curly-haired brother. Fury stirred in the hollow of his chest like a wild animal threatening to tear apart its cage. 

 Ubbe smacked the table. "Enough. Both of you."

 The table quieted as their focus returned to the dancers. Eyes searching the hall, a slow-growing panic simmered in Ivar's gut as he could not see her. The other five dancers spun and twirled about, their bodies an example of art in motion. 

 Without warning, the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder caused his head to whip to the side, ready to demand blood from the one with the audacity to touch him…. Only to be met with those eyes that made him flustered and hot all over. 

 With her touches tender, she trailed her hand from his shoulder up his neck to cup the side of his face. Even if the need arose, he would be unable to remove himself from her sensual touch and her penetrating gaze, bewitched by her to remain still. Never before had he felt so exposed to someone. Even the times when he broke bones and had to be carried like a child, humiliation ripping into his skin. Now he felt undone as she beheld him, consumed by her with just a look. If the other dancers were art, then she, this divine beauty beside him, was a masterpiece, crafted by the gods themselves.

 Waves of jealousy rolled off his brothers, crashing against him like stormy waves on a beach but for once, he did not care. His eyes stayed glued to her, hypnotized by her very presence. 

 Suddenly he found himself facing her, unable to remember when he turned away from the table. She stood between his brace-clad legs, gazing down at him. Her fingers traced over his cheek, only to land at his mouth. Her thumb rubbed his bottom lip, encouraging his lips to part. Unable to resist her, he obliged, lips parting slightly. She made no further move, either to draw away or closer. His heart beat rapidly with excitement and mischief. A streak of wicked intent made his lips curl slightly, giving him away. His leather-bound hands reached out for her thighs; the soft skin almost foreign beneath his calloused-hardened fingers. In the same instant, he nipped at her thumb, still lingering on his bottom lip. Then he waited for her reaction with an impish smirk.  

 She chuckled, a sultry, honeyed sound that flowed straight to his useless cock and made him shiver in delight. 

 Never removing her eyes from his, she reached down to grab one of his hands on her exposed thighs. Then torturously slow, she guided it up the contours of her body, his hand caressing her hip, up her stomach and between her full breasts until his hand was at her mouth. Without waiting, she encouraged two of his fingers within. As her tongue swiped and sucked on his fingers like they were a tasty treat, Ivar lost all ability to think or resist. His hand still on her, gripped her thigh to ground himself, to confirm this was not a dream. 

 Women never paid attention to him, never looked at him with lust. After the latest raid in England where he proved his prowess in strategy and as a warrior, less women looked at him with disgust.

 But never this. 

 Never had one put him under a spell that made him want to sell his soul to possess her. Never had he seen desire darken a woman's eyes as they beheld him. Never had his own body and mind reacted with such a carnal, animalistic instinct. 

 He pulled his fingers from her mouth and dropped his hand to curl around her throat with just the slightest pressure. "Are you a thrall?"

 "No." She answered in a breathy tone, that only intensified his growing lust. Then she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, those barely contained breasts almost in his face. "Do with me what you want, Ivar the Boneless. I am yours tonight."

 Whatever previous desire bubbled in his veins exploded at hearing her alluring whisper. A guttural groan lodged in his throat. The hunger for her reached an all-consuming, feverish pitch. Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet, slipping the crutch under his arm. "Come."

 He half expected her to laugh and walk away but instead, she traced a hand down the tunic over his torso with a purr of pleasure. Then when she looked up at him coyly once more, he was halfway to throwing her onto the table behind him to ravish her right there. 

 She silently followed him back to his room. The whole walk his mind raged, both in desire and fear. He knew he could not pleasure her as a man but this ethereal creature that followed him deserved to be worshipped. And she had chosen him tonight. Out of all those in the hall, including his brothers…. she chose him. 

 He vowed to make sure she did not regret it. 

 He dismissed his personal thrall as they walked in, pleased to see the fire lit in the small hearth and furs laid out before it. The door closed, echoing in the room. Once alone, he moved over to sit on a nearby stool, leaning his crutch on the wall behind him. 

 She watched the fire, standing in the middle of his room. Her clothing appeared almost translucent in this light, a way of directing and guiding the eye along her perfect body. 

 "Take off your clothes." He commanded in a husky tone. 

 With a seductive wink back at him, she tugged on the few ties keeping the minimal clothing on her flawless body. In a moment, everything pooled at her feet….and he damn near swallowed his tongue. Bare before him, he was convinced there was nothing more stunning, more gorgeous than her. She put every sunset to shame, every spring flower, every star to grace the night sky, nothing could ever compare to her. 

 "Dance for me, my beauty." 

 A beguiling smile on her lips, she watched him for a moment. Then she began to move. A slow sway of her hips, hands trailing up her body to rise above her head. 

 There was no force that could tear his gaze away from her. When she danced in the Great Hall, he had been memorized…. but now, it would be sinful to remove his eyes from her graceful form. The circular motion of her hips, her hands tracing the curves of her body, the heavy-lidded eyes that watched him. He wanted nothing more than to sit at her feet for eternity and watch her dance. To worship at her altar and bestow her with gifts from the Aesir. 

 Then she began to spin slowly, allowing him to see all of her, a music leading her that only she was aware of. At one point, she squatted down and slowly rose, only to snap her hips up in a way that made him audibly growl. His hands were clenched in his lap, desperate to touch her, to replace her hands with his as they caressed her body. 

 Finally he could stand it no longer, this enchanting, sensual dance that made his blood boil ceaselessly with desire. 

 He swallowed thickly, mouth dry. "Go by the fire." He demanded. 

 If she was confused by his command, she said nothing. Turning around she sashayed over to the furs laid in front of the small hearth in his room. His eyes greedily drunk in the curves of her body as she moved. She laid down on the pile of furs before the hearth, unashamed in her nudity. With the colors of the flames and shadows painted across her body, she appeared ethereal. Something only for the gods to view. Perfection at its purest form.

 Sitting on the stool, he quickly worked the straps of his braces, never taking his eyes off her. Unwilling to miss her glory for even a moment. She laid on her side, gaze on him. One hand propped her head up while the other skimmed those curves highlighted by the flames. 

 Once freed, he crawled over to her like the predator he was. Hunger and domination with each placement of his hands and shift of his shoulders. There was no doubt who was in control. His fierce gaze never removed from her, keeping her pinned with the same strength as if ropes held her down. As he approached, she silently rolled onto her back, an intensity in those eyes as they watched him and a kittenish smile on her lips. With that, he crawled up her body until he hovered over her, blanketing her perfect form. Then he waited. Staring down at her, he was shocked once again that she chose him. That she currently lay beneath, pliant to his touch and commands. It was a powerful and dark sensation. To have this control, this power over her….to have her at his mercy. A more rapturous feeling than killing Christian priests or obliterating any army. 

 "Ivar…." She sighed out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. "Don't keep me waiting."

 A crooked grin grew on his face. Here lay this Valkyrie, this goddess, this divine creature beneath him, begging for him. Without wasting a moment, his mouth descended on her skin, his arms holding himself just above her. He placed open-mouth kisses along her chest, loving the soft sounds of pleasure it drew from her. His tongue traced the curve of her breasts, paying special attention to the tattoo of a flower between them. Suddenly he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, causing her back to arch. Her hand flew up to grip his braids, as he sucked and licked the bud until it was hard and peaked, then he switched to the other side to repeat his ministrations. 

 "Ivar…." She moaned, tugging on his braids, hips rolling beneath them. 

 "Shhhh…. soon." He nipped at the side of her breast, pleased with the heat that flared in her eyes. "We go at my pace…. and I plan on taking my time."

 Slowly he slithered his way down her body, his tongue leading the way over her soft skin. There was nowhere he did not worship with his mouth, nowhere safe that his tongue did not covetously explore. By the time he was done with her, his mouth and tongue intimately knew every inch of her and the erotic sounds those spots drew from her lips. With a long swipe of his tongue starting at her sternum, he trailed it down between her breasts to her belly only to end at the top of her womanhood. 

 He glanced up from between her legs, the scent of her arousal a beacon for him to follow. She laid there, bathed in flames, coated in his saliva, chest rising and falling like the waves of the seas, with her eyes closed and mouth partly open. Never had he witnessed anything more magnificent. 

 "Still with me, my beauty?"

 Her eyes fluttered open to peek at him, a tantalizing smile on her lips. "Always."

 With that, he dove into her. His mouth feasted on the juices coming from her womanhood. It was nothing like he expected. She tasted sweeter than honey, stronger than ale. He continued to lap and lick her, wanting more, needing more of her taste. For he swore, this was the nectar of the gods. A sweet ambrosia not meant for mortal men. 

 Her cries of pleasure doubled his resolve to ravish her with his tongue. To bring her such pleasure that she would always remember him. He flicked at her clit with his tongue, watching her keen to the ceiling above. Her hips rolled as he sucked at her folds with reckless abandon. 

 Each mewl and cry from her mouth, made him feel like a god. Each chanting of his name seemed to strengthen his body to continue. Even as he laid on the floor, propped up on his elbows, her legs over his shoulders, he felt no pain. As if her ecstasy flowed back into him. Instead of the constant ache of pain from his legs that clawed at his mind ceaselessly, for once it was silenced. All he was aware of…. was her. As if she invaded his body and possessed his mind. 

 If he was to die now, with her cries of pleasure filling his ears, he knew Odin would still allow him into Valhalla. For to bring this celestial being pleasure must be akin to the glory of battle. His blood roared in his ears, forcing him to continue, desperate for more. Her taste on his tongue was a craving he never knew he had until now. In the cradle of her thighs was his new favorite place to exist. 

 When she peaked, when her pleasure overwhelmed her and his name was screamed into the very heavens above, he greedily ate away at her, drinking everything down and still yearning for more. He licked at her womanhood through the aftershocks, her taste and scent all his senses wanted to know. 

 Once satisfied, he peered up at her, expecting to see her blissed-out, eyes closed and immobile. Instead what he witnessed made him freeze, unable to move.

 She observed him with eyes that glowed like two full moons on the darkest of nights. 

 Where once he had been the predator, intent on devouring her, adamant to possess her…. now he understood. He was the prey. He was the one caught in the spider's web. He was the one now owned by her alone. Those glowing eyes entranced him, preventing him from looking away, sealing his mouth shut to call out. Unable to do anything but gawk at her in a bewildered, longing awe. 

 Slowly she leaned up, staring at him. He could not remember moving. All his mind could fathom were those eyes…. those glowing orbs that he swore had seen Valhalla, that galaxies swirled amidst, that stole his soul and branded her mark on him. When he next blinked, he was sitting, with her straddling his lap, in all her exquisite, naked glory. Her eyes beheld him with softness, her hands a gentle weight on his shoulders, even her bare breasts pressed against his chest, all of it alluded a power that could only be answered with reverence. 

 "Who…. are you?" He stuttered out. 

 She smiled; a captivating thing that made him want to worship her again but also sink his teeth into her bottom lip. "I have been called many things throughout my life. But tonight, those names do not matter. Tonight, I am simply y/n…. Tonight, I am here for you."

 "Y/n?"

 She purred as if the name stoked a fire within her. "Yes, my valiant warrior." Her hand tangled in his braids again, almost guiding his head to the side as her plump lips skimmed his jawline. "I have heard your prayers, seen your cries. I cannot give you your legs but I will give you what I can."

 A quake raced up his spine. "What?"

 "Shhhh…. surrender to me." 

 Hesitantly, she pressed her lips to his, as if giving him time to pull away. Instead, he felt a jolt shoot through him. He groaned, opening his mouth, allowing her to take control. He had thought her taste as he lapped greedily at her core was ambrosia, but her mouth…. oh, the taste of her mouth was both death and life combined. Something so intoxicating and potent, it stole the very breath from his lungs while a vitality bleed into his veins simultaneously.  Her mouth held him prisoner, a melding of their lips and tongues that scorched him in every way deliciously possible. 

 "Do you feel it?" She whispered, before delving into his mouth again with an even greater need. 

 And he did. By this point, his legs should be screaming at him, especially with her weight on his thighs. Instead there was no pain, no ache. Only blissful tingles danced on his nerves and a fire stirred in his belly. 

 He wrenched his mouth from hers, eyes wide and panting as he gawked at her. 

 "I cannot heal you," she quietly said, eyes still glowing, "but I can take some of your pain in exchange for the pleasure you gave me."

 Unexpected tears welled in his eyes. Pain, his constant companion since birth, now was barely a blip on his mental radar. He dropped his head to her chest, overwhelmed by the lessened pain and bliss coursing through his veins. As he thought about it, as he feasted on her, every lick, every caress of his tongue against her, pain drained from his body like slow droplets of water. It was only now he noticed, so caught up in her exquisite taste, that he easily could become drunk on and never wish to be sober again. 

 She spoke against his ear, authority and power ringing in each word. "Hear my words, Ivar the Boneless. Your fame will live on for generations. You will not be forgotten, in this life or the next. This is my final gift that I give you."

 She drew his face back to hers, pressing her lips to his in a fiery, desperate kiss. Her words, her touch, her taste, everything felt seared into the very marrow of his bones. A burst of white light and ecstasy flooded through him, making him wonder for a second if he died. 

 When he opened his eyes, mind hazy as if intoxicated, it was to find himself alone. Frantic, he looked around. Yet there was nothing to show of her presence. Not even her discarded clothes lay on the floor anymore. 

 "No….no, no, no." He mumbled, refusing to believe she was gone…. but there was no denying the truth. Yet even as he sat there, tears still slipping down his cheeks, he could feel her presence with the absence of pain. He could still taste her on his tongue. Strength and vitality flowed through his crippled body in ways he had never felt before. 

 He was unsure how long he sat there before a quick knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. It opened to reveal Hvitserk who cautiously stepped in, eyes scanning the room. 

 "You alright, brother?"

 Ivar wondered at the stupid question then realized he must be referring to the evidence of tears still staining his cheeks. Hastily he wiped them away on his sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

 "We thought we heard something…. I came to check on you." He tilted his head and scanned the room once again. "Where is she?"

 Ivar turned his face to the fire, without answering. How could he explain all that just occurred without sounding mad? That a glorious being chose him, used him for her pleasure and then gave him priceless gifts. No, no one would believe that. This was a memory, a present for him alone to cherish. 

 "You know if you need advice with pleasuring a woman, I am more than willing to help. They do call me the love guru." Hvitserk chuckled but immediately silenced at the stony glare Ivar sent his way. "Um, right. Well, I'll head back out." He started to walk away but stopped at Ivar's call. 

 "Wait!" When Hvitserk turned back around, Ivar swallowed thickly then continued. "What…. what color are my eyes?"

 The flaxen-haired brother moved closer. "Um, blue…. a vibrant blue…. they almost look like they are glowing but with a veil over them. I've never seen them like that before. Are you feeling alright? Do you want help getting to your bed?"

 Ivar smiled longingly, his chest squeezing at his brother's words. "No….no, I feel… I feel great, Hvitty."

 "Um, sure. Do you need anything?"

 "No, you can go back out to the feast."

 "Okay, good night, Ivar."

 Ivar did not answer, only just hearing the door closing as turned back to face the dancing flames. His mind drifted to thinking about her, his beauty. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something nestled between the furs. Carefully he maneuvered himself over to gently grab it, curiosity pushing him forward despite caution. Cradling it in his hand like a priceless treasure, he now could see what it was; a pendant, only the size of his thumb, but it was in the color and shape of a full moon and an etching that matched the tattoo of the flower between her breasts. 

 "Y/n." He whispered, as if prompted by something to say her name. To his surprise, the pendant glowed faintly for a moment, so reminiscent of her eyes before dulling back. 

 "Thank you." He slipped his necklace off with Thor's hammer and added the pendant. Once back on his neck, he lifted the pendant and kissed it, only to stifle a moan as the faintest hints of her taste tingled on his lips. 

 Feeling euphoric, he laid back on the pile of furs, pressing the pendant to his lips. He closed his eyes, trying to remember every moment with her. He prayed that he could see her once again, either in this life or in Valhalla. For he knew, there would never be another like her. He had no idea who or what she was, only the name she gave him. A name that would be branded upon his heart and soul for all eternity. 

[whats-rambled-rambled]

do it for me

Neil x Reader

summary: plot what plot 

warnings: 18+ and I mean it

author’s note: have I mentioned that my friends are simply the best? They inspire me, provide amazing songs, then show the incredible amount of support during the whole process when I battle my brain to spin a story and make it work for me. I love you ladies, you know who you are.

This is a one-shot, but I wrote it with my Smoke & Mirrors duo in mind (so that means f!Reader)

The song for this fic is Rosenfeld - Do it for me

And listen, could it be filthier? Yes. Or more descriptive? You bet.

But maybe next time.

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

-----

You raised your head at the sound of a litany of curses coming from the kitchen.

What now?

You walked in on Neil waving an oven glove around, coughing into his sleeve.

“Instant cake mix - one. Mister I have a master's in physics  - zero. Who would’ve thought?” you smirked, leaning against a doorframe.

He huffed, opening a window. “Hey, I followed all the instructions from the box!”

“And then?” you asked, scrunching your nose as he paraded past you with a burnt mess of a cake.

He sent you a tired look, tossing the slightly smoky brick into a garbage bin.

“And then I forgot to set a timer.”

You snickered and shook your head. “Of course.” Your gaze landed on a half-full bowl on the countertop. “You think that’s edible?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be, but as we established, today is not my day,” he said, shrugging lightly.

Your chest clenched with fondness and you closed the gap between you. The last few days had been hectic and you both really needed a rest. “Aww, it’s all right,” you cooed, cupping his face in your palms and placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “Just get us spoons.”

He gave you a thankful smile and, a moment later, you sat down on the cold kitchen floor, scooping a cream out of the bowl, sharing your most humiliating food-related stories. And when it was almost gone, you put down the spoons and used your hands to clean the sides, not willing to waste anything.

Neil took the empty bowl and stood up to place it in a sink. As you got up and stretched your arms, he looked at you and snorted.

“What?”

“You’ve got--... wait, let me--”

He reached out and wiped a bit of cream from the corner of your mouth.

Oh, right.

And just like that, a cheeky idea popped into your mind.

You grabbed his hand, and mischievous sparks lit up your eyes. Locking your gaze with his, you licked the cream off his finger. And then you wrapped your lips over his digit and sucked on it, twirling your tongue around as you pulled it out slowly.

A roguish smile crept on his face.

“Careful, you’re giving me ideas.”

You raised a brow. “Who says that’s not the point?” you teased, letting go of his hand and reaching to his shirt, tugging at the striped material lightly. Kiting him towards the sofa, you batted your lashes. “Besides, I don’t think they’re gonna beat mine.”

Neil’s eyes widened at the sight of your wicked grin. He composed himself quickly, feigning indifference, but it didn’t reach his darkened gaze.

“Is that so?” he said, grabbing your waist. “Care to share?”

A gentle push on his chest was enough to send him down on the sofa.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you started, pouting and leaning in, placing hands on his laps. You looked into the blue eyes while your fingers unhurriedly traveled up his thighs. “See, I might get too…“ - you ran your tongue through your lips - “...busy to say anything,” you continued, noting with satisfaction the way Neil’s breath hitched. You nudged his ear with your nose and whispered, “How about I just show you--”

He hissed as you palmed over the bulk in his pants.

“Fuck--”

“Well, pretty close,” a husky chuckle escaped your mouth, already ghosting over his neck. “I can’t wait to taste every inch of you.” A barely audible gasp you got from him quickened your heartbeat. You pulled back and looked into his eyes again. “Please?”

The blue irises overcast with lust as he tried to wrap his mind about the fact you could even make a request like that.

“You’re asking...?”

You hummed in confirmation, laying a kiss on his lips. The one you got back was more greedy, just enough to let you know enthusiastic he was, only confirming what you already felt under your palm.

“I’m all yours.”

Your eyes flared up.

“I quite like the sound of that,” you mused as your mouth traveled along his jawline back to his neck again and your fingers unbuttoned his shirt. Sucking on his collarbone, you splayed your hands on his chest and gently scraped the skin, curling the locks of hair around your fingertips, making Neil groan in response. “And of that, too,” you added with a smug grin, kneeling between his legs.

Your hands meandered around his toned stomach and your kisses followed them, the tip of the tongue drifting along the lines of his abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Relishing the way Neil both tensed and melted under your touch, you moved lower. And lower. The long fingers combed your hair and you glanced up, meeting the half-lidded, hazed gaze. A warmth spread through you at the sight of a shade of smile on Neil’s parted lips. Desire and affection reflected and resonated between you, grounding you in each other.

None of you could wait any longer. Without breaking eye contact, you got rid of his belt. Then the pants and the boxer briefs. Oh, how hard he was for you already.

Neil leaned back on the pillows, breathing heavily. You feasted your eyes on the view, telling him how spectacular he looked from this angle, earning a shaky exhale in return.

Your keen fingers kept exploring and stroking, rubbing and grazing, until he squirmed and twitched, moaning - a sweet sound turning you on even more. And you still had so much more to give.

Like your tongue, playful and teasing. Flat against him, twirling around him, making Neil clench his jaw and curse. Gliding across the smooth skin, you studied the veiny patterns as Neil's digits tangled in your hair, tugging at it in a silent praise. And then your mouth, finally enveloping him. Sliding up and down. Savoring him. Almost worshipping.

Soon, gasps and groans filled the air, the most delightful melody going straight to your pulsing core. The rising heat of Neil’s body drew you closer. Your hand wandered up to his heaving chest in a selfish attempt to get more of him. Every bit of you craving every bit of him. His heart raced under your palm. The blue eyes squeezed shut. His hips bucked up. He was falling apart, and the way he moaned your name… oh god. He really was yours.

Then, all of the sudden, Neil shifted upwards and cupped your face, stopping you and pulling you up to him.

“Something’s wrong?” you asked, searching his dark gaze.

“No, doing so well for me,” he slurred as he pressed his forehead to yours, panting. “But I wanna feel you.” His trembling fingers slid down your sides and traced the hem of your jeans to your belt buckle and lingered there, waiting. Ever a gentleman.

You couldn’t get out of your pants and soaked underwear fast enough.

Shivering in anticipation, you kissed Neil as you straddled him, moaning against his lips when he filled you in completely.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around you.

You buried your hands in his hair as your bodies started to build a pace.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you murmured, tugging on the golden strands. “I’ve been thinking about you… having you like this... all day.”

His brows knitted together when he gasped for air and cursed. He was a mess, and yet he was still holding back. For you. And as much as it was endearing, that’s not what you wanted. That night was supposed to be about him.

You ground harder into him, leaning in, your mouth brushing against his ear.

“Come for me, Neil.”

“But--” he whined, pulling you closer, balancing on the verge of release.

So you took him even harder.

There was only one word left in you.

“Please.”

Just enough to send him over the brink.

Tensing, arching, Neil came undone with a loud groan, and then collapsed into your arms, shaking uncontrollably.

You held him until he leveled his breath and was able to focus his gaze on you. And when he finally did, you kissed him softly, biting back a needy whimper as you felt yourself tighten around him.

A half-smile against your lips.

“It’s okay,” you said dismissively, pulling back slightly.

But then you met the blue eyes, already lit up with roguish sparks.

“Oh no, I could never leave you like that.”

With his arms still wrapped around you, he shifted you both and the next thing you knew you were lying under him on the sofa. The pulse pounded heavily in your ears, but Neil’s throaty chuckle vibrated in every cell of your body.

“Besides, I want to hear you beg some more.”

[wisteriashouse]

stranded.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1960

The mission was a success.

Although it is more common for Pillars to work alone to make full use of their manpower, Oyakata-sama had assigned you and Kyoujurou on a joint mission. There was a disturbance in a remote village in the far west, rumored to one of the Twelve Moons devouring people. Luckily, the two of you had managed to subdue and slay it before it could kill and feast on even more victims before proceeding to clear the surrounding forests of any more demons.

However, the both of you had gotten snowed in due to an avalanche blocking off the mountain pass, and hence are to be stranded there for the next three days.

The second you wave off the last villager come to thank you for saving her child, you promptly make your way into your room, slide the door shut and proceed to collapse onto the tatami on the spot. Every bone in your body is aching as if you’ve been run over by a train and all its carriages; you have no idea how Kyoujurou still has the energy to help the villagers bury the rest of the bodies. You had tried to insist on helping as well, but your fellow Pillar had cheerily shooed you off to rest, reassuring you that’d they’d be done in no time.

Rolling over into a more comfortable position, you wince when fresh pain blooms across your shoulder blade and immediately scramble to your knees to take stock of your injury. The adrenaline from the battle earlier must be wearing off, because the moment you try to look over your own shoulder, about ten different muscles howl at you in protest. You groan. 

“That’s just wonderful.”

Shrugging the haori off your shoulders, you study the dark red stain on the fabric contemplatively and consider if this is an injury you can simply shrug off. Common sense and your desire to actually live beyond thirty tells you no, so you sigh and drag yourself to your feet.

You could do with another pair of eyes. 

Stepping out barefoot onto the engawa, you tip toe your way to the room next to yours. The candles aren’t lit, and you briefly wonder if Kyoujurou is still not back or if he’s already retired for the night. While you’re pondering this outside, the door slides open all of a sudden, startling you.

“Kyoujurou! You scared me!” You tell him, one hand over your chest. Your friend smiles at you brightly from the doorway.

“My apologies! I was wondering why you were dawdling about outside instead of entering!” He’s in a slight state of undress, his Flame Pillar haori absent and two buttons on his uniform undone. He must have been in the middle of changing out of his clothes and getting ready for bed. “Do you need something from me?”

“Sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to know if you made it back safely.” You shake your head, intent on just checking out your injury tomorrow. It’s not like you’ll die overnight, will you? “I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

With a wave you turn to leave, but before you can, Kyoujurou’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“I wish that you would be more forward with me!” Kyoujurou declarers loudly out of the blue, and you whirl around to look at him with wide eyes. He’s smiling at you, hopeful and genuine. “As fellow Pillars, we should help and rely on each other! Furthermore, you’re a precious friend of mine. I’d love to help you out, if you need me!”

Red colors your cheeks, and you glance to the side, embarrassed. “Of course. My apologies.” You mumble, “It’s just been so long that we’ve met that it feels a little awkward. You’re a precious friend to me too, Kyo.”

At your words, Kyoujurou practically radiates happiness in the dim hallway. “That makes me happy to hear! Come on in!” He ushers you inside quickly, sliding the door shut behind you. You take a seat on the floor and make yourself comfortable, watching him move around the room to light the lamps. Soft candlelight springs to life, bathing the room in a dim orange glow, and he turns back to you once he’s done. “What is it that you need?”

“Well, I might have gotten an injury on my back, but I can’t see how severe it is. I need you to help me take a look.” You explain, and his eyes narrow in concern. In a few quick steps he’s by your side, kneeling behind you to examine your injury. 

“Your uniform appears to have been slashed, but I am unable to take a closer look as your clothes are in the way.” Kyoujurou says, and you frown. This is going to be a pain... “Perhaps you should...” His words trail off, suddenly hesitant, and you laugh quietly under your breath. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him being flustered. “I can call one of the women from the village to help you instead-”

“No need to, it’s late and they’ve had a long night. Besides, I trust you.” You say, a little amused as you reach up to undo the buttons of your top. “Turn away for a bit.”

“Of course!” His voice quavers just so slightly, and you can’t help the soft laughter that escapes you. Rengoku Kyoujurou, Flame Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, is endearing cute in your eyes, you think. Pulling off your top and wincing when the dried blood tugs at your injury, you use it to cover your front before calling to him.

“You can look now.”

You hear him shift to face you, and then there’s a little intake of breath as he sees your back. “There’s a cut on your left shoulder blade, about the length of my palm.” He explains seriously as he checks over your injury. “It doesn’t appear to be bleeding very much, but you should get it treated as soon as possible before infection sets in.”

“Ahh, got it. I’ll go to the village tomorrow morning and ask for some medicine.” You turn around to smile at him. “Thanks for your help, Kyoujurou.”

“I have medicine!” Kyoujurou announces enthusiastically before you can so much as think about leaving. “I visited Kochou’s estate before this mission, so I happen to have some ointment from her. I’m sure it’ll make you feel better! Give me a moment.” He rummages through his belongings and pulls out a distinctively lacquered container proudly. “Here it is!”

“Shouldn’t you keep that for something more important, Kyoujurou?” You ask him, worried. He’s headed out for another mission right after this one, after all. “I could always just get patched up at the village tomorrow. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“Nonsense!” Kyoujurou insists. “You are a precious friend, it would not be wasted on you.” When he sees your hesitance, his voice softens slightly. “Please, let me take care of you.”

Cheeks heating up slightly, you nod and turn around to hide your face from his gaze. “If you want to, then go ahead.” You say softly under your breath, and you can feel Kyoujurou’s smile behind you.

Demon Slayers are no stranger to injuries, and Kyoujurou has certainly faced his fair share of them before. He prepares the gauze and disinfectant liquid with practiced movements, raising them to your back with cautious hands. He’s clearly mindful of your injury. 

“This might hurt a little,” he warns you, and you hum in acknowledgement.

“I trust you.” The words leave you easily. Kyoujurou’s fingers are warm against your skin.

When the disinfectant touches your gash, you bite back your wince at the sting, but of course Kyoujurou hears it. “Does it hurt?” He asks, clearly upset at the thought of causing you any pain, but you shake your head.

“No, I’m fine. I honestly didn’t think I was going to get injured, but today’s demon was really quite interesting.” You think aloud as Kyoujurou wipes down the area around your wound carefully. “I can’t believe I let myself get hurt by a Lower Moon. Embarrassing, don’t you think?”

“You’re not weak at all!” Kyoujurou pauses in treating your wound to scold you, and you turn around to see him smiling encouragingly at you. “You sustained it saving a little boy, did you not? It is not something to be embarrassed of!”

You laugh, turning back so that he can tend to your injury. “Thanks, Kyoujurou.”

“It’s not a problem! I simply spoke the truth.” He tells you as his fingers resume work once more, dabbing ointment on your wound. The faint smell of antiseptic tickles your nose. “It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” Kyoujurou’s voice is a hint softer than usual. “You’re just as selfless as I remember.”

His words make you smile, a light fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I got to come on this mission with you too, Kyo. Since you became a Pillar, I rarely get to see you aside from Hashira meetings. Maybe getting snowed in was a blessing in disguise for me.” You laugh a little at your own words.

“I feel the same.” Kyoujurou’s breath dances across the back of your neck as he leans over to reach some of the smaller cuts on your shoulder. Content and safe with him, the exhaustion from today starts to catch up with you and you feel your eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes.

“I’m done.” Kyoujurou announces after a few minutes as he secures the knot on your dressing. “Although the wound is not severe, but it’d be good for you to get it changed daily to prevent infection. You should head back to your room now and rest properly-” Your head tilts forward and Kyoujurou pauses mid-sentence to realise you’ve already fallen asleep.

He briefly wonders if he should wake you, but his hand hovers over your shoulder when he catches sight of your sleeping face. Letting out a soft sigh, he murmurs to himself. “Falling asleep in a man’s room like this, you’re truly are cruel for making me suffer in this way.” 

Instead, he averts his gaze and slips his arms beneath your knees and back, careful to avoid your injury, and carries you to the bedding he’d set out earlier for himself. Gently laying you out on it, he makes sure to cover you with the thick blanket so that you don’t catch a cold, and then brushes the hair out of your eyes with a tender hand as he looks down at you with a pained smile.

“You’re so defenseless around me.” He says softly into the quiet of the room, silent except for the sound of the winter wind outside. “I wonder if it’s because you trust me, or because you don’t see me that way at all...”

With a slightly self deprecating sigh, he makes to get up, intent on heading over to your room to sleep instead. Before he can leave, however, a smaller hand wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“Kyo...” Kyoujurou looks down to see you pressing his hand to your cheek, a content smile on your face as you sleep. “Warm...”

His heart stumbles in his chest. Despite the winter chill in the air, Kyoujurou feels unbearably warm.

He settles back onto the ground, back against the wall as he looks at you with a resigned smile. “What am I to do with you, really...” His own eyes slide shut, but his hand remains tightly held in yours throughout the entire night.

The two of you fall asleep together, each dreaming of the other even as the sun begins to rise over the mountaintops.