#foot on his throat pose

[wrestlingarsenal]

Oh my -- now this is getting very sadistic (and sexy!) My poor Daniel Garcia looks so vulnerable and helpless beneath the boot of his deviously betrayer. And look how jacked and powerful MJF appears in his tank top -- total Boss! Those black pants and chunky boots just add to his dominant appearance. What a visual!

It was a good idea for MJF to wear that white shirt because it really shows off the crimson bloodstains -- much better than, say, a black or red shirt.

To my utter shock (and satisfaction), the post-match abuse continues as MJF hoists his former friend into position for an Off-The-Turnbuckles Pile-Driver.

THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS, WRESTLING FANS! THIS CRUEL BASTARD MIGHT HAVE JUST ENDED YOUNG DANIEL GARCIA'S CAREER!!

Garcia has not been seen at any shows since this devastating assault occurred on July 3rd. Sources inside AEW have reported that he's lost all feeling in his arms due to MJFs neck-breaking Piledriver!

(But I also learned that Daniel Garcia's contract with AEW recently expired and now he is in negotiations. He is considering joining the WWE given that he's one of the hottest studs in wrestling rn.)

From a purely selfish (and prurient) perspective, I sure hope he returns to AEW to continue feuding with MJF for at least another year. I need to see MJF beat him down at least 6 to 8 more times, maybe in a few Dog Collar Chain matches, and to stand with that boot on poor Daniel Garcia's neck after every match. Maybe I can start a GoFundMe to pay the difference between AEW's salary offer and whatever WWE is promising...

Anyway, THANKS guys for performing this sadistic and very homoerotic break-up scene. MJF is fantastic as the backstabbing devil, and Garcia always cooks. Also thanks to the He Is Out! blog for creating these images to help me tell this story.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

~

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal.  There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

[venusandsaturnsrings]

you sighed heavily, zoning out on some of the elaborate wallpaper in front of you as your friend chattered on enthusiastically at your side.

last week, they had burst into your workplace with an expression so anxious you had thought something was seriously wrong. they went on to elaborate that famous director mr. reca was on penacony and having a surprise casting call and, as a member of the iris family, they just needed to go and audition but the idea of standing in front of such a well known face in the cinema world had them more panicked than they’d ever been before. whining endlessly about how they were so very nervous but couldn’t possibly miss such an opportunity, you easily picked up what exactly they wanted; you to go with them. sighing you offered your companionship partially as a good friend and partially to make the other workers stop glaring daggers, you finally chased them out the door as they promised to meet you at the studio on the weekend.

now in a long line of other actors and actresses hoping to finally get a breakthrough part, the number pinned hastily to your chest was starting to irritate you on top of not wanting to be here in the first place. agreeing so quickly was looking more like a mistake as you were realizing you had no experience or anything prepared and you’d soon be standing in front of a man who’d scrutinize your every move; a real nightmare in the dream.

it took a surprisingly short amount of time for your friend to be whisked away into the audition room with its heavy soundproof doors and you had to stand alone coming to terms with how much of a fool you’d look like. a brief thought of running flitted through your brain as you nervously tapped your foot but before any commitment to bolting could arise, you were ushered in.

the room was elegant but felt unbelievably sterile with the marble floors and delicate chandelier. behind a large wooden table stacked with folders, notes, and expensive looking pens was the man you dreaded explaining this predicament to. with piercing eyes and a predatory smile, mr. reca seemed unnervingly interested in what you’d go on to show him; nothing, unfortunately. you took your place in the centre of the room and awkwardly cleared your throat before dumping a word vomit of an apology and explanation filled with ‘i can’t act for shit,’ and ‘i’m sorry for wasting your time.’ he nodded with a low hum and seemed almost sympathetic as he tapped a finger against his lips while thinking.

“you’re here now and your… appearance… seemed perfectly suited to a personal project of mine i can’t seem to get out of my head,” his smile was unnerving in a way, “humour me and try out a couple poses at the least. such a role would come with magnificent compensation.” not the response you expected but you figured he was owed something for such a fumble. upon your agreement he had you shift into numerous positions that made your face flush with embarrassment but mr. reca seemed beyond pleased if his praise meant anything.

“magnificent. please, i’d love to have you star in a this minor film of mine. such a project will only take a few afternoons and i’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”

it’s the next week when you’re at his home. he welcomes you with a neat suffocating hug and offers numerous snacks and drinks as a show of good will. it’s quite charming until he takes you to where he’s set up for the first scenes.

the room is dim, lit by ambient lighting only and silk ribbons drape across the room. in the middle is a bed covered in luxurious sheets and soft blankets with a table on each side holding a variety of lewd toys; your face is warm. mr. reca cheerfully points to every object explaining the purpose and how it’ll be used after fiddling with all the different locks on the door to successfully trap you in. suddenly you feel sweaty and your chest is tight as you shiver uncontrollably. his personal film was an adult film. he dangles the previously signed contract over your head with a promise to publicly humiliate you if you don’t, “strip and put on these pieces,” a lacy pair of panties and a bra that hides nothing. he’s throwing a pair of stockings at your chest as well before making some adjustments on his camera. with no choice, you change and pray that this will be over soon but the sinking feeling in your gut says otherwise when you see he’s undressing as well.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

It'd be really super duper cool if you wrote a fic about Stanley finding lewd and/or suggestive polaroid pictures of reader that their girly friend helped them take as a little present behind his back 👀 maybe he finds them stashed in his wallet... Like, ass/boob shots or close-ups of them in cute poses wearing their undergarments or something? I absolutely adore all the drabbles and fics you've been pumping out lately! I'm OBSESSED!

A/n: *SCREAMING* because I love this and been hoping someone would suggest something like this or the reader and Stan making a porno together 🤭.

Also thank you! That mean's so much!

Turning your back to your friend, you lifted up both of your arms fixing your hair. The only thing you wore were a pair of black lace panties. Your friend snapping the picture getting a cheeky reveal your backside and hips.

The day dragged on as your friended guided you into different poses. From you kneeling on the bed, your head turned slightly away from the camera, lips parted, eyes hooded.

To you sitting on the drawer, with one leg extended down and the other bent to around knee level with your foot resting on the open drawer.

Your fingers were clutching his gold chain, the only other piece of clothing you wore being the lace panties.

And once you were done you could help but give your friend a thank you, that you'll take the rest from their having wanting to take a few more raunchy one's for Stan because those....those would be for his eyes only.

Being the only one in the house, Stan spent most of the day helping Ford get the place ready for Dipper and Mabel. He was so distracted he hadn't realized you were gone. Eye's snapping to the door opening he half expected to see his twin spewing some nonsense, not you holding something behind your back.

"Whatcha got there doll face."

Letting out a soft hum, you smiled as you sat yourself on Stan's lap giving his cheek a kiss while you placed the envelop in his lap. "Just a little gift for you, since you've been over working yourself Stan."

"Is it money?!"

"What!? No! Stan just open it."

Giving you a grin, Stan pinched your hips. "I'm only teasin ya." Though his eyes went wide as he looked over each and every one of the photos. He felt his mouth go dry and the slacks he wore suddenly felt a lot tighter.

You looked like a goddess, you maybe showing of some skin he was having trouble pulling his gaze away as he flipped through the polaroid's he had to shift his body to relieve some of the tension.

He really liked the selfies of yourself the most, the way your tits seemed to be spilling out from the bra he liked so much and god, the look on your face with your hand out of the cameras view.

He knew what you were doing and he wished he could have been there to see it. Quickly brushing the blood from his nose he cleared out his throat.

"Well....what do you think?"

"Bedroom....now."

[hitomisuzuya]

it’s always nerd scara x reader, what about nerd reader who scara thinks is inexperienced, but they give him a real good time🫣

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. blowjob. riding. virgin! reader.

anything for you, my dear❤️ scara is about to get real humbled. i am blowing you kisses with this once i post it. mwah!

the blush on your cheeks couldn't have been darker seeing the way scaramouche was looking at you. it was predatory, a wolf staring down the prey he is finally going to get to devour. his smirk as he spoke very obviously showed the dark excitement. "i'll bet you are a virgin," his mouth watered seeing the way you looked away shyly.

"what does that have to do with anything?" you posed the question to him to cover up how flustered you really are. naturally, more words came out. "and anyways, is virginity really a concept? it's the first time someone has sex with someone, right?"

despite the aching in his cock, scaramouche was curious to see where this went. "brilliant deduction, sherlock. go on," he crossed his arms.

you continued once he raised an eyebrow. "so say you have sex with someone for the first time, and then you go have sex with someone else for the first time? does that make you a virgin again?"

look at you, turning such a concept on its head and sideways. he swore he felt his cock get harder. it didn't make any sense to him, but he logically hadn't thought of it that way before.

cute, foolish blustering.

he was going to fucking ruin you.

"it's all about sensation. anyone who even reads about sex or even..even watch it," he almost snorted at how twice as shy you sounded, hardly being able to say porn. "i'll prove it," even as you said it, holding your head a little high, he could tell you were second guessing yourself.

you'd had to speak fast, before he could cut in a biting comment that would make you lose brittle confidence. but, you fiercely knew you had to stand your ground.

especially with scara.

scaramouche certainly didn't expect to be in the position he was in now. he wanted to see you beg and crumble apart, beg for him to take care of you because you didn't know what you were doing. shatter in your desperation to have his cock impaling you.

the shoe had never been on the other foot so much in his life.

his electric eyes are a little wide with shock as he looked down at you on your knees, looking impossibly cute with your tongue licking slow lines up and down his cock.

he hissed through his teeth as you prodded your tongue in his slit, circling his cockhead before sucking until drool rolled down his cock. he squirmed as you lowered your mouth on his cock, slowly flattening your tongue as his it pulsed against it.

you were taking the concept of sensation and smashing it with a well thrown rock.

his legs shook, his hand folding a handful of your hair into his hand. his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, his hips jerking up to push his cock deeper into your mouth. you were sucking and grinding your mouth on his cock in a way that made him see stars.

you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping it on what wasn't in your mouth. through watery eyes, scaramouche could tell you were fighting the urge to look away shyly. but never once did your pretty eyes stray from him.

they were trained on his every twitch, and reaction as moans started to bubble in his throat. you had a point to prove. experience sometimes meant jack shit.

you muffled a moan on his cock as his hand tightened in your hair. he held your mouth down on his cock, pushing into your throat. your pliable throat felt divine convulsing around his cock as you gagged.

he couldn't even jump on the fact you seemed to enjoy being handled roughly, latching onto it and devouring you with the fact. your mouth just felt too fucking good. "f-fuck, i think i am cumming," he groaned, his thighs quaking as you recovered your breathing and started sucking again.

you made it this far, surprising yourself in the process. you felt his fingers loosen on your hair after a few moments of bobbing your mouth on his cock, thrusting somewhat carelessly. the glare he shot you as you suddenly took your mouth off his cock sent a shiver up your spine.

"w-what do you think you are doing, slut?" scaramouche growled as you got to your feet and wiped your mouth.

"proving it to you," you quickly said, putting your hands on his shoulders. you knew if you even showed a moment of weakness, scaramouche would grab it by the throat and squeeze, and all your plans would go up in smoke.

you shook a little bit as you straddled his lap. sucking him off for the first time left your pussy dripping and almost embarrassingly wet. the throbbing in your clit spurred you on as you settled his cock between your folds.

you sighed shakily as you glided your pussy on his hard cock. groaning, his hand went to your hip, the other grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. "bounce like your life depends on it, slut," he moaned, lowering you down onto his cock a little more carelessly than he meant to.

he needed to feel your pussy stretching around his cock, the ache from the not getting to cum sent him reeling. he shivered as your fingernails dug into his shoulders, your walls fluttering to clench around his cock hearing his degradation.

he would've degraded you more, but your cunt felt too tight and warm for him to find words. your back arched, your body tensing in pain the sudden from quick intrusion of his cock. sighing shakily, his fingers found your clit.

a moan tore from your throat, your clit pulsing under the pads of his fingers. jolts of pleasure ebbed the pain away so fast it left you dizzy. he bottomed out as you rolled your hips down. "it's all..about.. sensation, remember?" he moaned encouragingly to soothe you.

don't think for one second that just because you are literally fucking humbling him, that he wasn't going take care of you. (real man behavior in only the best of ways, in your opinion.)

his thumbs grazed over your hips as you started bouncing. he rocked his hips up to nudge his cock into your sweet spot, letting you set your own pace. his body was turning to jelly fast, your walls squeezing his cock so tight that he thought he was going to cum right then.

he may have been falling apart, but you were falling apart faster. your head spin as tightness coiled in your core. the lewd sounds of his cock squelching and out of your pussy, your thighs smacking against his as you fucked yourself down onto his cock mingled with his husky moans.

"fuck..good girl.. fucking hell keep going," scaramouche hissed, guiding your pace on his cock. you gasped in pleasure, your whole body shaking as his cockhead assaulted your sweet spot. the sensation bubbled over any other pain, swallowing you as you chased your high.

he laughed shakily hearing how shameless your moans sound. "i was right to want to keep you," he moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his cock pulsed strong between your walls, "a perfect, fuckable pet," he was babbling now, lost in the sensation of your cunt swallowing his cock.

you tightened your thigh muscles for extra friction as you bounced. you couldn't barely think, but you were proving your point. his cheeks were flushed, whimpers bubbling in his throat as one arm snaked up to the small of your back.

he hastily buried his face in your neck to muffle his moans tinged with soft whimpers. the knot of your orgasm broke apart, overwhelmed by the pleasure of hearing him refer to you as his pet. "scaramouche!" you cried out, barely able to hold yourself up as you creamed hard on his cock.

he lifted his head from your neck, scooping one of your nipples into his mouth to suck on, nursing you through your orgasm. there was still more than enough for him to break apart your innocence like he fantasized about.

but for now, he was going to enjoy cumming inside of your pretty cunt.

an innocent nerd like you is always breakable.

[drgnflyteabox]

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

<3

[planete777]

BAD INFLUENCE・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 2!

IN WHICH. getting high was never on oscar's roster. getting high and enjoying it with y/n and lando wasn't either, but that just makes it much more... exciting. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 16+, suggestive content, drug use (as per), high hotness pt 875443, oscar cameo (woop woop 🥳), make outs, first time getting high, oscar being whipped for lando and y/n? wbk, a bit of mxm content between drivers, shotgunning coz it's my most favourite thing ever

NOTE. LANDOSCAR!! this may probably be my favourite fic and is my longest so im looking forward to you guys reading it!!! well overdue in my humblest opinion, but i delivered hehe. enjoy my luvs and a very happy new year in advance mwah mwah mwah 😚😚 i appreciate all of you readers, thank you for all your support 💓💓💓

SIDENOTE. my askbox is now closed for requests 🤍

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu (use askbox above if you'd like to be added!)

frankly speaking, a 'you up?' text from oscar piastri, whose entire persona was an antithesis of what that type of message usually pertained to, isn't something lando was expecting at 1am after a tedious race weekend. knows oscar to be one who sleeps in too early, as if his circadian rhythm was built upon the foundation of a restrictive curfew, and even fathoming the fact that he is awake past 12 is rather peculiar.

yet, with the mutually pre-established sense that lando would be awake (he's probably an insomniac, but it's not too concerning for him to actually check), and that oscar was asking if he was just for the sake of, most likely because he's, unusually, unable to sleep, lando replies with much sluggish vim.

fingers moving as if they played in a dream, he's able to reply with 'yh, why????' and sends it off before throwing his phone on the bed. he thinks, if he's sober, he would care more that this is oscar!!!! who is normally adamant about getting sleep!!! and not looking more sleep deprived than his naturally downturned eyes already make he seem to be!!!! but his mind feels like gooey viscous, and he counts about 3,000 peaks and troughs of the popcorn ceiling above before losing count and seeking solace in the spliff that burns his throat like a madman. he ponders if he's going crazy.

it's not long after that the undulating, monotonous buzz from his phone tickles his skin and with a sigh he goes to reply. and as he does so, his girlfriend, curiosity piqued, perks up from the foot of the bed.

"who's texting you this late?"

she looks ridiculously amusing: head hanging off the edge, loose and completely yielding like a dead body, and the only thing that reassures lando of her consciousness is the occasion movement of her arm to take another drag.

he wedges the joint between his reddened lips, lips curling awkwardly to speak, "piastri. dunno what he wants th- oh shit."

he's never felt such a sinking, crippling feeling of his high escaping him like a broken dam before. it's weirdly chilling, and for a good second, he feels brightly and vividly sober again. the texts just... stare at him and he almost wants to hurl his phone at the wall and watch it rain a litany of debris.

osc: just... forgot to give you back your stuff that i borrowed

osc: found some green leaf stuff in it lol im a bit concerned

lando's read it so many times, he's more than certain he knows just how many letters it consists of. fingers hover above the keyboard but it looks like they're weirdly swimming in air as he debates just what to write, and y/n is suddenly hissing his name, having sat up.

"— lan'! fucking hell, what happened?"

he moves on autpilot, back resting up the headboard, "he's found my weed."

y/n— y/n snorts. she sighs, moves back to her original pose, and lando's brain feels like static.

"love, i thought it would be worse."

lando splutters, "worse? babe, this is already bad! he could tell management for all i know." the mere thought of that makes lando's mind congeal. nevertheless, high out of his wits, he thinks he would somehow find a way to continue even if he was implored to stop.

she's disagreeing and laughing, and lando doesn't know what to make of it.

"nah, you're good. oscar wouldn't tell a soul," it's silent as he sees a burst of smoke ascend from the edge of the mattress, "tell him to bring it over."

lando fights with himself in his head. it's hilarious, really, watching his face morph from one emotion to another, and after 5 minutes with no whooshing affirmative of a message being sent, y/n exhales.

the bed curves in as she crawls up towards lando, before plucking the phone from his grip.

"it's really not that deep, lan'," her voice feels like cotton in his ears, "oscar isn't like that."

her fingers fly across the keyboard, how she does so in her inebriated state, lando has no clue, and just as quickly as she snatched the phone, she's sliding it back between his fingers.

"how— how do you know that?"

all presumptions, really, lando thinks. they may be good friends, him and oscar, but they've still got many, many steps to go before he's reassured that the other wouldn't go running his mouth to management because he found *fucking weed* in his bag.

the little voice at the back of his mind seeths, 'you shouldn't be smoking anyway', but he ignores it. what the hell does it know?

y/n goes to straddle him, crotch digging into his. its a soft wave of pleasure that oozes from the pressure, and lando lets a small moan mix with the puff of smoke he blows out. they would've fucked if only his limbs didn't feel like they've been detached and re-stitched; maybe they'd end the night with a lazy ride.

his girlfriend smirks, all cunning and undeniably hot, sucking in as much smoke as she can before blowing it all on his face. if anybody else had done this, he'd turn feral, but there's something alluring when y/n's exhale tickles his skin like feathers.

"how do i know? well, oscar, he kinda reminds me of you—" lando interrupts with a raised brow and a questioning stare, but y/n proceeds, "both of you are- you were- itching for a release. him not as much as you, but i still see it."

and lando can't really deny that, because he sees it too. in the way oscar's eyes seem to dart with dreaded uncertainty, and the way his shoulders are always up and tense, as if he has been tied like a puppet.

"that's what i call 'destined to get high'," y/n banters. it makes lando snort and roll his eyes (ultimately omitting to dwell on the sliver of seriousness that leaks through).

"dunno why you're rolling your eyes, you were basically begging me to give you a spliff," y/n taunts, and even though he groans at the reminiscence, he doesn't deny it. doing so would be like calling himself michael schumacher.

"yeah, whatever," he takes a lazy drag, a hand sliding up and down y/n's thigh, "at least i'm sexy when getting stoned."

y/n cackles, dissolving into a small giggle as she twirls her fingers through lando's curls; she never wants to let him go.

"damn right, baby."

another ping sounds from lando's phone, and subconsciously, his hands snakes to get it.

when he turns it on, he doesn't think he can be gobsmacked with such intensity twice in a day.

landooo: yh just bring it over

landooo: you can join us if you'd like

landooo: 😉

osc: uhm sure..

"y/n."

-.-.-.-.-

weed.

he'll be fucking damned.

the laugh that is punched out of him is one of disbelief, and, quite frankly, sheer horror.

he'd only wanted to borrow some shaving cream, after all, he's not one to favour the prickly itch of stubble. and in perfect, restless lando fashion, he was given the whole essentials bag and tasked with finding it himself.

which then leads him to now, palm burning with the weight of three spliffs that had somehow tumbled out of a flat metal tin.

he stares at them for so long that he might as well have burned holes into them (ironic), and in a flurry of movement, he's stuffing everything back into the bag, zipping it closed. if he doesn't see it, then he doesn't know it's there. cool.

but he's just standing, in the middle of his hotel room, completely clueless and delirious. he doesn't know how many times he wipes perspiration off his palms and onto his shorts, neither does he know how he's able to text lando about his findings.

originally, he thought that sending the infamous, suggestively connotated 'you up?' would've trimmed a bit of the tension away, yet it seems like lando, without fail, waters the situation with a fuck-ton more.

"'join us'? fucking hell."

oscar feels absolutely scorched from the wisps of his hair to the tips of his toes, and a spark of something curls in his gut.

no, absolutely not.

it's- he flips his watch to check the time- one am for fuck's sake, and lando's— getting high. smoking weed. [most likely] with his girlfriend.

whatever it is that makes his gut its abode curls even more as he shoves his feet into the nearest shoes he can find, and tames his hair in the mirror by the doorway. finding the night already too hard to bare, he doesn't dwell on what he'd done, and heads off to lando's room with sickening anticipation swirling within the grooves of his skin.

the walk is only a few seconds long, and oscar curses the fact that they weren't roomed further apart (impractical in usual circumstances, but the current predicament is anything but usual). he guesses he stands there, navy blue wash bag clutched in a vice grip, for many minutes (his concept of time tonight is royally fucked— how has he stayed up this late?) before he musters up some courage to knock on the door. in the quietude of the night, the sound is magnified to the point where he winces and hopes that no one else on their floor wakes up.

he hears a quiet rustle from behind the door, sighs for the umpteenth time that day (honestly, he could have a smoke for himself to- no.) before it's swiftly open.

y/n stands there, no sign of a spliff in sight, but her heavy lidded red eyes (that must hurt, right?) and the pungent smell of weed is enough to tell.

"ah, golden boy is here," y/n's grinning, as much as she can do without it looking robotic, and oscar blushes.

"g-golden boy?"

"i said what i said," she opens the door wider, and oscar's vision catches a limp leg hanging off the side of the bed, "you coming in or what?"

he's never been in such a mind-tearing crossroad before. wants to be reasonable and say no, afterall his job is on the line here (just because lando hasn't been caught, doesn't mean he won't, too). but then he's thinking that he's played angel's advocate for too long, and, as if the universe wants to commit a double homicide, lando is walking over, countenance lackadaisical and bends down as he wraps his arms around her waist.

he asks for forgiveness, because such a temptation before him is completely unforgiving , and oscar finds his vascillations come to an end the second he makes eye contact with his teammate.

it's then he realises that the something that had been driving his intestines mad was sheer want, and, having a mind of their own, his feet shuffle into the room, decision finalised by the click of the door shutting behind him.

he just hopes he doesn't regret this is in the morning.

the couple, with eased familiarity, move back to the bed, leaving oscar standing there, lost and expecting. lando regains possession of the spliff, back flat against the bed and arm bent behind his head.

he's turning to oscar, several beats later, with a heated look that just pulls the australian right in.

"put the bag down, osc," he's demanding— oh fuck, "and come over here."

oscar feels rather mortified at the effect lando's assertiveness has on him. his heart curdles, drips away like goo, and he can't think straight.

toes off his shoes, sliding them out of the way with his foot, before dumping the bag on lando's luggage and tentatively making his way to the bed.

it's excruciatingly daunting, must he say, and he's sure it's blatant because y/n is grinning softly and beckoning him closer with the wave of a hand.

"you're good, oscar."

then he's fully on the bed, a thin sheen of gray blurring his vision and the stench of smoke so thick, he could get high off it alone.

lando's splayed in front of him, watching intensely as his fingers accomodate a joint between them, and y/n's at his side, right at the foot of the bed, fiddling with a metal tin of her own.

he wonders just how long they've been doing this for.

"for me, since i was 18/19 maybe. lando started about a year ago."

oscar's brain fucking spasms.

his head whips to y/n, then back to lando, who just smiles and takes another drag, "a year?!"

the girl beside him giggles, turning back to him with a freshly rolled spliff of his own, "yeah. practically drooling to take a hit."

his teammate groans, dragging a hand down his face before sitting up, they seem to go through this ordeal once or twice before.

before he can question any more, y/n points the joint at him, "you sure you want to do this?"

funny, he's asking himself this. has been ever since he read the proposition that lando (y/n) had sent, and he had replied with a seemingly confused 'sure'. heat feels like a thousands ants crawling up his body, and the silence is even worse because he's certain his ears are filled with cement.

"am i— am i gonna get addicted to... this?"

lando shakes his head just as y/n shrugs, "depends, love. if you've got good enough self control and don't rely on it too much, you'll be fine."

oscar gives a sigh of relief, but turns tense again as he looks at lando. almost telepathically, he knows what oscar is thinking.

"no osc, i'm not hooked on this. i only do it every couple of weeks or so."

his hands raise up in defense, "just asking, mate."

"and you have every right to, baby," y/n says, then scoops his hand into her grip and puts the spliff in his hand, "now take this and let lando teach you."

oscar doesn't know what to do with it. he just stares at the green stick in his hand and wills up some courage to look back up at lando. for the first time in 22 years, he's going to experience what it's like to get high, and the excitement that crawls up his spine is chilling.

"take this," lando pushes a bottle of water into his hands, and oscar looks at it in confusion.

"it's your first time, so it'll probably make you cough a ton. drinking water helps."

oscar nods, gently taking and unscrewing it open. he gulps it down like a starved animal, and almost chokes when he notices his teammates girlfriend staring bullets into his face. his heart jumps and he stops drinking.

"now put the spliff in your mouth and let me light it for you."

oscar does so, feeling the weight of the rolled joint between his lips is completely maddening.

his teammate fishes a black lighter from the bedside table, then scooches closer to oscar's crossed legs. lando's body is like a furnace of drunken heat, and it only gets worse when his hand lands right on oscar's bare thigh.

it feels perfect and oscar thinks he's surfing on the waves of euphoria already.

"this good?" lando questions his touch, and oscar doesn't waste time to nod, "alright— when i light it, you're gonna try and inhale as much as you can. don't let it stay in your throat or you're gonna cough."

oscar bobs his head affirmatively.

"if you can't, just take it in small amounts, not too much that it hits your throat."

then lando's leaning in, flame swaying from the lighter, and oscar's eyebrows scrunch as he follows it closer and closer to the spliff.

it's instaneous, the heat that fills his mouth, and in a hurried succession, oscar is inhaling and spluttering like a madman. his eyes are burning, they may already be red at this point, and his nose feels ripped off.

"take it easy, love," a hand- y/n's- rests upon his back and he finds himself needing composure, and not only from his failed attempt to smoke.

"wow uh that was— uhm..."

lando rubs his thigh, with the intention to comfort, but oscar finds himself more pent up than before. the weed is already kicking in and his mind feels chopped into pieces and mixed with cake batter, and every touch feels like a punch.

"you good to go again?" lando queries. oscar nods, his throat feeling too rough to speak up, "okay then, take your time and calm yourself down. small intakes, yeah?"

the spliff goes back between his lips, and with lando watching him like he's the best movie he's ever seen, he's sucking in the smoke cautiously and— fuck, it feels so so good. he's unravelled everywhere, not a kink left in his joint nor a knot remaining in his muscles, and when he breathes the smoke out, he lets his head fall back with a smile on his face.

"there you go," lando's voice sounds loose and airy in his mind, and oscar finds himself loving it.

"look at him, babe," y/n chimes from beside him, and his head rolls to give her an inebriated grin, "told you he was meant for it."

lando hums, agreeing, from in front of him, "gonna shotgun with him."

whatever that is, y/n is eager to see it happen, and oscar gives lando a confused look. it only evokes a cute grin from the other, who plucks the spliff from oscar's fingers.

"i'll take a hit and blow it in your mouth, if that's cool with you."

and— oscar moans involuntarily. he doesn't know where it comes from but it's practically punched out of him with how loud it is, and lando smirks widely. all oscar can do is watch as he fills his mouth with smoke and shuffles closer to him. his heart palpitates, beating like a drum piece, and his skin is damp and flushed from the intensity of it all.

lando assesses oscar's decision, confirming his consent as he nods, and slowly, lando snakes an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. oscar is compliant, body wanting and downright desperate, mouth opening on autopilot.

the second lando's lips attach to his and the smoke is pushed into his mouth, oscar fucking loses it. his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he's grabbing lando's hair and pushing his mouth deeper.

he's kissing his teammate with all he has to give, and lando— he's reciprocating it, lips hungry on oscar's, biting and licking everywhere. for a second, oscar can't think about anything, mind filled with just lando, as his tongue slips in and turns the kiss filthy.

oscar hasn't made out with anyone with such ferocity. he's encompassed in scorching heat, and the euphoria just gets better as lando trails his lips down his neck. the bites and licks are inclement, and oscar's sure there'd be marks tomorrow, angry and purple, but right now, he doesn't care. not when lando's hands creep up his shirt, and run up his torso, resting upon his nipples and twirling them around his fingers.

"oh fuck, lando," his moan is so high pitched it sounds foreign and it's almost hard for him to believe that it comes from him. but he's sure it does, because another is forced out as soft hand turns his head to the side and there's another set of lips on his in an instant.

he thinks he could hooked on y/n's kisses, warm, wet and so fucking sensual, he feels worshipped. not an inch of skin is missed by her tongue, and with every drag of her lips against his, he's concluding that this would be the perfect way to die.

oscar's so hard in his jeans from lando's stimulation, y/n's kisses, and the heightened sensation of everything from the weed, that he almost cums in his shorts. he can only imagine how plump it could be, and how a mouth on it would have him sobbing for days.

but he doesn't have to, because lando creeps a hand to his crotch and squeezes. the whine that leaves oscars mouth and into his teammate's girlfriend's is criminal.

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

[loverangels]

enchanted

pairings: timothee chalamet x female reader

synopsis: your celebrity crush reveals his admiration for you and you can't help but tease him for it in your run in on the met gala

part 2

It was supposed to be a quiet day on set. Your latest project had been keeping you busy, and today was no different—costume fittings, script run-throughs, and a few late takes. The steady hum of activity kept you focused, but when you returned to your trailer for a break, your phone was blowing up.

Texts from friends, a slew of Instagram notifications, and several unread emails. Confused, you opened one from your manager, the subject line simply reading: You’ll want to see this.

It was a clip.

Timothée Chalamet, sitting comfortably on a late-night talk show, was in the middle of one of his now-infamous animated interviews. His laughter filled the screen, infectious and boyish, and for a brief moment, you smiled, charmed by him like everyone else.

But then the question came.

"So, Timothée, who’s your celebrity crush?"

The audience whooped, the host leaned in with a knowing grin, and Timothée, trying to play it cool, gave a little shrug.

He hesitated, his fingers running through his tousled curls in that effortless way only he could pull off. And then, with a tiny, almost bashful smile, he said your name.

Your actual name.

You froze.

The host’s mouth fell open, clearly not expecting it. "Really? Her?"

Timothée’s cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded. "Yeah, I mean, she’s incredible. Just ridiculously talented, you know? And beautiful, obviously. But she just seems..." He trailed off, his hands moving as if to grab the words out of the air. "...Like, really cool. Smart. Genuine. I don’t know, there’s something about her."

You watched the clip in stunned silence, replaying it again. And again. And again.

The internet was already in flames. Tweets, TikToks, and Instagram edits were flooding your notifications. Fans were losing their minds. You didn’t even have time to process how you felt about it.

---

A Week Later: The Met Gala

The Met Gala red carpet was chaos in the best way. Flashing cameras, booming voices, and the rush of silk, sequins, and couture gowns swept around you. You moved down the carpet like you’d done a hundred times before—posing for photos, answering questions, and offering polite smiles to everyone who crossed your path.

But tonight was different. You could feel it.

The buzz in the air, the way reporters whispered to each other before approaching you. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“Has Timothée seen you yet?” a cheeky journalist asked as you posed, their microphone in your face.

You laughed it off, tilting your head. "I have no idea," you replied, trying to keep your voice light. "But I think that’s the question of the night, huh?"

You moved on quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. The thought of running into him tonight had lingered in the back of your mind all week, but now, as the moment seemed to inch closer, the reality of it hit you.

And then it happened.

You felt it before you saw him—the weight of his gaze. Turning slightly, your eyes met his, and everything else seemed to blur out of focus.

He looked... breathtaking. A perfectly tailored avant-garde suit hugged his lean frame, the kind only he could make look effortlessly cool. His hair was swept back just enough to still be messy, and his lips curled into a soft, almost shy smile as he walked toward you.

The cameras went berserk.

He stopped just a foot away, his eyes never leaving yours. "Hey," he said, his voice low and familiar, as though you weren’t surrounded by hundreds of people and a sea of flashing lights.

"Hey," you replied, your throat suddenly dry.

He hesitated, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around. "So... I feel like I should apologize."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips tugging into a smile. "For what?"

"For accidentally turning your life into a circus," he said, his grin sheepish, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through your nerves. "It’s fine. If anything, you gave my publicist a new hobby. Crisis management is her favorite thing."

His laugh was boyish and genuine, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

"You really do look amazing," he said after a beat, his voice softer now. His eyes traced the intricate details of your gown like he wanted to memorize it.

"So do you," you replied, and then, feeling a little bold, you added, "Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that."

He chuckled, shifting slightly closer. "Not true. Compliments mean a lot more when they’re coming from you."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you were thankful for the dimmed lights that kept the moment from feeling too exposed.

Before either of you could say more, a handler appeared at Timothée’s side, gently reminding him he had to finish the carpet.

He glanced at them, then back at you, clearly reluctant to leave. "Guess I’ll see you inside?"

"Maybe," you teased.

As he turned to go, he shot you one last look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe. Or curiosity.

And as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

@annie-bby @lyracx @beautifulbluehairoff @joekbff @neteyamsbabymother @superiorbyfar @f4ndomfa1ry @cherryswan @cherryppick @nottsdeer @jolovesgg @lovelydeepresedkid @thegraceofthisworld @zjthecoffeeaddict @that-jax @redheadedcosplayer14 @sjstg3 @inannamoon @taraxyummy @evangelinesecondacc

[motherismotheringggg]

Hello! Hope you’re having a good day!

I wanted to request something with like Nicholas where maybe he’s sort of the dom but is tied up and telling reader to do things but like she’s also in control cause he can’t touch her and he’s maybe like begging!

No pressure ofc 🫣🫶🏼 I love your writings

command and surrender ⛓️‍💥

summary: this lovely anon request, thanks pookie <3

type: dom!(sub!) nicholas x sub!(dom!) female reader

tags: bondage (m!), oral (m! receiving), dry humping

author’s note: your honor, this user is OBSESSED with whiny nicholas 😭 also this the shortest one i wrote and it’s also a lil cliffhanger teehee

⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥

The bathroom mirror reflected the nerves on your face, the warm glow of the vanity lights amplifying every anxious detail. You smoothed your hands down the lacey fabric of your lingerie, the deep black lace hugging every curve perfectly. Normally, you loved how something like this made you feel: confident, sensual, and in control. But tonight was different.

You noticed your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the delicate straps on your shoulders. You weren’t usually the type to get nervous before sex—not with Nicholas. Your chemistry had always been electric, effortlessly connected. Even when you pushed the boundaries or steered the rhythm, you were comforted knowing he was always the one holding the reins.

But tonight, Nicholas had asked you to take things a step further.

“I trust you,” he’d said over dinner, his tone steady and deliberate, carrying the same weight as always. The low, romantic light of the restaurant played across his face, sharpening the edges of his jaw, while the deep red wine stained his lips just enough to draw her gaze. He leaned back in his chair, exuding ease, but his eyes never wavered from hers.

“I want you to make me depend on you,” he said, the words deliberate and certain, as if even this, his surrender, was something he commanded.

And now, he was waiting for her on the other side of the bathroom door, hands tied to the headboard.

Your breath hitched at the thought. You’d always been adventurous in the bedroom, more than willing to indulge his fantasies, but this was new territory. With Nicholas restrained, your usual dynamic felt entirely flipped. You could still hear the echo of his teasing words from earlier, his smirk sharp and self-assured.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, sweetheart,” he called out from the bedroom.

Your excitement swirled with a touch of anxiety as you turned the handle, stepping into the dimly lit space.

Nicholas was exactly where you’d left him. His broad shoulders pressed against the pillows, his wrists bound securely above his head with silk ties. His tight black briefs clung, you could see his dick hardening the moment he laid eyes on you. The lowlights of your room highlighted the lines of his chest and the flex of his biceps as he tested the restraints. His dark eyes were fixed on her, smoldering desire and hunger.

“Finally,” he drawled, his voice thick with anticipation. “I was starting to think you were too nervous to come out.”

Your legs felt a little shaky, but you forced yourself to walk with confidence, your hips swaying just enough to keep his attention fixed on you. Nicholas’s gaze didn’t waver, roaming over every inch of your body, from the delicate straps of your lingerie to the curve of your thighs. His breaths came heavier, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable in the way his briefs strained against him.

You paused at the foot of the bed, striking poses that you knew would drive him crazy. Turning slowly, you let him take in every detail, the lace hugging your body and leaving just enough to the imagination.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You like what you see?” you teased, your voice carrying more steadiness than you felt.

His eyes darkened, trailing back up to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you’d pulled it off. But then he smirked—that damn smirk—and let out a deep chuckle that had your stomach twisting in both nerves and desire.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. It wasn’t a question.

Your lips parted to protest, but he shook his head, the silk ties holding his wrists barely restraining the authority in his presence.

“Come here,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Get on the bed. Crawl to me the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling low in your stomach as you obeyed, the moment thick with anticipation. Placing one knee on the mattress, you moved slowly, deliberately, letting him watch every shift and sway of your body. His sharp breaths filled the room, each one fanning the embers of your confidence.

By the time you reached him, his jaw was tight, his fingers flexing against the restraints as though he could will them to snap just to touch you.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “You’re already so good at this.”

You climbed onto his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Slowly, deliberately, you lowered yourself until you were straddling him, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your lingerie. His cock, hard and straining against his briefs, pressed against you, and you rolled your hips just enough to feel the friction.

Nicholas’s head tipped back against the pillow, a whimper escaping his lips, low and unrestrained. It wasn’t like him to sound so desperate, and the noise sent a rush of power through you.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his biceps flexing as he pulled against the silk ties in vain. “I can’t touch you. It’s fucking torture.”

You smirked down at him, leaning forward to let your hands rest lightly on his chest, your fingertips grazing over the firm muscles. “Maybe I like you this way,” you teased, your voice husky and dripping with confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

He laughed softly, though his breaths were coming shorter now. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with so much heat it was almost unbearable. “You’re so sexy baby,” he murmured, his voice quieter but no less intense. “And I completely trust you.”

His reassurance steadied you, grounding you in the moment. You ground your hips against him again, watching his lips part as a low groan slipped out.

“I love when you do that,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, taking on that commanding edge you knew so well—even while bound. “When you move like that, you know exactly how good you feel.”

You bit your lip, the praise igniting something in you as he continued.

“And when you put your hands on me,” he went on, his voice dropping an octave. “Like earlier, at dinner, when you touched my thigh under the table? I could’ve pulled you into my lap right there. And when you grab my neck when you’re riding me... Jesus, it drives me insane.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your movements against him becoming bolder, more intentional.

“Keep going,” you urged softly, your fingers sliding higher up his chest, your nails just barely grazing his skin. You started grinding on him slowly, your hips rocking with a slow methodical motion.

Nicholas struggled to keep his composure, his breaths growing heavier as you continued to grind against him, the slow, deliberate motion sending shivers down both your spines.

“I—I love when you moan into my mouth when we’re making out,” he managed, his voice faltering as your hips rolled against him. “And when you... oh, fuck... when you bite my nipples—”

His words broke off into a deep grunt, the tension in his body visible as he fought to stay coherent. But as your pace increased, his grunts turned into throaty moans, and then into something softer, needier—whimpers that made your stomach clench with satisfaction.

You couldn’t help but revel in the way he was falling apart beneath you. The friction between his hard cock and your throbbing nub was starting to unravel you as well, each roll of your hips sending sparks shooting through your body.

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them as you rode him, steady and commanding. His dark eyes flickered open, glassy with lust as they trailed up to meet yours.

“Choke me,” he rasped, his voice ragged but insistent.

Without hesitation, you obeyed, sliding your hands up to rest lightly around his neck, your thumbs brushing over the edge of his jawline. Slowly, you applied just enough pressure to feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath your palm.

Nicholas’s head tipped back, his lips parting with a guttural groan, but his eyes drifted shut as the sensations overwhelmed him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” you commanded suddenly, surprising yourself with the firm edge in your voice.

His eyelids fluttered open, his pupils blown wide as they locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made you feel electrified, completely in control.

“Watch me cum, baby,” you said, your voice sultry and dripping with confidence you hadn’t fully realized you had.

His jaw went slack, his breathing uneven, and his body strained against the silk ties, his need to touch you written all over him. His desperation only spurred you on, your movements growing faster, your body chasing the release building in your core.

You bit your lip, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure began to crash over you. Your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back as the tension in your body finally snapped. A moan escaped your lips, raw and uninhibited, and the sight of you unraveling above him pushed Nicholas closer to his breaking point.

He thrashed beneath you, his muscles taut and straining as if his very being ached to touch you. “Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and desperate. “I need to feel you—let me be inside you.”

Instead of granting his request, you leaned down, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss that left him gasping. Your fingers found their way to his face, cradling it as your tongue slid against his in a way that felt more possessive than tender. He moaned into your mouth, the sound sending another shiver through your already sensitive body.

You broke the kiss to trail your lips down the strong line of his jaw, over the stubble on his cheek, and down to his neck. Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, biting just hard enough to leave marks—a constellation of your claim on him.

“Be patient,” you murmured against his skin, your voice sultry and commanding.

Nicholas let out a low growl that turned into a whimper as you slid off his lap, the absence of your body leaving him visibly frustrated.

Your hands moved to the waistband of his briefs, your eyes meeting his as you began to peel the fabric down slowly, teasing him with every inch you revealed. His cock sprang free, hard, and flushed, and the way his breath hitched made you smirk.

“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against him lightly, eliciting another strained groan. You got into an arched position on your knees, “You deserve this.”

His breath hitched as you licked up his shaft, your tongue tracing all circles on his pink tip, licking the precum off, “you taste so good, baby. I love the way you feel in my mouth.”

Nicholas’s mouth hung open in anticipation as you took his full length into your mouth, he let out a deep sigh followed by more whimpering. Usually, he’d rest a hand on the back of your head or wrap his hands around your jaw to face fuck you but now he was powerless.

You found your rhythm, using your hands for added pleasure to really draw out his climax. You took him to the back of your throat a few times and that drove him crazy.

“Fuck baby…you’re so nasty for me,”he grunted, his hips starting to rock to keep up with your motion.

His hips bucked slightly, his body seeking relief he couldn’t fully grasp as his wrists remained tied above him. You tightened your grip on his thighs, steadying him as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and letting him feel every inch of your mouth.

Nicholas’s head pressed back into the headboard, his jaw slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as moans spilled from his lips. “God… you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice cracking with desperation. “So fucking good at this—at everything.”

The praise spurred you on, and you let your tongue glide along his length, swirling at the tip before taking him back down again. His thighs tensed under your palms, and his breathing became erratic, each gasp and grunt signaling just how close he was.

“Baby, I—I’m gonna…” His voice faltered as he strained against the silk ties, his entire body trembling. “Please, I need to touch you—I need—”

You pulled back for just a moment, your lips swollen and glistening as you looked up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to do anything but stay right there,” you purred, running your hand along his length in slow, deliberate strokes. “Let me take care of you.”

The sight of you, so confident and in control, sent him spiraling. “Fuck,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I love you so fucking much, baby.”

You leaned in, taking him back into your mouth, and this time you didn’t hold back. Your movements quickened, your hands and mouth working together to push him over the edge. His groans turned into a series of sharp, choked whimpers, his body trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh, shit—” he gasped, his hips jerking as his climax hit, the tension in his body snapping all at once. You didn’t stop, letting him ride out every last wave of pleasure, swallowing his release your touch both tender and relentless.

When he finally stilled, his chest heaving and his head lolling back against the pillows, you sat up, wiping your mouth with a satisfied smirk.

“See?” you teased, your voice soft but laced with triumph. “You didn’t need your hands after all.”

Nicholas let out a breathless laugh, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The fire in his gaze was far from extinguished. “Untie me,” he said hoarsely, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”….

[ozzgin]

Have you ever considered——a yandere cowboy?

Honestly, I'm not too familiar with cowboys, so I don't think I'd be able to do something authentic and serious by any means. However... content: gender neutral reader, parody

Yandere!Cowboy is really rather terrible at his job. He considers himself a bandit of the Wild West, a skilled countryman in blue jeans and polished spurs. Now, to his credit, he does have the best intentions; it's the delivery that lacks. He's simply too clumsy.

Yandere!Cowboy nearly drops his drink when he sees you stepping foot in the local pub. Are you new in town? He would've certainly known if someone like you lived around him. Breathtaking. Quite literally, actually. He inhaled so sharply, he accidentally gulped down the straw he was chewing on to seem exceptionally mysterious. Now he's stuck with a piece of wheat halfway down his throat.

Yandere!Cowboy smirks to himself when you rush to his aid, placing him onto the floor and inspecting his features. Gosh, your hands are all over him. Clearly you're onto something, you cheeky little cat.

"You've got some beautiful eyes," he whistles, trying to maintain a sharp jaw and a relaxed pose.

"Perhaps it's better if you stop talking," you softly warn him, "you're foaming. I'll see if I can pluck it out with my hands."

You dab your handkerchief at the corners of his mouth. Uh huh, you're definitely the one. He ain't letting this one go.

[maraudering-times]

25 days of Jegumas - Day 19: Christmas Cards - 359 words - @noblehouseofgay

“I’m not doing it.” Regulus crosses his arm definitely and glares at James’s ever growing pout. 

“Come on, love. I do it every year with my parents!”

“Then go get Effie and Monty and leave me out of it.” Regulus stands firm.

“Reggie…”

“No.”

“Reg–”

“No, James.”

James throws his hands up in the air, “You’re already wearing the damn sweater.”

“And I’m prepared to take it off if you try dragging me in front of that camera.”

“It’s just one photo.”

“I’m not doing it.”

James groans and buries his face in his hands. They’re causing quite the scene at the family photo booth in their local mall. Regulus didn’t have these reservations when James and presented the Christmas sweater to him earlier that afternoon. Sure, he laughed, calling it garish and ugly but he still put it on and left the house wearing it. One measly little photo wearing the top for their Christmas cards wouldn’t kill him. At least according to James.

To Regulus though…

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

James sighs and kicks his foot dejectedly. “Fine. Let’s go then.” He turns around and makes to leave the shop but Regulus huffs and grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t act like that.”

James shrugs. “You won’t take the photo, Reg. There’s other people in line so let’s just go.”

Regulus makes a string of odd noises but turns back to the photographer and their assistant, both of whom were watching their argument like a tennis match. He holds up a single finger. “One photo,” he tells them and James indirectly.

James beams and drags his boyfriend over to the backdrop. He places a quick kiss to his lips, speaking against them, “Thank you, baby.”

Regulus pulls away and faces the lens, “I’m breaking up with you after this.”

James laughs and wraps his arms around the shorter man, hugging him from behind. The photographer clears their throat and directs them into a pose, one that shows off their matching Christmas sweaters and begins the countdown. James whispers to Regulus, “You love me too much.”

“Loving you less right now.”

They smile just in time for the flash.

[peachsukii]

— disneybound!

✮ content. fun & fluffy fluff. soft bakugo. I was visiting family in Florida and wanted to spread some magic to my favorite. 💕

The flares of the Florida sun beat down on your exposed skin, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket. The thin coat of sweat under your clothes wasn’t going to ruin your mood, but it definitely might ruin your boyfriend’s.

“Fuck, s’hot,” Bakugo grumbles, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat gathered on his forehead with the back of his free hand. “Knew you said it’d be a sticky heat, but goddamn. We haven’t even gotten in’ta the park yet and I’m dyin’.”

“Sorry babes, it’ll be better once we’re off the ferry,” you reassured, knowing that the trip across the water to the main entrance is always the hottest part of the trek. The ferry was packed with families donning various themed outfits - matching t-shirts, Disney princess costumes, and tons of little ones with Mickey and Minnie ears on their heads.

Bakugo leans over to you, snickering at a few kids running across the deck. “That kid’s gonna have the best sleep of his life tonight.”

A gentle smile settles on your lips as you watched the joy exude from the toddler, giggling up a storm with his mom.

“I can’t remember a time I had a sliver of that kinda energy,” you joke, lulling your head back as the wind swept through your ponytail. “Or a decent night’s sleep.”

“Ya had plenty of energy last night,” he laughs, smirking as you smack him on the arm while the ferry approaches the dock. Bakugo takes your hand when you stand to exit the boat, interlocking his fingers with your own. The greenery of the entrance flourishes under the sun’s rays, immediately catching your attention. You pull him to the side, standing in front of the landscape with the plaque that reads “Magic Kingdom” and the anniversary celebration signage. Before you can ask him to take a picture together, he’s already tugging you closer and taking out his phone from his pocket.

“Knew you were gonna ask, you and your sentimental ass,” Bakugo says, unlocking his fingers from your grasp in exchange for a spot on your waist.

“Scoot in close baby, I wanna get the flowers an’ shit.” He angles his phone to catch both of you with the flower display and the entry sign in the background, and to your surprise, he’s got the cheesiest smile on his face when he takes the shot.

“Go stand over there,” he demands, patting you on the small of your back when he lets go of your waist. You shoot him a confused stare, about to ask why before he cuts you off.

“I want a shot of my favorite princess. Stand over there an’ look pretty for me, peach.”

“Aww, Disney Magic already making you sappy?” You tease, sticking your tongue out him playfully to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. He huffs while signaling you to move into the perfect spot. Once he’s satisfied with the position, you pose sweetly without hesitation with your foot propped up and cute little peace sign. Bakugo’s heart leaps into his throat when he studies your beautiful face through his screen, instantly setting the photo as his lock screen.

Both of you make your way to the gates and scan your magic bands, the signature chime and green light letting the two of you proceed into Magic Kingdom. Strolling through the Main Street Square, you stop in your tracks at the sight of Cinderella’s Castle, taking in its majestic glow with starry eyes.

“Wow, what a beautiful fu-uh, freakin’, sight,” Bakugo says, trying to watch his language around all the kids roaming the town square. You can’t help but giggle at his instance to be “family friendly,” trying his damndest not to curse at his natural 110% volume level. Jokingly, you told him earlier at breakfast that Mickey Mouse would pop out of a bush and scold him for cursing too much if he got caught and he’d end up in Disney Jail.

“So, where to first?” You question, bouncing on your heels with excitement. “Wanna meet your actual favorite princess?”

“Fu-screw off,” he snorts, squeezing your hand in jest. “…maybe later.”

You start walking down Main Street, navigating the crowds to head to the little nook between the castle and Tomorrowland. Peaking around the line queue, you squeal with excitement when you see Merida posing with a family of five.

“Look, there she is!”

Bakugo wasn’t really sure why he was nervous, he knew it was an actress, but a familiar childlike sense of wonder had him wanting to kick his feet with enthusiasm over the thought of meeting his favorite Disney princess. Merida happens to glance toward the two of you as you pass by the line queue before the next family gets her attention, waving when she sees you smile at her. Bakugo doesn’t know what to do, a weird fluttering sensation in his stomach as he manages to give a small wave back.

“Don’t get too soft on me now,” you quip, elbowing him in the side. "I happen to like your grumpy ass."

He barks out a laugh, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “M’not soft, princess. You’ll be askin’ for the opposite later.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, biting it playfully while you dramatically swat at him to cut it out.

The two of you meander through Magic Kingdom as the day goes on, jumping on rides, watching the parades, sharing snacks, and absorbing all the magic the park offered. You can’t remember a time where you’ve seen Bakugo smile for hours on end, enjoying your company and having a blast - even in the blistering heat! He went into a laughing fit watching you walk off of Space Mountain all wobbly the entire walk down the exit ramp from dizziness. And when he beat your score on the Buzz Lightyear ride, he insisted on buying the souvenir picture to prove his victory over you…and because he wants to hang it in the living room when you get home.

The day winds down, the sunset splayed across the horizon as the two of you settle into a spot in front of the castle, patiently waiting for the fireworks display to begin. The refreshing sensation of orange flavored dole whip hits your tongue, taking a few scoops before handing the cup back to Bakugo.

"Isn't this the life?" You ask, leaning back on your hands to stretch out your legs. "Can't believe I got you to wear matching Mickey ears."

"Y'didn't, you bought them when I said no," he retorts, rolling his eyes as he takes another bite of dole whip. "But I'm glad ya did, they're stupidly cute."

He sets the half-eaten cup on the sidewalk next to him, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "C'mere, before it gets too dark."

Bakugo tugs you closer, leaning against you as he hands you his phone to take a picture. When you're about to push the shutter button, he surprises you by planting a sweet peck on your cheek, a gleeful smile crossing your lips. When you look back at it, you can't help but think this is real - your boyfriend, the Katsuki Bakugo, one of Japan's top ten heroes, is here with you in Disney World, happy as can be, wearing matching Mickey ears and taking silly selfies with you.

"I'm starting to think you're the sentimental one."

"Can't a guy show off his girl?"

His girl.

"Color me shocked you wanted to be seen in those," you point to the Mickey ears atop his hat.

"Peach, y'know I'd do anything for ya at this point. I like bein' all cute and shit with you, and only you."

And you know what? That was a good enough answer. Bakugo flashes you a toothy grin before putting his phone back in his pocket, scooching closer so your hips are touching and offering you the last of the dole whip. The fireworks start a few moments later, the two of you lost in the beautiful explosive lights for the entire show.

Later that night, when you finally trudged back to the hotel, you have a notification of a new tagged photo that catches your attention - from Dynamight001. The caption of the photo set is short and sweet, thousands of likes and comments already flooding the post as he uploaded it on his main hero account.

"home's anywhere you are.🧡"

You're swiping through the photos, and there's one you didn't know he took at the very end. It's of you while watching the fireworks, the reflects of color sparkling in your eyes with a smile on your face.

Your heart beats against your ribs, overflowing with love for him as he waltzes out of the bathroom in his sweats. He sees the look on your face and chuckles, tackling you to the bedsheets and peppers your neck with kisses.

"Get off your phone already and in'ta bed, baby. We've got another long day tomorrow."

You hum in acknowledgement, tossing your phone onto the nightstand and sinking under the comforter to snuggle up into his chest - just the way he loves.

And you can't help but think to yourself, he's right.

Home's anywhere you are.

Disney bound!; @slayfics @maddietries @queenpiranhadon @starieq @liluvtojineteyam

[syluslnd]

Hey It is me again !! I’m embarrassed about requesting a lot from you but I really adore ur writing , so can I request a writing where the mc is trying to surprise sylus with something nice to show her love as he always the one who does these stuff for her , with the help of the twins and they just try to make it happen without sylus noticing WHICH IS PAIN

AGAIN THANKFUL FOR UR EXISTENCE

trying to surprise sylus gone wrong

(note-this was so much fun to write so I really hope I did it accordingly to what you had in mind !! omg that’s such a beautiful compliment thank YOU for your existence I hope you’ve had an amazing week so far love !! kisses xx)

────୨ৎ────

You were pacing back and forth in Sylus’ room, chewing on your nails as you nervously glanced at the clock. Sylus was supposed to be home any minute and you still hadn’t finished setting up the gift. The twins, Luke and Kieran were both rummaging through Sylus’ belongings, looking for the final touches to add to the surprise.

“This is not how I planned this” you muttered under your breath, feeling the anxiety rise.

Luke, balancing on one foot as he attempted to place a bow on the gift box, grinned widely “Relax! It’s gonna be great! Sylus won’t know what hit him!”

Kieran, who had found a random pair of Sylus’ sunglasses, put them on and struck a pose “Yeah, it’s like we’re secret agents! He’ll never suspect a thing!” He gave you a thumbs-up, as if the situation wasn’t spiraling into chaos.

You glanced at both of them, exasperated. “He’s going to immediately know. Do you know how freakishly observant he is? He notices when I move a pillow on the couch and you’re in here wearing his sunglasses!”

Kieran froze, then slowly took them off, a sheepish grin on his face. “Uh, yeah. That might’ve been a little too much.”

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. Your heart jumped into your throat. “Oh no, he’s almost here! Quick, everyone hide the stuff!” You darted around the room, tripping over a chair leg in your frantic attempt to finish the setup.

Luke snickered “You’re gonna trip over yourself before the surprise even starts.”

“Not helpful, Luke!” you hissed, shoving the ribbon back into the box, trying to make everything look somewhat presentable. “I just wanted it to be perfect for once…”

Kieran poked you lightly in the side, smirking. “Perfect’s overrated. It’s cute when you’re a little frazzled.”

Before you could retort, the door clicked open.

Sylus stood in the doorway, his stoic face betraying nothing but there was a glint in his eyes. “What are you three doing in my room?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the teasing laced underneath.

You froze, heart pounding, your face flushing. “We… um… we weren’t… doing anything weird!” you stammered.

Luke tried to suppress a snort while Kieran casually leaned against the dresser, nodding as if this were totally normal. “Yeah, just, uh, hanging out. Right?”

Sylus’ eyebrow quirked as he took a slow, deliberate step inside, his gaze sweeping the room—taking in every little misplaced object, the half-hidden gift box, and your overly nervous posture. “Is that so?” His voice was so neutral, it was almost maddening.

You shifted awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “Yep! Absolutely nothing… weird…”

His lips curled ever so slightly, eyes sharp as he looked at the three of you. “Then why are you sweating, sweetie?”

Your eyes widened as you sputtered. “I’m not sweating!”

Luke, ever the unhelpful one, leaned in and whispered loudly “You are kinda sweating.”

Kieran snickered, and Sylus, in his usual deadpan way, continued “Uh-huh and here I thought you were up to something… secret.”

You felt like melting into the floor. “We’re not—I mean, we are but not bad secret stuff! Good secret stuff!”

Sylus took another step closer, folding his arms. “Good secret stuff? In my room? With Luke and Kieran, who look guilty as hell?”

“Hey!” Kieran protested with a grin, “That’s just my face.”

Sylus ignored him, his gaze settling back on you, his amusement barely hidden. “So, should I be worried, kitten?”

The way he said “kitten” sent a wave of heat to your face. You desperately wanted to say something cool, but all that came out was a helpless squeak.

Sylus’ expression softened, though the teasing never left his eyes. He finally glanced at the hidden gift box, almost like he was acknowledging its presence without giving it away. “Strange. I feel like something’s missing in here. Maybe I should have a look around…”

You panicked, stepping in front of the gift box. “No! Don’t look!”

He chuckled under his breath, that deep, rich sound that always managed to get under your skin. “Why not? What could possibly be in here that I’m not allowed to see?”

Luke and Kieran both held their breath, clearly enjoying the tension. You could feel their grins behind you.

Sylus leaned down slightly, peering at you from beneath his lashes. “Unless… you’re surprising me with something?”

You groaned, realizing there was no way you were pulling this off. “How did you even know? I didn’t say anything! You were supposed to be surprised!”

He straightened, tilting his head in that infuriatingly calm way. “Sweetie, you’ve been flustered all day and you let them help” he motioned toward Luke and Kieran who were pretending to act innocent “so I had my suspicions.”

Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

Sylus’ teasing expression softened further his hand reaching out to cup your cheek gently. “I appreciate it, kitten. You don’t have to try so hard. You being here… that’s enough of a gift for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your face flushing even more as his words sank in. “S-Sylus…”

He smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Now, how about we see what you’ve been hiding?”

[monstersflashlight]

Day 13. Monster-kinktober: Wings + Pegging/Edgeplay

A/N: This is for @dragonsholygrail and everyone who wanted a part 2 of this and didn’t get it (so basically for myself), enjoy!

Griffin x fem!reader || pegging, edgeplay, orgasm denial, light dirty talk, dom/sub dynamic (femdom), marking (lowkey) || tw: mentions of blood

When you asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, you were more than surprised by his answer.

He didn’t really have a birthday, you decided to give him one when he said he didn’t know when he was born, and it made you so sad that you cried and he panicked. It was a very comical situation and now he had a birthday and you celebrated with all the necessities, aka: cake, presents and a birthday wish. Well, maybe in that last one you cheated a bit, because you made it sexual and decided to recreate a fantasy of each one of you each year. In your last birthday, he dressed as a pirate and you two fucked on a beach. It was great. And now you expected something similar, maybe another role-play. And well, role-play it was.

He wanted you to be a bounty-hunter again, but this time you will chase him and catch him… Just to fuck his ass and make him submit to you completely. You stared at him for a long while after he said it, until he was blushing hard and your pulse was racing so fast you could hear it in your ears. But when he was already opening his mouth to say it didn’t matter, you cut him and agreed immediately, the sole idea of having him under you as you drove him crazy was making you all wet and needy.

That’s how you found yourself running after him, both on foot to make it fair, through the forest. You were already wearing the harness with the dildo, and he wasn’t even trying to run that fast, knowing fully well your movements were restricted by your human body. He was a few meters ahead of you, completely naked and looking good enough to eat. You had a knife in your hand an a smirk on your lips, ready to play your part.

Not too much later, he slowed his running, acting like he tripped and looking behind himself with a hidden smile. You took advantage of the situation and jumped on his back, careful not to hurt his wings, and pressed a knife to his throat. “I got you, I’m going to sell you to the highest bidder,” you tried to act as harsh as possible when you pushed him forward and he fell to his knees (in a very fake movement that made you want to giggle).

He looked up at you as you threw your knife away and pleaded: “No please, please. I’d do whatever you want.” He sounded pathetic in the most hilarious way possible and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“Whatever?” You asked teasingly. He was clearly trying to contain his laughter when he turned around and lowered his body to the ground in a submissive pose. You felt the heat under your flimsy dress as he moved his tail from one side to the other.

“Whatever,” he confirmed, raising his hips in the most obscene movement ever. You looked at him with your mouth open, you were expecting a lot of things, but not him acting so playful when you were about to fuck him.

You tried to regain your composure and let out a choked breath before telling him: “I think we are going to have fun us two.” You sounded ridiculous but he wasn’t laughing anymore.

He was looking at you with hunger in his eyes and a glint of danger behind his pupils. You were so horny you could roll under him and plead to be fucked. But no. It wasn’t about you today, it was all about him and his filthy fantasy (a filthy fantasy you were more than glad to be included in).

“Is that so… hunter?” You shivered, not knowing how he could sound so filthy with such a normal word, but you squared your shoulders and walked to him.

The harness you were wearing moving uncomfortably as you positioned yourself behind him. You were more than glad that he prepped before starting the game because your hands were shaking furiously as you took your position behind him and touched lightly his gaping hole. He cursed and pushed back, a needy whimper escaping his eyes.

“So desperate already… Who would have thought the scary griffin would be just a submissive monster under me,” you continued with your role, making him cover his mouth to muffle the giggle that escaped. “Come on dude, don’t break role now,” you told him as you pushed two fingers inside his hole.

He took in a deep breath, gasping at the contact. “Fuck me already, hunter.”

“Okay, okay…” You told him, as impatient as him.

You positioned yourself right over his hole, the dildo looking shiny with the lube you applied back in the cave, and pressed slowly inside of him. By the time you were bottoming out, he was panting and trying to push back, his wings flapping uncontrollably as you watched, mesmerized. You pulled back and back inside, making him cry out. The surge of power within you was unexpected, making your body heat and your brain get fuzzy. Having such a scary creature under you, submitting to you… it was more erotic than you expected. It was almost obscene, and you fucking love it.

You leaned over him, your hand pulling lightly at his hair. “You don’t come unless I tell you to,” you grunted against his back as you moved your hips harder, hitting that spot that made him whimper over and over. “Understood?” You pressed, grabbing his hair and pushing his head up until his back was arching and his wings were twitching under your chest.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he chanted with an open mouth, eyes closed as he pushed back against you.

“Good boy,” you praised him, rewarding him with a hard bite against his jugular, making him scream your name as you kept fucking him.

You dragged it out as much as possible, changing speeds and angles until you got him to make those beautiful throaty whimpers that made your pussy so wet you were dripping. You knew he was getting desperate, his hands twitching on the ground as you edged him with the dildo. He looked so good under you, his wings moving every time you hit the sweet spot that made him see stars.

He interrupted your inner monologue to ask breathlessly: “Can I- Can I come?” His voice was needy and desperate, like he was on the edge of coming.

“No,” you answered curtly.

He looked at you over his shoulder with the most betrayed face ever. “What?”

“Not. Yet.” You punctuated with hard, long thrusts. You were in control and you wanted to have that power high for a bit more. You wanted him to be as desperate as you were every time he decided to play with you. You wanted retribution.

“But… But…” He broke in a huge groan when you pulled his hair again, your teeth pressing harder until you tasted blood on your lips.

He roared and you smiled against his skin. He looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t finish that thought before you were speeding up your thrust, the edge of the harness caught in your inner thigh sending sparks of pleasure at every thrust. You were so close, too, the pent up tension and the sexual energy in the air, mixed with the filthy sounds he was emitting… you were almost there.

Sparks shone against your closed eyes as you chased your own orgasm and he panted under you, broken moans and groans as he tried not to come, but when you screamed your release he screamed so loud all the birds in the trees took flight at the same time, a cacophony of sounds as you exploded. You didn’t stop the movements against him, inside him, as he kept screaming.

Just then you realized he didn’t wait for your order. “I told you not to come without permission, didn’t I?” You asked him as you reached around his body to tug at his oversensitive spent cock. He whimpered and you smiled, your hips moving slowly against his sweet spot still.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold it in when I smelled your orgasm,” he confessed, his head falling forward to the soft grass under his body as you giggled, content and sated.

“You deserve a punishment for being such a bad boy,” you teased and he whimpered, his dick twitching in your hand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He nodded, his head turned to the side and mouth open, drooling over the grass and looking completely fucked out. You loved that look. “Maybe I need to fuck you some more until you are so tired you can’t even walk, maybe I need to bite you so hard you aren’t nothing but my chew-toy for a while…”

You continued the slow thrust accompanied with filthy promises and the constant movement of your hand, the combination of stimuli must have been too much for him because he screamed once again and you felt his dick twitch uncontrollably against your hand, but no come came out.

“Did you just have a dry orgasm?” You asked, mesmerized by the new knowledge. He nodded and you stopped your movements, making him whimper and fall to the ground completely, laying flat. “We will explore that later,” you sentenced as you laid next to him on the grass, his big body coming around you instantly, cradling you against his warm chest.

“Later,” he mumbled against your neck as he fell asleep.

Guess your birthday present was better than he expected… for both of you.

[sergeantxrogers]

Can you please write something with the idea of y/n asking Bucky if she can tie a pink ribbon around his bicep? Thank you

Request: "Can you please write something with the idea of y/n asking Bucky if she can tie a pink ribbon around his bicep? Thank you"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none, just fluff

Note: hooooly shit guys, i've been gone for way too long. hope you enjoy <3

_____

The jingle of keys in the doorknob had you lifting your eyes from your book, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing softly. The quiet whispers of a jacket being taken off, laces being untied, keys being set on the small table beside the door travelled through the apartment, meeting your ears and bringing a smile to your face.

Soft footsteps padded against the hardwood floor, careful to avoid any creaky spots.

"I'm awake, Buck," you called out softly from the comfort of your bed, and you heard him pause his movements. And then continue, a bit quicker than before.

Brown hair and blue eyes popped around the the edge of the door frame, brows furrowed. "It's midnight. Why are you still awake?"

You shrugged, sitting up in bed and setting your book aside. "Dunno, really. Got caught up reading."

Bucky frowned, and stepped into the room, walking over to the bed. "You can't sleep?"

It was a casual question, but you sensed the undertone of worry laced through it, and smiled to yourself.

"Actually, I spent most of the evening redecorating, so I'll probably start snoring as soon as the lights are off."

Bucky's hands reached for yours, grabbing them and bringing them up to his lips as he stood in front of you. One, two, three kisses along your knuckles. One hand, then the other.

"Redecorating?" he murmured against your skin, and you nodded slyly. His eyes narrowed, partially in amusement, partially in curiosity.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hands back, settling yourself back into the fluffy down of your pillows and blankets. "How was work today?"

At your question, Bucky's jaw ticked.

"It was fine."

You studied him for a few seconds, and cocked your head. "Just fine?"

He let out a heavy sigh, then collapsed atop the comforter at the foot of the bed. On nights like this, when he came home later than usual, the tension in his shoulders a bit more prominent than usual, the bags under his eyes a bit heavier, he found it hard to form sentences adequate enough to explain how he felt or what he needed.

Ever since the government cleared him of all charges and his mandated therapy ended, Bucky had taken up a job at the DCSA.

Defense Counterintelligence and Security Agency.

On paper, James Buchanan Barnes was an ordinary, ex-military security guard working for the Department of Defense and the United States.

In reality, the executive branch of the federal government reached out to him themselves and offered him a job doing what they claimed he did best: making people disappear, and making it seem like an accident. He was hesitant at first, unwilling to be the very thing he tried so hard to run away from being, but soon enough, they had made it very clear he had limited options: accept the position, or get thrown in prison for all the charges they claimed to have dropped.

So, for all his hesitating and hatred, Bucky Barnes was the United States government's own personal hitman, killing anybody who posed a threat to the life of the president, his family, or anybody in the Senate.

At least they paid better than HYDRA, Bucky had once joked. You could see, in his eyes, how much it pained him to revert back to his old ways, once again not having a choice.

Bucky cleared his throat, and glanced at you, blinking away the shadows behind his eyes.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I promise. It could have been worse."

Your heart cracked in your chest and you frowned, burying your cheek even deeper into your pillow as you looked at him. "If you say so."

Bucky pursed his lips to the side, then looked toward the door connecting your bedroom to the bathroom. Without a word, he got up, walking towards the bathroom and simultaneously pulling his shirt over his head. You smiled to yourself as you watched him disappear behind the door, flicking the lights on and letting the soft, yellow glow flood the floor of your room. You listened to him shuffle about, letting out a soft sigh as he unbuckled his belt.

His movements paused.

Your smile grew.

"Y/N?" he called out.

"Yes, babe?"

The door creaked open all the way, and behind it stood Bucky, holding his toothbrush in one hand, with a confused look on his face.

"Why is there a pink bow on my toothbrush?"

It took all your strength not to burst into a fit of giggles immediately as you schooled your face into one of nonchalance, and said, "I told you. I redecorated."

Bucky's bewildered eyes flickered from you, to the toothbrush, then back to you. Then he turned to look at the bathroom. And you saw the exact moment in which he realized there were pink bows everywhere. Big, small, light pink, dark pink, neon pink, cotton, silk, linen. A variety of ribbons tied in bows around everything you could think of: toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo bottles, the soap dispenser, the toilet brush, the towel rack, your skincare bottles, his deodorant and cologne.

"Y/N," Bucky said calmly.

"Yes?" you replied, batting your eyelashes innocently.

"Can you please tell me, why, exactly, you decided on redecorating with pink bows everywhere?"

You hummed, then shrugged. "You know, I'm not exactly sure. I just think they make pretty things look so much prettier. I may have gone a bit overboard, though."

"You think?"

You bit back a grin as you watched him shake his head, as if to snap him from his stupor of amusement, and bend over the sink to brush his teeth. You watched him brush his teeth, wash his face, change out of his jeans and into pajama pants. You tracked him as he turned the lights off and sighed, trudging over to the bed, exhaustion creeping into every one of his movements and pulling at him like gravity. You opened your arms wide, lifting the covers as you did so, and Bucky gladly crawled into them, nuzzling his head into your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist and back.

You placed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, and let your arms come loosely around his neck. Bucky said nothing, content to lay in silence and listen to the beat of your heart as it lulled him to sleep.

After a few minutes of you silently running your fingers through his hair, you whispered his name. "Bucky?"

He hummed in answer against your chest.

"You know how I said pink bows make pretty things even prettier?"

You felt, rather than saw, his body pause at the question, and then his head was up and his blue eyes were staring into yours with a puzzled expression. "Yes... why? What's that have to do with anything?"

"Well..."

You paused. All of a sudden, you felt stupid. Bucky's furrowed brows and sleepy eyes urged you to continue.

"I have a pink ribbon under the pillow, actually, and I was... I wanted to..."

"What, honey?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could tie it around your arm."

Bucky paused, blinking up at you slowly, as if he hadn't heard you.

"My arm?"

You nodded.

"Why?"

You shrugged. "Because it's already beautiful, and I want to make it even more so."

He laid there quiet for a moment, and you were about to tell him to forget about it, but then he unwrapped his arms from around you, letting you drop flat onto your back, and shoved a hand beneath your head. Beneath your pillow.

He emerged with a baby pink ribbon in his fingers, the material pliable and soft in his grip, as he handed it to you.

"Go ahead," he said simply.

You gave him a skeptical look. "Really?"

He shrugged with one shoulder. "Why not? Did you think I'd say no?"

You fell quiet, then let out a sigh through your nose, turning over slightly to better reach his arm. His left arm.

You wrapped the ribbon around his bicep, the vibranium cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warm pink silk in your fingers. You looped it through, pulling it taut, then let go. You stared at it for a second, then glanced up at Bucky. Leaning in, you pressed a light kiss to the exposed metal right above the bow.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, then laid down again, this time face to face with you. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns against the skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you closed your eyes against the feeling.

"I love you so much," he muttered quietly. "You know that, right?"

You nodded, eyes closed and a smile playing at your lips. "I know. I love you, too. Every part of you."

Bucky loosed a breath that sounded somewhat like a disbelieving breath, and you felt him lean in and press a kiss to your temple.

You fell asleep without even realizing, lulled into dreams by the steady thrum of his heartbeat and his hand stroking your hair.

[juletheghoul]

Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!

okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷

(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)

Lets get into it:

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)

word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)

---

He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.

It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.

Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.

It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.

Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.

He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.

He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.

Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.

"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.

"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"

"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."

Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.

The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.

"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.

"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.

"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.

"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.

Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.

"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.

You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.

"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.

"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.

Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.

"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.

His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.

"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.

"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.

Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.

"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.

"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.

"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.

"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.

He nods and you smile.

-

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