#i want to tear out her throat with my bare teeth

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

I'm wild about this fic!! The tension, the angst, the way I want to bite her!! (Or have her bite me, I'm not picky) I'm actually so down bad for Jay Todd and OP is feeding us sooo well with this fic! I talk about my fav parts below the cut:

It's her eyes you recognize first, oddly enough, through her cracked helmet. You shouldn't recognize her at all, with how everything about her has changed. Even the way she looks at you is different. You've never seen Jay Todd so ferocious.

FERAL!! insane opener. Like yesss her eyes. A girl could get lost in them and the sigh I just let out was so dreamy fr

Okay, you lied. This wasn't an accident. This was fate that you played a hand in. This was what was bound to happen after Jay got too close, let herself get seen. You've had an itch for months, eyes on your back. You're a civilian now, sure, but you loved a bat once.

On my knees! Especially that last line, you loved a bat, and even if you aren't part of their world anymore, you know enough to remember what it felt like. And the reader hunting Jay down to see her again?? She's so me. As if I would be okay with fumbling such a baddie after everything we've been through

Jay drops her gun, grabs your wrists, and knocks the wind out of you in a graceful takedown. You can't even be mad.

giggling and batting my eyes

When she was Robin, you had a slim chance of physically overtaking her. Now, double in size and muscle, Jay keeps you pushed to the ground with no chance of getting free. Her hands hold you by your wrists, body hovering close so you can't move much.

GIGGLING AND BATTING MY EYES. Just give me a chance!! ah, this whole paragraph has me glued to my screen. I might have stopped breathing. There's so much tension because of what they were and what happened and what they could be. Ahh!

"Jay," you say softly, unable to keep your eyes fixed on one part of her. You're afraid to blink and make her disappear.

owwww

"You're a good shot." You mean it as a compliment. Jay only seems to get angrier.

Reader is whipped and that is an accurate representation of me. Got me over here starry eyed and kicking my feet

"Stop talking like that!" she yells, tears in her eyes. "Stop talking like we're friends. We aren't friends. You don't know me!" "But I do," you say, limp beneath her, like a lamb caught in a wolf's bite. "Jay, I do."

UGh this is so visceral. Like there's the joy of seeing her again, being near her. And then there's the crushing hurt of why she's been gone for so long. Why there's the smell of iron in the air and she's yelling at you and trying to push you away.

Jay's mouth quivers as she bares her teeth. "I took you to that diner. It was mine first." "It never stopped being yours," you say quietly.

oooh! I gasped over this reveal

"You're fuckin' deluded," she says, eyes glassy with tears. "Fuckin'—sleep so heavy, like I can't slip in and smother you. No one would know. Make tea in your-your robe, don't even pull the curtains shut. I can see you. Anyone can."

!! wow. I don't have words but I do know that I covered my mouth with my hand when I read this.

"I missed you, Jay," you say, a heart-shaped lump in your throat. "And so what?" she asks, tears falling down her cheeks. "So fuckin' what if you missed me? You kept living."

Sobbing over them

Jay is perfectly still for several moments. Then she wraps two big hands around your ribs, pulls your shoulders forward like nothing, and rests her cheek on your chest.

We all need hugs after this one fr. Seriously, it was good!! The hurt HURT and I actually went crazy over Jay. 💙💙💙

Femjay you say 👀 how about the classic "you're alive?!" confrontation with a sprinkle of pining

sprinkle of pining you say-oh dear! i've dumped the whole bag in! along with a jar of erotic violence! whoopsies...

female!jason todd x afab!reader. violence, angy jay, reader being held down, crying, reunion. remember that girl best friend you had highkey lesbian tension with? yeah.

****

It's her eyes you recognize first, oddly enough, through her cracked helmet. You shouldn't recognize her at all, with how everything about her has changed. Even the way she looks at you is different. You've never seen Jay Todd so ferocious.

"You weren't supposed to be here!" she screams.

It's true, you weren't. You stumbled across your dead best friend by accident, found her hissing and vicious with a shattered helmet and a smoking gun. Four dead men surround her.

"Get out."

All you can do is stare. She's alive. She's back. She's yours.

"Jay..."

Okay, you lied. This wasn't an accident. This was fate that you played a hand in. This was what was bound to happen after Jay got too close, let herself get seen. You've had an itch for months, eyes on your back. You're a civilian now, sure, but you loved a bat once.

She pries off her helmet and your breath hitches. God, she's beautiful.

"What is wrong with you? You could've fuckin' gotten shot."

Your legs start moving. Your arms part. You expect the feel of a soft cape between your fingers, black curls to tickle your chin due to a height difference you never let her forget.

Jay drops her gun, grabs your wrists, and knocks the wind out of you in a graceful takedown. You can't even be mad.

"You're alive," you choke out.

When she was Robin, you had a slim chance of physically overtaking her. Now, double in size and muscle, Jay keeps you pushed to the ground with no chance of getting free. Her hands hold you by your wrists, body hovering close so you can't move much.

Her eyes are wild. A mix of blue and green. More green than you remember. Her irises have swallowed her pupils and her curls are knotted and frizzy. You feel inexplicably hunted.

"How dare you?" she spits. "How fuckin' dare you come here?"

"Jay," you say softly, unable to keep your eyes fixed on one part of her. You're afraid to blink and make her disappear.

"I could've shot you," she says. "You could be dead right now."

"You're a good shot."

You mean it as a compliment. Jay only seems to get angrier.

"I have to be. I'm the only one keeping myself alive," she says. You make a weak noise in your throat.

"I should've looked for you," you say.

She scoffs. "Don't say stupid shit. You're smarter than that."

"I should've," you insist. "I should've found you. I felt you."

"Yeah? Feel how I could tear you apart? It comes so easy now, you have no idea. 'M fuckin' soaked with blood."

You stay silent. Jay's eyes flash. She leans in, breath hot on your ear.

"Are you scared?" she asks like she knows the answer.

But she doesn't.

Your legs part further so she can kneel comfortably. You shake your head.

Jay snarls. "You should be. I've killed people. I'll keep killing."

"It's okay," you say. "You're angry. It's okay to be angry. I don't blame you. No one does."

"Stop talking like that!" she yells, tears in her eyes. "Stop talking like we're friends. We aren't friends. You don't know me!"

"But I do," you say, limp beneath her, like a lamb caught in a wolf's bite. "Jay, I do."

"No, you don't," she snaps. Her voice is mocking, brittle. "You know your fancy publishing job in a big shiny office, away from this shithole, and-and fuckin' Paul from Marketing who brings you banana pancakes from the diner."

Your breath comes out in a careful exhale. "You've been keeping tabs on me. How long have you been back?"

Jay's mouth quivers as she bares her teeth. "I took you to that diner. It was mine first."

"It never stopped being yours," you say quietly.

"You—" Jay growls in frustration. Her hands squeeze your wrists. "This isn't how it's s'posed to go. Hate me, hate me. I'm a monster."

"You're not."

"You're fuckin' deluded," she says, eyes glassy with tears. "Fuckin'—sleep so heavy, like I can't slip in and smother you. No one would know. Make tea in your-your robe, don't even pull the curtains shut. I can see you. Anyone can."

"I missed you, Jay," you say, a heart-shaped lump in your throat.

"And so what?" she asks, tears falling down her cheeks. "So fuckin' what if you missed me? You kept living."

You try to pull your hand free, and to your surprise, you do. Jay lets you slip out of her grip. You use your free hand to hold her scarred cheek, wipe her tears with your thumb.

Jay is perfectly still for several moments. Then she wraps two big hands around your ribs, pulls your shoulders forward like nothing, and rests her cheek on your chest. She shakes into your skin, kneeling between your legs.

You hug her head, smell her new-old smell, and let her curls tickle your chin once again.

[pinkydevil16]

Stepfather Daemon Targaryen smuttt pleaseeee!!!!!

Stepfather Daemon Targaryen x Reader

i do apologise for how dark this got as i don't think that's exactly what you wanted!

TW 18+ dark themes, non con, loss of virginity, blood, threats of violence, manipulation TW do not read if it will upset you

Y/n tried to push down her hatred for the man marrying her mother, her eyebrow twitching as he looked past his bride to stare at Y/n. His eyes not leaving her own as he kissed her making Y/n sneer at him before hiding her face. 

She pitied her mother, feeling so inlove with the man before her and yet Y/n knew exactly what the Prince was like. A man child.

Someone who threw his toys out the pram when he didn't get his way, and that was exactly what this was. 

Him getting his toys back. 

Y/n held her dress up as she walked out the banquet hall, sick and tired of the charade and wishing to be alone in her chambers. A sword coming infront of her as she froze, the heat of his breathe against her neck as Daemon circled her until his sword was facing the ground and his smirking face was in it's place.

"Y/n." 

"Daemon." Y/n spat as she sneered at him, her fists clenching her dress tightly until her fingers ached.

"Why are you leaving the festivities? You haven't even seen the bedding ceremony." Daemon's eyes were dark, his hair cut shorter after battle as Y/n glared at him and scoffed.

"I do not wish to see such an atrocity or i fear my eyes will melt from my sockets." Y/n practically spat out the last words as she moved to the side ready to pass him but his arm was quick to slip around her waist and force her against the wall, his body caging her in. Her face full of thunder and eyes stormy as his hand pushed her hair out her eyes.

"You should not speak so callously to me or i might have to punish you." Y/n pulled her head away from his hand and grit her teeth as he relished in her hatred.

"You are a despicable animal unable capable of any emotion but jealousy. Do you honestly not have anything else in your life but the urge to torment me?" His hand was quick to grip her chin before moving down to her throat and yanking her forward, forcing her to look up and into his eyes as he grinned sinfully. 

"I could show you a true animal. Perhaps after your mother is asleep i will creep into your chambers and fuck you until you understand who you belong to." Y/n's hands grasped him, trying to dig her nails in but as she felt the warm liquid spill onto her fingertips without a single twitch she knew he would have to let her go to be free.

"I suggest your next words are ones of affection and not an attempt to scare me off." Daemon tilted his head as he squeezed his hand tighter, watching her face become red and her nails scrape desperately to get him off.

"T-that would be lovely Daemon." As she spoke his grip loosened until he barely held her throat, running his thumb up and down the column of her throat with a sweet smile.

"I expect you to be ready for me then." Daemon let her go fully as Y/n held her throat and glared at his figure walking back to the hall, tears in her eyes as she tried not to show how fearful she was. 

Y/n slammed her hands on her bed as she squeezed her eyes closed and tried not to break down, her handmaid untying the laces of her corset as Y/n opened her eyes and stared out the window.

"My lady is everything alright?" Y/n just nodded as she fisted the sheet and grunted at the corset releasing her chest and waist, taking a deep breath before standing allowing the red dress to fall to the ground. 

"I am exhausted Marie, please leave me." 

"But My Lady your hair-" 

"I will be fine." Y/n snapped back as she grabbed a hairpin pulling it from her hair as she tried to undo the intricate bun, the pin stabbing into her hand as she yelped and looked down. Fresh crimson burst from the soft skin on her palm making her eyes widen before she smirked.

Daemon smirked to himself as he wandered the halls of the grand castle, a pep in his step that would look unnatural to those who knew him. Rounding the corner his smirk become wolf-like as her door laid ajar, candle light bleeding through the doorway as he creeped closer. His hand on the heavy wood as he pushed it open, the burning flame in the corner flickering as he entered, his eyes focused instantly on his prize. 

The door closed quietly as Y/n remained where she stood, her hands on the back of the tall chair covering her night dress, one hand tightened around a hair pin whilst the other gripped the fabric. Her eyes icy and accusing as Daemon stepped closer, the candle light glowing against the red fabric that covered his torso, his hand moving quickly and pushing his white hair back.

"You look ravishing." Daemon's words made her lips curl up into a snarl as he approached, her hand on the chair keeping it between them until he was only a foot away with the chair protecting her. Daemon letting out a small laugh as he looked at the chair and back to her eyes, silently mocking her.

"Do you wish to play this game because i am not above dragging you to the ground. Or would you prefer the soft bed?" Y/n glared at him as she kept her eyes on him, his hand now carelessly pointed at her bed, the same bed she had had since a child that felt so safe and comforting to her. He wished to steal that from her, to make her feel alone and helpless. 

"Do not touch me you insipid wretch." Y/n spat the words as she watched Daemon's face drop, the smirk he held now turned into a sneer as he grabbed the chair, forcing it out her hands and shoving it across the flooring with a horrid squeak. Y/n's eyes widening as she slammed a hand against his shoulder, her other gripping the hair pin as she brought it down on his chest, panic filling her eyes as she heard it pierce the skin. 

And yet he did not move, a small grunt escaped his lips and as she looked at him she felt fear course through her veins, could feel the ice cold run down her torso and seize her heart.  "That was not very nice Y/n." His voice was too deep, too calculated and far too terrifying for Y/n to be able to do anything as his hand clamped down her own and yanked the hairpin from his chest. Squeezing her hand until she cried out and dropped the hair pin, her knuckles cracking and fingers aching as he glared down at her.

"Stop." She could feel red hot tears flow from her eyes as she begged, her other hand on his shoulder keeping her steady as she watched him squeeze her hand to the brink of breaking. His eyes sizing her up before throwing her hand from his, grabbing her throat within the second and tilting her head to meet his own.

"You are testing my patience." Daemon's words were pushed through gritted teeth as he walked Y/n backwards, her hands reaching out for anything. Daemon pushed her harshly backwards, her throat burning as she coughed and spluttered, her body landing like a log on the bed. Scrambling to move as she clawed at the bedding, barely on her knees when his hand grabbed the back of her night dress yanking her backwards as she cried out. Her hands gripping the bedding as he forced her to kneel, his front against her back as his hand travelled up and tangled in her hair. His fingertips gripping the roots making her yelp in pain and clutch his hand, her elbows pointed upwards and back arched to alleviate the pressure on her skull. 

"I went through too much trouble and killed far too many pathetic men for you to be such a brat." His voice echoed in her skull as he yanked on her hair to show his point, his lips next to her ear as he laid a kiss beneath it, a moan escaping his lips at the feel of her skin.

"Now, apologise." His words punctuated by a bite on her neck and his nails scraping her head. Y/n trembled as she squeezed her eyes closed in pain and gasped at his teeth marring her skin.

"No...leave me be." Y/n tried to find her voice but it came out hoarse with her vocal cords rumbling from the bruise forming across her skin. Daemon chuckled darkly against her neck, his other hand sliding around her waist and up her sternum, her own hand rushing to his. Her eyes open and staring at the ceiling as tears welled in her eyes, one hand gripping his own in her hair whilst the other tried to push his hand away from her breasts but she could not stop him. His hand roughly gripped her right breast, the thin fabric of her night gown, her legs shaking from holding herself up as her body went into shock. His calloused hand squeezed and pressing against her breast and she whimpered in pain, his head pressed into the crook of her neck.

"I am going to give you until the count of three to say sorry before i punish you." 

"One." His fingers twisted her nipple and his had dug into her breast, mouth open and teeth ripping at the skin of her neck as he bit down. Y/n crying out as her head was pulled back to make her stare directly above her. 

"Two." Her night dress ripped as his hand yanked down, fresh tears running down her face, dripping from her chin and onto her bare chest as he dragged his hand down further until her dress hung off her shoulders and pooled around her thighs. Her legs spread as she tried to change her position but she had no advantage, his hand making goosebumps arise on her skin as he passed her cunt and gripped her inner thigh with a bruising grasp. His mouth trailing down her arm as her hand gripped his wrist to try to pull him away. Her mouth hung open and panting as his hand pulled her head further back, her throat stretching and the skin burning with pain. 

"Last chance." His voice sounded far away as Y/n cried harder, trying to shake her head but the grip on her hair was brutal.

"Fuck you." Her voice broke as she continued crying, refusing to submit to him. Daemon smirking against her arm as he bit down, feeling his teeth pierce her skin and sweet blood to prick to the surface and onto his tongue.

"Three." His voice was muffled by her skin as his hand rushed up her thigh and two fingers thrust into her cunt, a loud scream coming from her mouth before his hand left her hair and clamped down on her lips, sobs wracking her body as he curled his fingers and brutally pulled them out. Laughing as he looked at his fingers, sitting up and putting them near her eyes as he watched her tears soak his hand.

"Look at that. I said Look!" Daemon screamed in Y/n's ears as she tried to look away, his grip on her face bordering on breaking her jaw as he pulled her face back, Y/n's eyes wide open and blown out from pure terror.

"Good girl." Y/n cried harder at his praise, despising how he spoke so softly.

"That is what determines your worth, and now. Now you are worthless, nothing but a burden to this family a hole for anyone to take." Y/n sobbed against his hand as he moved his fingers, the blood coating it moving around as he ran his thumb over his forefinger. Her hand raising and trying to push the bloodied hand away. Daemon grabbing her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, hearing it crack as she screamed against his hand, his fingers coated in her tears and spit as she panted in pain.

"All because you don't have a cock." Her hand pressed against his as he wrapped his hand fully around her own and gripped his cock, a deep moan coming from the back of his throat as he closed his eyes. Y/n shaking as she tried to pull her hand away, feeling blood trickle from her cunt as waves of pain lapped at her body. Daemon opened his eyes with a sigh and released her hand, pressing his hand to her back as he removed the hand on her face her body falling forward as she clutched at her bedding and buried her face against it. 

"You cry an awful lot for someone who stabbed me. Did you not think i would do anything to harm you?" Daemon mocked Y/n, a chuckle coming from his chest as he watched her curl into herself, her hand shaking as she shook her head and cried into the sheets. 

"Turn on your back and show me your cunt and i might make it feel better." Y/n continued shaking her head as she shook, her whole body urging her to run away but she was stuck, unable to even speak as she heard Daemon tut. Hands gripping her hips and throwing her onto her back as she cried out, gripping her sheets as he wrestled with her. Her hands wildly flying out to try to get him away, nails scratching at anything she could get to. 

"Seems my little step-daughter enjoys it. Well then, i guess i will do as you please." His hands wrapped around her wrists and roughly shoved them onto the bed, her body contorting and wiggling to try to free herself as she thrashed against him. Daemon rolled his eyes as he pinned her down, fighting with her hands until he had them both in one and grabbed her jaw, focusing her back on him.

"My patience is running thin and very soon i will simply cut you open and take what i want anyway." Y/n whimpered as he stared down at her.

"Do you understand?" Y/n nodded as Daemon smiled at her.

"Good. Now open your legs like a good girl for me." Y/n felt tears fall from her eyes as she slowly opened her legs, Daemon dropping his eyes and groaning before meeting her eyes.

"I am going to let you go and if you so much as twitch to get away from me. I will snap your neck." Y/n nodded quickly, Daemon smirking as he removed his hand and watched her closely before letting out a sigh and leaning down to kiss her forehead. Y/n trying her hardest not to flinch away and scream for help but the grip on her wrists told her she was in no position to behave against him. Daemon sat back as he slowly loosened his grip on her wrist and laid his hands on her hips, Y/n watching him with caution as he looked away from her face dropped his eyes to her cunt. His eyes almost sparkling as he ran his hands down her hips and to her thighs, gripping them as he forced them upwards until her thighs touched her chest and stomach. Y/n whimpering in pain and closing her eyes as she felt his eyes taking in every detail of her most private and concealed area. Daemon snapped his eyes up to her.

"Hold your legs, if you let go i will break your fingers." Y/n jolted and gripped the back of her knees, her body curling in on itself to keep her grip as he grinned and ran his hands along the back of her thighs as she quivered. 

"I have imagined this for months since i saw you at the banquet. If you had of just been a good girl then i would not have to go to such lengths. But now i have you all to myself. Whenever i want." As he spoke his fingers ran through her folds, the blood collecting on his fingers as he used it to push his fingers inside her cunt, Y/n yelping in pain as he gave her a pitiful look.

"You did this to yourself. Remember that." Y/n cried harder, her eyes blood red and cheeks stained with tears as she felt his fingers go deeper, twisting and playing with her insides as he looked back at her cunt. His fingers working inside her as she cried, hands shaking and clutching onto the back of her knees for dear life whilst Daemon released his trousers. The sound of the fabric hitting the ground made Y/n sob harder, her nails digging into the back of her legs until she felt blood trickle down her fingers, Daemon staring at her as he ran his hand along his cock.

"Since you are being such a good girl i will help you." His voice was that of a parent speaking down to their toddler, condescending and mean as he leaned over and spat on her cunt. The action washing more shame over Y/n as she closed her eyes and wished for it to be over, every movement of his hand making her twitch and want to close her legs. Daemon swiped his thumb across her cunt, pushing his spit around his clit until he felt her cunt loosen enough that he could thrust his fingers in and out with ease. Y/n shook as she felt sharp bursts of pain and pleasure run up her stomach, her nipples hardening as she willed any sort of feeling to leave. She wanted to be numb, to not feel anything but hatred. Every movement of his fingers made her despise her body as she heard them moving in and out, disgust washing over her as Daemon chuckled. 

"Look at me when i take you." Her eyes opened revealing glassy blood shot eyes, no tears able to come out as she watched in horror as he lined himself up. His hands on the back of her thighs as he leaned over her, her eyes widening as he thrust in and forced his lips onto hers. Kissing her harshly, teeth gnashing together and cock splitting her open. The pain making her cry out and open her mouth, his tongue eagerly entering as he explored both her holes. Her cunt squeezing him, trying to push him out hopelessly as he pulled out and slammed back in. His balls slamming against her as his hands gripped the back of her thighs, pulling her onto his cock with every thrust. His mouth stealing her breath and holding her hostage as he savoured every inch of her body. 

"Fuck this was worth the wait." Daemon moaned against her mouth as Y/n clenched her eyes shut, his breath mingling with her own as she panted in pain. His chest rising and falling, pushing himself upwards with her thighs making her whimper in pain as it stretched her cunt further for him, his head falling back as he growled out and slammed harder into her. A squeal escaping her throat as the grip on her leg wavered, his hands pushing higher until he gripped the back of her knees. Shoving them upwards before travelling towards her ankles, throwing them over his shoulder forcing her hips to raise off the bed every time he pulled out only to be roughly forced back onto the bed with a thrust. His hands wrapped around her ankles, dragging her onto his cock as his whole body rocked with his hips, eyes closed as his moans became louder and each thrust was meaner, deeper and pointed. Y/n placed her hands over her face, sobs falling from her lips as her body jolted and jiggled with each sob. Daemon's eyes shot open as he suddenly came, a gasp escaping his mouth as he stilled, cock half inside her cunt as he barely let out a breath. His eyes wide and chest puffing in and out with each intake. His eyes head slowly dropping to look at Y/n as she stared at him in horror, his eyes moving down to her cunt as he pulled out, shock in his face before he let go of her ankles. Hands coming to his hair as he let out a loud laugh, a genuine joyous laugh, his body moving with each one and allowing his soft cock to slip from her folds. His eyes still on her cunt before he moved to look at her with a fondness that made Y/n want to throw up. 

"You...are something else." His head shook as he leaned down, Y/n flinching as she expected pain for interrupting him not understanding what had happened, a yelp of shock escaping her as his hands came and scooped his cum from her cunt. Her eyes wide and body curled in on itself as he leaned over her, his fingers lingering in front of her lips with a pointed look that made her open her mouth. His fingers thrusting in and making her gag on the salty flavour as he ran his fingers across her tongue and cheeks, watching as he pulled his fingers free, clean. 

"I was planning on cumming in your pretty little mouth but if you are so desperate to be my breeding bitch then i will only cum in your cunt." His hand came down and slapped her cunt, sending a jolt of electricity through her body before he stood straight and grinned down at her.

"Clean yourself up and do not let your mother see the bruises or i will kill her. You are mine." His trousers were pulled up quick as he walked out, leaving her alone on the bed crying. 

Y/n stared at the bed, a knife in her hand as fresh tears flowed down her face, the blood and cum mixed together making her scream out. Plunging the knife into the bed over and over until her sheets were torn to shreds, feathers and fabric destroyed and covering the floor as she collapsed in a ball. 

[simp4mothman]

Among us twerk compilation

[thrasherella]

Going from a human boyfriend that only eats you out out of obligation and isn’t really into it to a Werewolf Boyfriend who gets so excited about being able to eat you out that he’ll go for hours if you let him and he’s rock hard the entire time.

Yes, he wants to fuck you of course, but you taste so fucking sweet it’s hard to tear himself away.

...

"Wait!" she cried out, panting as she tried to catch her breath, face incredibly hot as a telltale crimson flush overtook her cheeks. He paused, looking up at her from between her thighs, the way he was making those puppy dog eyes at her driving her crazy. "I..." she hesitated, biting at her lower lip softly and breaking their eye contact; oh Christ this is so embarrassing...

"My last boyfriend, aahhh...heeee said that I, um, I don't taste good--" she could feel her voice staring to get choked up in her throat as the tears welled and threatened to spill down her cheeks, but before she could say another word his mouth was on her, and she gasped sharply, head falling back as his tongue drove straight into her soft walls, lapping at the arousal already dripping from her.

"What a fucking loser," he muttered into her, his hot breath causing her to shiver. "You taste like a piece of fucking candy...so sweet..." he gave a long, low moan as his tongue returned to her tight cunt, his cock swollen and dripping, begging for his attention, but he ignored his own needs for now. There would be plenty of time to stretch this pretty pink hole around his dick later; right now there was a feast to be had...

Her mind turned to static as he made out with her pussy, a symphony of ambrosial tones cascading from her lips; it was music to his ears. She hadn't known that this could feel so good, her blood running molten hot as his tongue plundered and tasted her relentlessly, pushing so deep he bumped up against her cervix, making her gasp and twitch; sharp teeth occasionally raking against her sensitive clit, her hips rolling and bucking as she squirmed beneath him deliciously. Chris had only ever put in the minimal effort when it came to eating her, acting like it was such a bothersome chore; this was like being worshipped, his lips taking full advantage of her, tongue filling her completely, those sharp, dangerous teeth testing her skin gently, lightning dancing along her spine as he threatened to break her skin but never did. She hoped she would bare his bruises tomorrow...

He let out little whimpers and groans that only fueled the wildfire that was raging out of control within her core, sucking her soft skin delicately, growling and grinding himself into the mattress in wonderfully agonizing anticipation.

He made her cum so many times she couldn't keep count; clawed fingers of one hand rubbing her swollen and throbbing clit until she was practically screaming, the other hand reaching up to tease and pinch her hardened nipples. She was unable to think as she came over and over against his mouth, onto his hand, soaking his face and the bedsheets with her sweet juices.

He desperately tried to lap up every last drop...

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought—focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo��s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow—without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods—you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

[seresinhangmanjake]

Don't Touch What’s His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad.

Notes/Warnings: mention of blood and mutilation, inflicted wounds, and possessiveness. Related to the fic titled His, but this can be read alone. Typos (just being real)

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re screaming for him before you’re even fully awake, shrieking his name before you can begin to grasp what’s happening to you. All you know is that you’re no longer warm, no longer safe as you’re yanked from his arms and dragged to the bottom edge of the bed. Claws are digging into your calf as primal grumbles and growls and the distinct sound of lips smacking in anticipation reach your ears. Your body is being pulled further and further away, and no pawing at the sheets helps to keep you on the mattress.

Another plea for him is on the tip of your tongue, but then a hand wraps around your arm, engaging in a tug-of-war with whatever monster has a hold on you. Scrapes make lines down your leg as you dig your heels into the bed and back yourself away from the clawed being. You take a few deep breaths and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I told you she’s off limits!” Feyd shouts in a terrifying tone. A tone most commonly reserved for those who inconvenience him: servants and prisoners and his brother. It’s not his low timbre; it’s much more powerful. So powerful that you half-expect a crack to split open the floor.

You blink again and crane your neck to peer over the foot of the bed at who he scolds. Feyd’s harpies are on their hands and knees, staring a hole into your head. It’s a daring choice. When Feyd speaks, those around must be attentive with eyes and ears, but the harpies don’t so much as glance in his direction. They’re here for you, they want you, and clearly nothing else.

“But she looks so yummy,” one of them says, a pout forming on her lips.

“And she smells even better,” the second adds. Her tongue swipes over a sharpened fang.

All three of them begin to crawl across the floor until they’re at your side of the bed. Feyd’s fingers tighten around your arm, his eyes narrowing, and you lean back against his chest just in case they get the idea to lunge at you.

“We won’t eat very much of her,” the third purrs as her hand slithers over the silky sheets, inching toward your body. “Just a few little bites. Plenty left over for our lord na-baron to enjoy.”

When her pointed nails graze your ankle, Feyd leans around you, grabs her wrist, and sharply twists until there's a snap. She yelps. Your body jolts. Tears build in the corners of her eyes. Your jaw drops.

Immediately, they appear to sober up. Their hunger, if still there, doesn’t lust for you so intensely now that fear has taken over.

“You will not sink your filthy fangs into her,” Feyd spits, baring his teeth. “She’s mine. Her flesh, her blood, all of her—mine.” The other two harpies shrink and skitter away from their injured sister. “If I wanted to share, I would have.”

Feyd releases his harpy. She cradles her broken wrist, whimpers emitting from her throat as she scoots back to join the others. They feel safer in a pack. Though you don’t think that will aid them in this case.

“W-We just thought she wouldn’t matter to you,” one of them mutters, her chin tucked to her chest. “We thought you could find another plaything.”

Feyd’s face darkens. The icy blue of his glare wavers under the force of a burning red. As he moves to stand, he jerks you to his side of the bed, separating you from the beastly women by a few more feet.

“What did you just say to me?” he grits out, rounding the mattress and stopping in front of them.

The harpies glance at each other in panic before looking back at their master. “W-We didn't mean–”

“It appears I’ve treated you too well,” he says decisively. “If you’re bold enough to defy my orders, then perhaps you need to be reminded of your place.”

You gulp. You’ve heard that tone. You’ve heard those words. But you have a feeling Feyd’s threats toward his harpies are not as empty as the ones he throws at you, and it makes your stomach squeeze.

Your presence in Giedi Prime’s fortress being the indirect cause of their harm is nothing less than unjust. It’s not their fault their master brought fresh meat home. They cannot control what they are, and Feyd routinely encourages their behavior, excluding only you from the list of bodies they are allowed to feast upon. If anything, this is his fault.

“Get up!” he shouts, and they scramble to their feet.

You rise up on your knees as he turns and yanks open the bedroom door. “Feyd, wait, you don’t have to–”

“Stay!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you.

Your mouth snaps shut and you sit, watching as his harpies obediently follow him out the door. Within the minute, you hear the screams and squeals of pain, and you wince, pressing your hands over your ears.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position. It’s Feyd’s touch that jolts you back into the present.

You look up.

Red is speckled across his torso. You feel a slickness on your face from where he is cupping your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you notice the rivers of blood running through the spaces between his fingers.

Without a word, Feyd pushes you down onto the bed, rearranges the covers so they drape appropriately across your body, and crawls under the sheets to settle in beside you.

“What did you do to them?” you ask.

His eyes are already closed by the time the question fully leaves your lips. He blows out a heavy breath through his nose and turns on his side to wrap his arm around your waist. “Removed a few fingers,” he says. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” he grumbles in demand. “Unless you’d rather I change my mind and toss you into their feeding pit…”

It's one of those empty threats, but you don’t press him further. Not for tonight. Tonight he is tired and grumpy and nothing about you pushing him will do you any good. So instead, you allow him to do as he wants. And what he wants is to tuck your head under his chin, eliminate all space between you, and hold you in a grip that is just short of suffocating.

[joelsdagger]

walk the line || one shot

masterlist | ao3

pairing: boston qz!joel x f!reader summary: you and joel have a deal: sex in exchange for supplies. no questions asked. so what happens when you do? or joel fucks you while you’re in a headlock. that’s pretty much it. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: boston qz era, undefined relationship, mentions of sexual favors, choking, rough unprotected p in v sex, dark!joel, mean!joel [in the sense that he doesn’t let her come oops :( ], dubcon [reader tries to loosen his grip], noncon [i’m putting this here just in case], no aftercare. think that’s it. word count: 1.2k

a/n: just….don’t ask. i don’t know what this is. thank you to @papurgaatika for holding a gun to my head so i would post this looking this over, love you schmooks <3 

please heed the tags. protect your peace if this isn’t for you.

He’s being rough. Rougher than the countless times he’s fucked you before. 

In the time since you and Joel started this whole arrangement, you never needed to tell him to fuck you at a blistering pace. He just did it. 

Because you and him are the same. He told you that once. He said that you and him are two sides of the same coin. Both of you are always keeping your walls up and people out. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length. It made this arrangement easy, simple. 

There was just one rule: Nothing personal. A rule you happily got on board with. Getting personal is not really your thing. You learned that it was easier to survive at the end of the world without having someone to care about. Staying detached worked for you. You didn’t care enough about Joel Miller to even bother giving him a second thought. 

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe. 

A few minutes ago, you made the mistake of doing just that. 

You got personal. Flicked open the glass casing and pushed the big red button. Nobody gets personal with Joel Miller. Most importantly, you don’t. No. Never you. And now he’s punishing you. Maybe he’s punishing himself too, because he didn’t stop you. Didn’t stop this.

He’s being brutal, intense, and mean. And usually you could handle it because, like plenty of times before, you wanted him to.

But this time, you didn’t.

Your cunt is sensitive, and it hurts; it burns more and more with every rough snap of his hips; warm liquid pricks at your eyes in discontent. Your swollen cunt betrays you, squeezes around his wide girth, and he grunts against the shell of your ear in response. You’re sure he thinks you're begging him for more. To him, the swift flutter of your cunt is a silent tell to pick up the pace. 

And he does. Relentlessly. 

With every unforgiving thrust of his hips, knocking the wind out of your lungs, and the firm hold of his forearm against your neck, compressing your throat, you were barely hanging on. Black spots spatter across your vision, and your eyes slip closed; tears of anguish streak down your cheeks.

It’s too much. You choke on a sob, and your hand comes up to his left arm, weakly tugging at it, attempting to make space between the crook of his elbow and your neck to suck in an ephemeral breath of air. 

Instead, he tightens his grip on you; his left arm pulls you into his chest, and his right hand moves heavily to the top of your head as he brutally fucks up into your throbbing hole. Your head dips back beneath his chin, and the crown of your skull stings as the plastic clip hanging out at the bottom of the valve of his gas mask digs into your scalp.

Your failure to follow his rule — his only rule — had pissed him off so immensely that he didn’t even waste a second to remove his mask.

His muffled voice cuts through the thick haze that took over your mind. “Stay,” he orders through gritted teeth, and you obey.

Because he’s teaching you a lesson.

With him, you mind your tongue.

With him, you do as you're told. 

With him, you don’t ask questions.

With him, you don’t get fucking personal. 

And with your head locked between both of his strong arms and his fat cock hammering your cunt, punching at your cervix — forcing himself in — he makes certain of that. Makes your mind go fucking blank. Because when your sloppy cunt is stuffed full of his cock, your mind goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp in his hold, you are in no position to question him. To pry. To challenge him. To fight him. A brutal, shattering reminder that Joel Miller calls the shots.

And Joel doesn’t say a word. Not this time. Not when he’s using your body as a way to cope with his anger — to get himself off. It’s all breathless groans and grunts that tell you your holes are enough to satisfy him. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if this is how he always saw you — a means to an end.

Maybe you felt the same way about him.

You don’t have time to dwell on it because then you feel it — he twitches inside your aching cunt, signaling his rapid release. He hisses as he pulls out of your wasted hole, his length bobs against the crease beneath your ass, smearing your sweaty skin with your mixed wet. His cock throbs against you as his seed spills onto your quivering legs, coating your inner thighs, and leaking onto the tattered, moth-eaten mattress. 

You whimper pathetically as his arms release you, and your shuddering form falls forward, crashing into the dusty mattress beneath you. Your chest heaves as your hand comes up to the column of your neck, your weak fingers pressing at the sharp, searing pang there. You don’t doubt your skin has already begun to smart. You cough profusely as your lungs fill with air, a humiliating attempt at catching your breath. 

Joel’s left hand comes down beside your head on the mattress, cushioning his fall as he hovers over you. He groans as his other hand replaces your cunt, and with every fast, wet pump of his fist, the pulsing tip bumps against your skin; his release now paints the small of your back.

A first. 

And in the back of your mind, you try telling yourself it’s his way of claiming you — that he still wants you after you stepped out of line. Your stomach lurches at the same time your cunt flutters at the thought. You’re not sure how you feel about it, but you do know you feel empty without him inside you. And other than what happened here, he typically makes you feel good. Leaves you satisfied before he chases his own release.

Today, he didn’t. He used your body as a means for punishment, and you let him. A penance. For crossing the line he told — you both agreed not to overstep. 

A few moments later, you’re pulling your distressed jeans over your cum-coated thighs while your glassy eyes watch Joel as he zips up his own, his eyes fixed on the molded wooden floor in front. “Joel,” your voice hoarse and raw. 

He peers up at you beneath his lashes, the sunlight clawing through the taped-up window catches on his eyes; the amber in his hazel irises glowering in the light. 

“It won’t happen again,” you whisper.

“No,” he leans forward, grabs his gas mask you didn’t notice he pulled off, and the orange pill bottle you were meant to deliver to him without sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, and he grunts while he moves to stand, “it won’t.” 

And only when his heavy footsteps fade down the dark hallway of the abandoned building on the outskirts of the QZ, leaving you alone to stare back at the pale, rotten wallpaper with a painful and pleading ache between your trembling legs, do you realize exactly why no one defies Joel fucking Miller.

[nesryn-x]

-----mdni-----

------18+-----

🩸🩸 BUTTER KNIVES🩸🩸

Human!Alastor x f!reader

blood / size kink / bitting / incorrect usage of knives / virgin reader / fucking in general / ALASTOR IS FILTHY AS HELL / porn with plot

---------

---------

Your father always disapproved of him. A girl like you should never marry such man.

"A radio host? Pumpkin, you need a man who will be able to look after you when you grow old." Your father had said to you when you had gathered all your courage at dinner table one evening.

"But... I love him father..." You mumbled quietly.

"Love? You're far too young to know what love is. And besides, didn't you see at the ball how all the girls were looking at him? I can bet, that he looks at all the girls the same." Your father continued and dabbing at his moustache with napkin, cleared his throat:

"I must head out. Moon is out tonight and it's perfect for hunting. Lads will be waiting on me by now."

"Stay safe." Your mother kissed your father on cheek and saw him off. You were left sitting alone at the table, staring at your half eaten plate.

"Dont take it so hard, petal." Your mother stood next to you and gently run her hand through your hair.

"A man I respect is keeping me away from the man that my heart yearns for..." You sighed.

"Does father want me to marry someone I do not love? I'd kill myself in such marriage, mother."

"Don't even say such thing. You know your father is only looking out for you. For your future." Your mother said, trying to calm you.

"Alastor is also looking out for me." You narrowed your eyes at mother. With a hard look down at you, your mother advised:

"I think... It would be better if you did not see him anymore. Don't make your father angry, petal."

You looked up at her, not believing what she had just said.

"What..? Mama... How could you say such thing?" Your lip started to tremble. With blurry vision you looked around the table, butter knives shining in dim light. With angry huff you tried to brush your tears away and stood up, chair falling over in process. Your mother took a step back:

"Behave now." Mother said in sharp tone. You took a quick glance at the clock on the mantle piece and then bolted for the door.

"Where are YOU going at such hour?!" Your mother grabbed your hand before you even got two steps away from table.

"Clearly away from here." You spat, not breaking eye contact.

"You will sit back down, finish your dinner and go straight to bed." Your mother stated, her grip on your arm tightening. What she didn't notice, was how your other hand sneaked behind you and blindly reached for the first thing - the glimmering butter knife.

"I will not do such thing. Now. Let. Go." You said through gritted teeth.

"That's it. You insolent daughter." Your mother's hand reached up to grab your hair, but before she could do so - you were pointing the knife at her.

With wide eyes, both of you stared at the knife that was between you two.

"Mother.... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean--"

Your mother looked up at you and in one swift motion slapped you right across your face. With a cry you clutched your cheek and finally escaped the house. Leaving your mother to seeth back at the doorstep.

Quickly running down the front stairs of the house, you bolted across the yard. Ducked through the wooden fence that held your father's horses out of mother's garden, and run bare feet in the field. Trying to put as much distance between her and yourself.

When you finally had reached the other far off side of stockyard, you felt like you could breath again. Not bothering to climb over the fence you sat in the wet dewy grass and leaned against the fence pole. Distinct sounds of hunters gunshots and hound howls echoed in the forest behind.

You looked down at your hands. Right one still clutching the butter knife. From holding it incorrectly in your hand while on the run, you had accidentally nicked your fingers. New tears gathered in your eyes and you let out pathetic whimper.

"Y/n...?" You heard steps approaching on the other side of the fence on the gravel road.

"A-Alastor?" You immediately jumped up. Switching the knife from one clammy hand to other and hiding it behind your back. Now free hand, whipped your nose and cheeks, unknowingly to you - leaving red streaks across your face.

"What has my darling doe crying?" He quickly approached the fence when he picked up on your sniffling.

"Its fine, Alastor. Just had quarrel with my mother." You tried to laugh it off.

"A bloody one, as I see." He eyed you, reaching for your cheek. You tried to step away, but his warm touch was so inviting.

"Show me your hands, love." he said. He wasn't asking.

Swallowing thickly you brought both hands in front of you. Feeling like child in trouble. Trembling, and both bloody by now.

"We were having family dinner. And my father was reminiscing on the previous ball. And asked if I fancied any men there-" Alastor eyed you sharply for a second, unknowingly to you as you kept on rambling:

"-and I said that there was a man that I have had eyes for such long time, that the other men at the ball didn't even interest me. And he asked who. I said it's you. And he said that I should look elsewhere. I stood my ground and told him I love you. And he disapproved. Then mother said I should listen to him. Then she was screaming, saying I should stop seeing you. I got angry. She grabbed me. Tried to pull my hair and I... I just -I just pulled a knife at her... And then... And now I'm here..." You ranted so quickly that now you were out of breath.

With gentle chuckle, Alastor reached for your hand that was holding the knife, his ever seeing eyes, noticing the cuts on your other palm. He slowly frapped your fingers alongside his around the hilt of the butter knife and pulled both of your hands across the fence.

"When in dire straits, slice the sinew to halt movement," he murmured, gently drawing the knife across his chest. "Stab and pivot to temporarily cease motion," he directed, gesturing towards the center of his chest.

"You're wicked, Alastor..." You mumbled looking up at him.

"And you should never shed your blood. Though I am touched by your eagerness in defending your convictions concerning me, I would prefer not to witness your blood spilled, my love."

"Even if blood is such a pretty colour on you." He continued, his eyes flickering across your face. Standing up on the first wooden beam of the fence, he now stood way taller than you. Grabbing your chin he tilted your face one way, then the other.

"Since you say I'm wicked-" he gave you a cheeky smile,

"I might be afraid that your parents are correct. You should stay away from me." He looked away from you and across the field behind you.

"But I love you, Alastor..." You whispered so quietly, afraid that he might not have heard you.

"You have brought a knife in bloody hands tonight. What an odd way of confessing one's love." He bent his head closer to your face.

"What a lovely thing you are." His voice suddenly sounded sultry. It was enough for you to stand on your tippy toes and press your lips against his.

You could feel his smile against your lips. One of his hands sneaking to hold the back of your neck and pulling you closer. When that was not enough, in swift motion his legs swung over the fence and he was right in front of you. His lips never leaving yours.

It felt so right to kiss him. To kiss him felt like finally quelling an obsession. Just to feel the painful withdrawal as soon as his lips traveled to your neck to leave love bites there. Love bites that bloomed the same way as the blood splatters on your light summer dress.

His hands traveled down your back, the butter knife still in his hand. Both of you knew that no one would come down this road at this hour, but there was urgency in your actions. Desperation, almost. Your hands traveled to the front of his shirt, to get rid of the bow tie and open couple of buttons.

"The next move shan't be quite gentlemanly of me, my doe.." he was breathing hard and put the hilt of the knife in his mouth. His tongue briefly tasted your blood on it. Alastor's hands deftly gathered the skirt part of your dress and pushed you against the fence. Then raising the fabric around your hips and bunching it to the side, he grabbed the knife and pinned your dress to the fence.

"Alastor..." Your breath caught in your throat as your lower half was exposed to the cold nights air.

"Too much?" He asked, now stepping closer as his hands worked on his belt.

He clearly did intend to fuck you here. In empty field. Against a fence. In middle of the night.

"No, just perfect, you're perfect..." you breathed, hands looping around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

"Lovely." He whispered and kissed you. His hand reaching down between your legs.

"Ah..." You moaned at the first contact.

"Needy little thing you are..." Alastor sighed against your lips, feeling the wetness between your legs.

It was the first time someone else's hands were touching you down there, besides your own. Feeling was not entirely new, but the anticipation was almost killing you. Your hand around Alastor's neck tightened, pulling him down, so you could hide your face in his shoulder. Breath heavy against his neck.

His fingers deftly slid through your slit.

"How.. many...?" Alastor implied, trying to shift his face away and look at you, making him pull his hand slightly away and his fingers circling back to your clit.

"Ah.." you gasped, not hearing his question and just trying to hide your face again.

"Sweetheart..." Alastor's hand slid from your cunt and instead dug his fingers in - right where your thigh met your pussy. This finally got your attention and your head shot up to look at him. You could almost swear that you could see your own debauched image reflecting in his glasses. He tilted his head down at you, and your reflection was gone and his warm eyes were staring right into your soul.

"How many men you have sle-" before he could ask the question you were shaking your head.

"None. No one." You said. "None has touched me this way," you looked down at his hand between your legs. His pointer finger that was closest to your pussy, slowly slid through your slit once more. Your head fell back and you stared at the sky. Stars were slowly starting to appear in the night sky.

"... except myself." You swallowed. Your head feeling empty of any coherent thought. Alastor's mouth fell open slightly:

"Say the word, and I'll stop, my doe..." He leaned down to your exposed neck, and gently run his nose up and down your pulse point.

Your hand shot down and grabbed his wrist:

"I want you and you alone."

His smile against your neck was almost infectious.

"Well, then... To rephrase..." He planted slow, open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder, his free hand pulling your dress down your shoulder. He moved his lips against your ear, as if to tell you something that no one else could ever hear:

"...How many of your own fingers have you taken?" you could hear his wicked smile in his voice. And you could feel his hand moving between your legs. His middle finger slowly, almost feather lightly, circled your clit and slid down to your opening. Your breath hitched:

"A-Alastor..."

When you didn't provide him the answer, he quickly pulled his hand out of your underwear and grabbed your hand putting it up between both of you. He pressed his palm against yours and looked at your hands. You did the same. Both of you could see how his fingers shined in the moonlight from your wetness coating them.

"Tell me."

"One."

"How far?"

You were staring at your pressed together hands. He was looking straight at you, watching how your eyes showed the realization of how much bigger his hands were and how longer his fingers were.

"Second knuckle..." You whispered and your eyes met his, over the frames if his glasses.

"Oh, my little doe... I will give you so much more than that..." He chuckled and looked at your hands as his fingers interlinked with yours.

"When I kneel before you, you shall receive all I offer. Diligently." He let go of your hand and took off his glasses.

"Understood?"

You nodded. For such a gentleman, he definitely had such a filthy mouth. You'll soon learn it both ways.

"Hold these for me, will you?" He innocently asked and put his glasses on you, quite lower so you could stare over the round frames. Before you could say anything else, he was on his knees in the dewy grass, both of his hands sliding up your bare legs. His lips gently leaving kisses on your hips as he dragged your panties down your legs. You couldn't look away from him. His soft lips moving from one hip, across your stomach to the other side. His fingers running between your folds, time to time coming up to circle your clit and then tease your entrance by dipping in a fingertip.

"Mark me..." you breathed out as one of your hands slid to his hair.

"That will hurt." He looked up at you.

"You won't hurt me. I trust you, Al..." You said through a moan.

"...where...?" He quietly inquired.

God, please, everywhere.

"Here..." you gently tapped your hip. Alastor smiled, leaned closer, pressed his lips to the top of your hand and then gently bit your fingertip.

"This shall mean you're mine, my love, I hope you are preparing for the consequences that it ensues." He said against your skin as you pulled your hand away.

"I was yours as soon as our eyes locked when I saw you riding horses with the hunters all those years ago..." You moaned as his fingers circled your clit, as if he was encouraging you to finish your though. Next second, you felt his teeth sink into your skin and his middle finger plunging into you.

"Alastor! Ah.." both of your hands flew to his hair, as your hips jerked against his hand.

"Shhh.." Alastor smiled against the blooming love bite. His eyes then locked on how you were taking his finger.

"Good girl." His smiled and looked up at you. His other hand joining to circle your clit.

"Oh Lord..." You moaned. He playfully rolled his eyes at you and leaned his temple against your hip.

"Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well." He praised, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He twisted his finger and you let out a high pitch keen.

"Look at me." He straighted a little. Your eyes locked with his. Opening his mouth, he stuck his tongue out. Your eyes grew big, and a flash of warmth traveled down from your chest to your legs. Your pussy involuntary clamping down on his finger. And then his mouth was on you. As soon as his tongue got the first taste of you, his eyes fell shut and he moaned against you, sending vibrations straight through you.

"Ahh...ha...." You moaned loudly, both hands moving to his hair and pulling it. He lapped at your pussy as if he was a starving man. He sucked on your clit and then you felt a second finger stretching you open.

"Please.... Just don't stop..." You moaned, your hips jerking against his mouth. His fingers picked up the speed and your breathing did the same.

"I think I'm going to..." Your hold on his hair grew tighter and you were starting to push his mouth harder against your weeping cunt. Alastor grunted, his hand that was constantly squeezing your ass traveled down to his crotch and palmed himself. His pants growing too tight.

Alastor curled his fingers forward and sucked hard on your clit. With a loud cry you came on his fingers and tongue. You yourself could never reach such intense peak. Your toes curled, your knees almost wishing to pull together. You pressed Alastor's head closer to your dripping core, at the moment careless if he could breathe or not.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckkk..." Your eyes rolled back into your skull. For a moment you felt weightless, your hands falling away from his hair, to hold onto to the fence beams that you were leaning against.

Flatly dragging his tongue from your twitching hole up your slit to the clit, he placed chaste kiss on your mound. Alastor leaned back and looked up at you.

When you had gathered at least some wits about you, you looked down at him. His chin and lips were glistening from your cum.

"You taste sweet." He gave you a wink and licked his lips.

"Alastor..." You whispered his name and in swift motion crossed your hands and pulled the dress over your head. Leaving it hanging by the knife. Alastor was caught off guard and sat back, his hands slowly starting to unbutton his vest and then his shirt.

Was Alastor intending to fuck you against the fence or where you intending to ride him in the dewy grass?

In two quick steps you were in front of him and straddling his hips. Your lips immediately seeking out his and hands helping him to unbutton his shirt faster. With a groan he pulled away and grabbing your hand dragged it down his chest to the front of his pants. Unzipping his pants you dipped your hand in his boxers.

"Fuck..." He moaned, his eyes rolling back. You wrapped your hand around his cock and gently freed him from the confines of his pants.

"How is that going to fit...?" You blurted out when you looked down at him and gave him two long strokes.

"... perfectly..." He hissed through his teeth and threw his head back when your thumb swiped across his dripping tip. You switched your hands, and raised now free hand up to your face. Alastor looked at you through lidded eyes. Gently you licked your finger, tasting him on your skin. Seeing you do that, Alastor's hips jerked up into your fist and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Lover." He gritted through clenched teeth. His hands coming to hold your hips. You only smiled at your ability to drive him as insane and he was driving you. You slid your hand down to his base and gently squeezed.

"Cheeky little thing..." Alastor opened his eyes and pulled you in for a kiss by your neck. It was slow but messy. Tongues twisting, saliva smearing against both of your lips.

You got up on your knees and wrapped your hands around Alastor's neck. However, he grabbed your hand and wrapped it around his cock alongside his own.

"Now, now." He smiled against your lips. "You gotta learn how to take it. Put. It. In." Alastor whispered absolute filth against your lips and moved your hand so that his cock dragged through your soaked folds.

With a shaky breath you dragged his cock through your folds once more. Pausing on your clit and moaning against Alastor's lips.

"Yes... Take your pleasure..." He whispered.

Then moving his cock down, you pushed it's tip against your entrance. And then with a hissfrom your mouth, your hips were flush with his. The unknown feeling between your legs made you bite Alastor's lip. He groaned in your mouth, but didn't pull away if both of you felt the tangy taste of blood.

Alastor was patient with you, and let you decide when and how to move. But once your hips started to twitch against his, Alastor ground hips up into yours. His warm hands moved up to your back and shoulder blades to pull you closer. Your own hands tangled themselves in his dark hair and scratched down his back. By now your moans were echoing the same as the hounds of the hunters.

"Harder.. Al... Please..." You moaned against his cheek, as your hips moved up and down. Your desperate cunt twitching around his cock and making Alastor moan in your ear.

Next moment you were on your back, your legs on his shoulders as he leaned over you. Your eyes locked with his. Both of you as mirrored image to each other. Hair disheveled, foreheads sweaty, short rapid breaths. And then he was fucking you as if this is the last night out here with stars. As if the coming morning you won't stop by the coffee shop where he gets his morning dose of caffeine.

The way his cock so deliciously dragged against your walls - you had nothing in this world to compare it to. Leaking tip of his cock was carving your cunt out with every push back in, and each drag of it made you clench around him. As if to say, that you need him back in and not let him pull out.

You grabbed Alastor's cheeks:

"I'm in love with you...." He said first, as if he had read your thoughts on what you were about to say.

"I love you." You smiled back and pulled him in for a kiss that was broken by your moan as Alastor gave harsh thrust, hitting your cervix. Making you lose your breath momentarily.

"More.. please..." You begged, your cunt twitching around him.

"Fuck..." Alastor moaned, his hips taking on harsher and faster movements. You could swear that you felt him in your guts. Your hand traveled down your stomach and pressed on the outline of his cock. He smirked at you, as if saying that no other cock will ever be this deep, no one ever will pleasure you the same way.

"You're mine..." He groaned. Letting your legs off his shoulders, he pulled your lower lip with his thumb until your mouth opened and he could slide his finger in. Your tongue latched around his digit and sucked hard, making him stutter in his movements as he wondered how to use that mouth of yours in other ways.

With press on your tongue, your mouth opened once more, Alastor pulled his finger out and dived in to kiss you. Your tongues meeting before your lips could. You moaned in his eager mouth as his wet thumb now circled your clit. Your hips raising to meet his thrusts. When your wandering hands were enough for him, he grabbed them and pinned both of them above your head.

"Keep them there..." He said breathlessly and leaned back lifting your hips with his.

He was fucking you like drowning animal would fight for air. And the pleasure was rapidly pulling both of you under. The way your cunt clenched around him more and more frequently, was a sign that you were close. As if not being able to stand not touching him, your hand raised to rest on his stomach, feeling the lean muscles flexing there.

Not wanting to soil you on your first sexual encounter, Alastor was ready to pull out when your legs wrapping around his hips locked him in place. Sliding his hands up your legs and then sides, he leaned over you.

Your orgasm approached you unknowingly, as such intense feeling you have never felt before.

"I got you. Just let go." Alastor said against your chest as his forehead rested against your collarbone. With a moan that stole all your breath - you came. Alastor's name tumbling out of your lips like the sweetest honey. Your body arched off the ground and pressed against Alastor. Not knowing what to do with your hands as all nerve ends felt like going haywire, you opt to grab Alastor's hips and, as if your legs being locked around him wasn't enough, you pulled him against you.

Corrupting such sweet doe as yourself felt so rewarding. He could almost feel your orgasm on his tongue. Perhaps that was just taste of your cunt that kept lingering on his tongue. His own hips stuttered and with deep groan he came deep inside you, his teeth latching on the side of your left breast, leaving another love bite to remind you of this night of debaucheries.

For a moment neither of you moved. Still ongoing gunfires of hunters and howls of hounds could be heard echoing, meaning that hunt was still on. And you could return home without your father seeing you here.

Alastor wrapped one hand around your back and gently laid you back on ground.

"I must beg your pardon. A lady such as yourself ought never to be deflowered in such a place for the first time." He said quietly against your soft breasts that were still raising and falling in short breaths.

"Oh, hush. I enjoyed myself very much so." You took a deep breath trying to steady your breathing. Alastor looked at you and you smiled at him. Gently running your hands through his hair in order to tame it.

Steadying himself on his hands, Alastor pulled out and couldn't help but to stare at your cunt that was already leaking his cum. Catching him staring, ought to teas him a little bit. Bending your legs you spread them open. Gaining Alastor's attention, you trailed one hand down your body and dipped your fingertips in your folds. Shyly looking to the side you spread your folds, making more cum leak out. Alastor was watching your hand like it was a prey.

"Darling-" Alastor warned as his lashes fluttered. He leaned to kiss your knee instead. Fighting so hard not to take your overstimulated body the second time.

"We should talk in the morning." Alastor got up with a sigh, tucked himself away and walked over to the fence to retrieve your dress.

You quietly got dressed, not questioning anything. You weren't sure what we're you to say in such moment. While you were getting dressed you couldn't help but stare as Alastor was putting on his shirt. His skin on the back scratched by your nails. Or how the fingers you had cut had smeared blood all over his body.

"Shall I escort you home?" Alastor turned to you.

"No. It's late, we both should be getting home and to bed. And besides, I know this field like back of my hand." You shook your head.

"Alright." Alastor tilted his head to the side and smiled. He walked up to you and gently took off his glasses from you.

"Not a scratch. Good girl." He praised you, leaning down to your eye level. Your cheeks immediately flushed red and you quickly pressed your lips against his.

As he watched you walk back home, you couldn't help the smile that was on your lips. The faithful butter knife clutched carefully in your hands, will be neatly stored in your vanity as a reminder.

Meanwhile Alastor was sitting on the fence, watching you walk away, with skip in your step. Once you were far enough, he hauled himself over the fance, back on the road. What you had not seen at the very beginning, was that Alastor had come with knive of his own. Quite menacing butcher knife, that he had wedged in the nearby tree.

You were almost home. You had just ducked through the fence and walked quietly across the yard when, one, so much differently sounding gunshot, made you turn back around and stare at the field where you had come from....

-----------

Part 2?

[risuola]

ENTRY #10 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You make my heart do things it's not supposed to do.

contents: arranged marriage!au, teeth rotting fluff, nothing else — wc. 1000

a/n: expect me to drop few entries very quickly because they are all finished in my drafts <3

series masterlist

It still flustered him.

Satoru never, not once in his 28 years of life, felt more confused, than right now. Why was his heart doing backflips in his chest? He sat there, on the wooden chair frozen and thankful for the furniture that held his weight because if suddenly it’d be taken away, he would collapse to the floor, meet the cold kitchen tiles and melt against them into a puddle of mess. He was there, stuck in time with his head empty and heart racing in his chest, rumbling against the cage of his ribs while you were going about the day without a care and attention to his pathetic state. A state you reduced him to.

It’s been few minutes already and Gojo sat there in silence, watching your back as you were washing fruit in the sink, snacking on the juicy strawberries he grabbed for you earlier that morning — a gesture foreign to his own body but he wanted, for once, to be the person who made you smile and not only experience the effect of someone else’s doing. He woke up earlier that day, before the sun even peaked above the horizon line and with his thoughts racing and stomach full of butterflies, he went on a very special mission.

It was a tiny market, way outside Tokyo but with the loveliest sellers. He found a booth he eyed once when on the job in the area, a stand full of little hand-woven baskets, each of them brimmed with fruit. The strawberries were red, some very bright and some very deep in color, glistening in the early sun with the morning dew that scattered across the surface looked as if little crystals were adorning the harvest. Satoru smiled and the old lady smiled as well.

“How can I help you, young man?” She asked, spreading her arms invitingly and Satoru could tell, by the look of her calloused hands, stained in juice and dirt, she was working hard every day to make a living.

“My wife loves strawberries,” he began, catching himself on the ease with which the word wife left his mouth, “but I don’t know much about picking the best ones. Could you help me with that?”

“You came to the right place, son!”

Just few moments later, Satoru was walking slowly towards his house, after warping back into the city. In his hand, a bag hung hooked over his fingers, full of those little baskets and their contents. He might have gone overboard with the purchase, but the joyful tears that welled in the eyes of that old woman when he paid her for fruit — definitely much more than it was worth according to the prices — he had no regrets. In result he carried the bagful of not only strawberries but also some apples, raspberries and sweet cherries — all of which he was forced to take, despite his initial plans of getting only the red ones you like so much.

“There you are, right on time,” your beautiful, melodic voice greeted him the moment he swung the doors open, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could’ve bought you flowers as well, he planned to do so, but he had to evacuate himself from the grasp of that one seller lady, because as lovely as she was, if he stayed a moment longer, she would pack him her entire harvest of that morning. “I thought you went out earlier, but I made breakfast for you anyway.”

“I went for a little walk,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as he could despite the rageful whirl of butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? “And I bought you these.”

A soft thud barely made itself apparent above the cacophony of clinking plates and cutlery, but it was enough to catch your attention. You looked at him, curious, and somewhat carefully reached into the bag now rested on the kitchen table. Your face brightened up, your eyes glimmered and you smiled — and Satoru could’ve sworn he’s never seen something more beautiful. You reminded him of a child that got a toy it dreamed of. Pure happiness washed over your features and he wondered if it was always that easy to bring joy to your otherwise calm self.

“Oh my god, Satoru–“ you gasped out, fishing out one of the berries and after a short rinse under the water, you popped it into your mouth and melted. He was told by the woman in the market that the type she was growing on her fields was exceptionally sweet, with the right amount of tang and a lot of juice.

“Tasty?” He asked, watching how you savored the flavor with pure pleasure.

They were tasty. He found out himself, because when your lips pressed to his own, he forgot how to breathe and the only things on his mind were the plushiness of your mouth and that sweetness. His body moved on its own, his hands found their place on your hips, pulled you in, as if it was a natural reaction for him to bring you closer.

And then, before he managed to secure his grip on you, you were gone from his proximity, leaving only the lingering taste of strawberries on his lips and a growing confusion.

I love you.

He heard that right, a gentle whisper against his mouth. You said it, this time you said it for sure, this time he was sure the words actually were spoken, not read between lines.

“Sit down, Satoru, eat your breakfast,” you sing-sang happily, as if you didn’t stop the entire globe just now. As if you didn’t just alter the universe he was in, shifting the rhythm of the muscle in his chest permanently. As if you didn’t just tell him you love him.

But he sat down, afraid to not lose his balance and absentmindedly shoved a piece of a pancake into his mouth.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Eden

tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, degradation, hinted captivity, obsessive behavior, size difference

You fight him, goddamit, that's the worst part - you always try to fight him with all you've got, with sharp nails and smooth teeth, with your hands, your knees, with the closest pillow (since he rarely lets you touch anything with a proper egde). You give it your best - your hardest, you scratch and bite like a wild animal, getting your tears and saliva everywhere and yet... all your efforts only seem to amuse him.

"This is all you've got, princess?" He taunts as he holds you down with one hand (albeit, probably bigger than your head) while the other strips you bare with ease. "C'mon, you should make it more difficult for me. It's no fun when you just lay there and take it." He chuckles as you squirm in his hold - and the sound fills you with suffocating cold dread. Like a particularly nasty, sticky cough it sinks to your chest, making it hard to breathe through the fury and shame.

You get even more feral, thrashing and kicking without order or direction - desperate to show him that you're not a meek victim, that you are not going down without a fight. But it's all pointless - you barely move an inch as he roughly spreads your naked legs, pushing you to your back with eyes full of malice - induced lust and drunken need for violence.

"It's like you're not even trying." His hot breath tickles your ear, forcing your baby hairs to stand prickly. The overwhelming smell of strong cologne, unmistakenly masculine, makes you even more lightheaded and scared with unevitable anticipation. "It's like you actually want me." He whispers darkly, gripping your waist painfully with both hands. "Is that so, baby? You want the big bad wolf to mount you down and take you?" He bites your neck playfully, but the ache is deep and throbbing within you. "Violate you?"

You shake your head rapidly, holding back scorching hot tears. No, no, you try to scream, but the lump in your throat is so heavy it prevents any sound from coming out.

"I know, baby, I know." Eden caresses your wet cheeks almost tenderly - if not for the scratches his claws leave behind on your soft skin. "I'm just messin' with you." The hunter rasps, fingers entangled deep into your locks. "I know you don't want any of this. Not my touch-" He lets go of your hair. "or my lips-" He kisses along your jawline, hungrily lapping at the salty tear stains. "And certainly not my big, throbbing cock up your tight little pussy." He gloats, lining up his shaft with your entrance. "But you are still going to take it, won't you?"

He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say something.

"Won't you, princess?" The man slaps you, voice a tad more irritated now. You quickly nod, terrified to your shaking bones - and only then does he smile again, sweetly. "Of course you will." He goes back to stroking your hair as he starts to slowly force his length into your unwilling, quivering quim.

"Because that's just how the world works, no? Pathetic little sluts get fucked by big, strong men like me. They get fucked over and over again until their poor little brains turn to mush. Don't they?" He chuckles with clear condescension as he finally begins to thrust int you - making sure his cock is all the way in before he pulls out and brutally shoves it again. Sick glee fills his scarred face as he watches your womb strain to accommodate the pulsing force brushing against your lower belly from the inside. This time you nod weakly before he has a reason to strike you.

"Such a good girl, accepting her place underneath me." Eden groans, growing flushed as he feels your walls squeeze against his intrusive thrusts. "You know this is all you're good for anyways. Just a warm hole and a pretty face for me to ruin." He gropes your breasts crudely, pinching your nipples with his fingertips. "Just look at you... what a wet little mess you are. It's like your body is begging for it - even if those treacherous lips deny the truth. You should be thanking me. If I wasn't claiming this sweet-" He makes a point to slam right into your most sensitive spot, making your toes curl despite your protests. "tight heat of yours, you'd be dead meat already. Just a chew toy for the wolves."

You make an uncomprehensible sound as the pain dulls and gives way to damp, humiliating pleasure. You bite your tongue to muffle the moans, but this only stirs him further - taking it as a challenge to make you sing for him. He keeps fucking into you, dragging you up and down like a feather.

"You're lucky I love you so much." The hunter sighs, voice softening to a whisper. "You're lucky I like it when you cry for me." He reaches to wipe away a falling tear. "So you better thank me, princess." He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Burning hot flames greet you, but all you feel is ice.

"Thank you, Eden."

[luveline]

is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him." 

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically. 

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months." 

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you." 

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him." 

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room. 

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance." 

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed. 

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself. 

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning. 

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small. 

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids. 

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest. 

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow. 

"When?" you ask. 

"You were yelling." 

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry." 

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh." 

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit. 

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life." 

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly. 

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–" 

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here." 

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise. 

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry. 

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him. 

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine." 

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?" 

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses. 

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.  

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back. 

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says. 

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow. 

"Sorry for scaring you." 

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault." 

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?" 

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again. 

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore." 

[buckyalpine]

Alpha quarterback Bucky x Omega cheerleader reader

I need alpha Quarterback Bucky with a cute little cheer leader omega. I'm so feral today, sorry but also send help. Because he is an absolute fuck boy but your his favorite little rut toy.

“Alpha” you squeak as he takes your hand and presses it against his thick bulge, finding you in the locker rooms after a game.

“C’mere pretty mega” he practically purrs against your neck, catching you by surprise. He picks you up with ease, setting you onto the counter while his sinful hands start to kneed at your hips, pulling your tiny skirt up, tearing off your cotton panties. You whimper with need, the scent of your arousal nearly making him drool. He shamelessly pulls his cock out, pumping it, flicking his cock head against your swollen clit making you whine, smearing his arousal over your sensitive nub. “Gonna help your alpha, baby?”

It's a game you both play. After all, he wasn't really your alpha. He hadn't marked you. You weren't his. But that doesn't matter right now. Not when his leaky cock is begging for relief.

You nod, gasping when he pulls you off the counter, bending you over, his tip rubbing up and down before sliding in with one thrust, his head thrown back when he start to build up a steady pace, slamming your hips to meet his.

"A-Alpha!" You cry out, grasping the edge of the counter, his cock deep in your pussy, his unforgiving thrusts speeding up. "Oh god, please!"

He watches your face twists in the mirror reflection, his cute little cheer leader who screams his name both on the field and with his cock deep in her, no one suspecting the innocent omega to be so cockdrunk over the college football player.

“That’s it, good little mega, so fuckin good” He groans, his thighs tensing as his knott begins to swell, panting and grunting, his dick almost hurting with how hard he was for you. No one made him more animalistic than you, your sweet scent making him leak into your pyssy. "Gonna give you my knot, you want that 'mega?"

Your sweet neck is so tempting to him and he wants to sink his teeth in, marking and claiming you. He nudges his nose against your juncture, nipping softly making you whine, craning your neck to give him more access, your desperation making it harder for him to resist.

"Don't tempt me 'mega" He warns, biting softly, his hand coming to wrap around your throat.

"P-Please! Fuck, yes, please, gimmie your knot alpha-want-want it!" You stutter out, eyes rolling back as he growls, fucking you harder, his hand coming around to toy with your clit, rubbing it with his calloused fingers.

"Greedy little 'mega" He moans, struggling to hold back any longer, his cock bursting with cum when he feels you clench around him, "Oh fuck m'cumming, take it babydoll, take my cum"

He pants against your neck, staying buried deep in your pussy while his cock softens, the mess he made inside you slowly seeping out.

“Hmm” a low growl emits from his chest, watching his seed drip between your soft thighs, milky cream sticky and thick. “Can’t wait till the day get to fill you up with pups, mama”

He shoves two thick fingers back into your sensitive pussy making you cry out, his pink lips hushing you with a deep kiss before pulling away and giving your ass a spank. He leaves you panting and messy, fucking your brains out like he owns you, leaving for practice seconds later.

Of course, he thinks he’s just using you. He thinks this is just a game to play. He smirks when he sees you in your uniform again, giving him a shy smile as you approach him after a game. He loves that he has you at his beck and call whenever he wants, your little omega pussy all jus for him.

That is until he smells the scent of another alpha near by and he nearly bares all his teeth, shoving you behind him so your out of sight, protected behind his large form. He knows Walker has had his eye on you every time they visit the campus, the blonde rival happy to try and make a move on the sweet cheer leader with no alpha.

"What's wrong Barnes, scared of a little competition" Walker taunts and Bucky nearly pounces on him, his hands still balled into fists, holding back when he feels your hand grab his wrist.

"Alpha lets go" you whisper and his protective side immediately comes out, seeing you distressed worried face.

"Since when was he your alpha, hmm, 'mega?" Walker smirked making you whimper from embarrassment, immediately letting go of Bucky's wrist.

He wasn't wrong.

Bucky felt a different surge of anger flow through his veins while Steve stepped in between the two men before things got ugly. Bucky shoved Walker out of the way, scooping you into his arms and straight to his place, unable to bear the thought of another man trying to touch what's his, hating the way your face had fallen after what he'd said to you.

You were his Omega.

He was your alpha.

As soon as he gets you in his room, he throws you on his bed, tearing your clothes off without a care in the world. His natural woodsy scent of pine and leather make you wet, your pussy aching, feeling so empty while he tosses his own clothes aside. There's no time to prep when he man handles you onto all fours, spanking your ass when you arch your back, presenting for him, his thick cock humping your folds.

"Whose your Alpha" He demands, dragging his tip up and down at a torturous pace, spanking you again when you wiggle your hips. "Say it!"

"You James, Alpha please, need-need yo-OH GOD YESS" Your words slut into screams of pleasure as he slams into you and fucks you hard and fast, his swollen balls hitting your clit with each stroke.

"That's right. You're mine. My fuckin' omega, m'you're alpha, you hear me?" He forces his cock as deep as it would go, as if trying to claim every bit of your body from the inside and out.

"Mine. Mine. Mine" Bucky growls, slamming into you with unrelenting thrusts, shaking away the disgusting thought of another man trying to have you, his girl, how dare anyone else trying to lay their hands on you. He stars at your sweet unmarked neck, drooling at the touched skin. He wanted nothing more than to show everyone exactly who you belonged to.

"Wanna make you mine forever 'mega" he warns, holding back from sinking his teeth in, nearly whining with his eyes shut. "Wanna mark you, let me mark you up sweet girl, show everyone who you belong to"

"Mark me Bucky" You cry out, his hands coming on top of yours, fingers lacing together as he continues to rut into you.

"Gonna mark you up and fill you till your swollen n'round. Wanna get you nice n'heavy till those little uniforms don't fit n'all you can wear are my clothes, let everyone know who you belong to" He growls, his cock starting to swell like never before, the feeling almost painful.

"Please alpha, please-wan' it-need it!" You beg, gasping at the feeling of his base growing, his moas filling the room. He licks and nips at your neck, whining when you clench around his cock, moving and giving him more access to your skin.

"Mine" He grits before sinking his teeth in, pleasure and pain filling you, a different kind of relief flooding your senses as his knot pops, the both of you collapsing in his bed, his cock still deep inside you. He holds you tightly in his thick arms, soothing you with soft caresses along your sensitive skin.

"You're mine omega" He pants, kissing your mark, cradling your fucked out form to his chest, "All mine"

My bad.

[theragethatisdesire]

eren jaeger x reader, jean kirstein x reader - drabble, 18+!!!

wrote this a few weeks ago and i'm bored so have a little drabble of a jean x reader x eren threesome from...another angle<3 sorry i've been so dry lately, have this as my official apology :)

minors do not interact. this is nsfw and intended for those 18 and up.

wc: 1.6k

warnings: degradation, p in v, fem!reader, sorta dubconny if you squint (reader's just a lil shy), voyeurism;)

-

Jean’s girl.

It has a nice ring to it, one that you’re proud of. His parents’ friends refer to you as such, always going on about how cute you look in those sundresses you wear to Sunday dinner. When you stop by the office, paper bag in hand, the boys yell out, “Jean’s girl’s back! Got any lunch in there for me, sweetheart?”. Even Jean himself is guilty, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and whispering that he “needs to see his girl’s pretty face”.

“Look at your girl, Jean,” Eren says with a cruel, barked laugh. It’s mocking, makes your cheeks burn even hotter, if that were possible.

“I see,” Jean says quietly, the lower half of his face disappearing behind his beer as he takes a sip, “I see her.”

You squirm in Eren’s lap, trying to adjust to the foreign weight of him inside of you, wincing at the slide of your thighs on his, made easy by the wetness he’s already coaxed from your body. Jean’s eyes are dark as he watches you wriggle, one hand palming over the bulge behind his zipper, slow and steady. You really can’t believe he let you do this—let Eren do all of this, this slow unraveling of your body, this tarnishing of your pretty title. Jean’s girl, spread out on Eren’s lap with his cock shoved up into her stomach. Your head spins.

“How’s it feel, baby?” Eren’s eyes are sparkling, wide and glittering like a mountain cat lying behind a bush, when he thumbs at your chin. You know now that his teeth are as sharp as they look, the aching blossom of fresh bruises thudding along your shoulders.

“J-Jean,” you stutter out pathetically, trying to turn your head to your boyfriend. Eren’s faster, large hand wrapped around your jaw and snapping your head back to him.

“Try again.” He thrusts his hips up, not too rough, but enough that you feel it, a weak mewl falling from your lips. Eren smirks. “That’s not Jean, is it?”

“S’alright, baby,” Jean says from across the room, from too far away. Hot shame clouds your eyes in the form of tears as you realize you want him closer, but you don’t want him inside of you, not yet; you’re growing unwittingly fond of the novel stretch of Eren between your legs, your muscles tense and flexing to keep yourself from rocking forward on to him. “Be sweet to Eren.”

“Yeah,” Eren coos, dripping with condescension as he rubs his thumb through the drool on your bottom lip, “be sweet to me.”

You nod shakily, wiggling your hips again and having to bite into your lip to stop the moan from escaping, but with the way Eren’s grinning at you, you think he knows what lies in the back of your throat. Well, he does know, to an extent– your jaw still aches from him fucking into your mouth earlier, stretching your lips wide around him.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” Eren says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours, “how’s my cock feel in you, hm?”

“Feels good,” you slur quietly, barely more than a breath. It’s enough for Eren, it seems, as he groans and throws his head back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob with the throaty noise, watch the furrow appear between his dark eyebrows. He really is beautiful, breathtaking even– he reminds you of that painting, what was it called? The Fallen Angel?

Eren’s head lolls back up, his bright eyes flickering over every part of you, like he doesn’t know where he wants to start, pretty creature that you are. He trails his hands over your breasts, stopping to tweak a nipple and grinning viciously when you yelp in surprise. His fingers move further, down over your ticklish rib cage and swirling around your belly button before settling firmly on your hips. Eren looks at you like he might eat you alive if you turn your back for one second, and your stomach twists.

“It’ll feel better if you move, won’t it? Want my help?”

You look questioningly to Jean, who shakes his head no at you, and inclines it in Eren’s direction. Not me, him.

Scary isn’t the right word for Eren, not when he has so much love in his stomach, but it’s all guarded under several strips of barbed wire. Poison drips from his tongue as readily as sugarwater might; he swallows it all the same. You’re sitting atop a creature with teeth, a creature that fights when it’s cornered, but god– isn’t he so pretty?

“Yes,” you breathe out to him, twitching your hips atop his as if to emphasize your point. Eren chuckles darkly in his throat, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bite. He rolls you against him once, twice, and three times is enough to have your jaw dropping, eyes flitting up to the sky.

“There you go,” Eren grits out, swearing under his breath when you tighten around him, “told you she liked me, Jean.”

“Knew she liked you,” Jean bites back at him, huffing a little laugh when you moan in protest, in embarrassment, “just wanted to see if she’d show you.”

“She’s braver than you give her credit for.” Eren thumbs at your chin again, chokes on a groan when you suck it into your mouth, run your tongue lovingly along the pad of his finger. “Look at that…beautiful.”

He’s rolling your hips faster now, enough to force a tinny whine from you. You can feel Jean’s eyes lingering, can hear the wet schlick of his hand on his now-freed cock; you’ll ask him later what you looked like, back arched and breasts shaking to the rhythm of your own haggard breathing, rocking your hips into Eren’s like your salvation depends on it. Jean’s girl, taking his best friend’s dick while he watches. Anything for your man.

Eren’s hand wanders down your tacky stomach, starts rubbing at your swollen clit gently. It’s so raw and sensitive after nearly half an hour of Eren prodding and sucking and licking at it with his tongue, that you jolt harshly, like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Eren!”

“Good?” Eren pants, and suddenly, you’re both moving so much faster than you were before. Eren’s bullying himself up into you, hitting something that reminds you of Jean, and your tears fall faster. “Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s– fuck, so good,” you whimper, cutting yourself off with a moan. Eren hisses in satisfaction, pistoning up into you faster.

“Listen to that dirty fucking mouth,” Eren chides, abandoning your clit in favor of wrapping his hand in your tangled hair, grabbing a fistful and forcing you close to his face, “you don’t sound like Jean’s perfect little girl to me, not anymore.”

A sharp inhale from across the room reminds you of your lovely, golden boyfriend, of the cock he’s fisting watching you fall apart in Eren’s arms. It brings a rush of fresh heat to your veins, one that’s mercifully absent of shame. It’s the sparks of your orgasm, white-hot and creeping along your bones like it means to pull your head under.

“I n-need to cum, please,” you admit, whining it openly in the air for Jean to hear. His only answer is a quiet swear, the sounds of his hand growing faster and wetter. Eren laughs again, pulls your chin down to him.

“So polite, aren’t you? Give me a little something baby, wan’ a taste.” Eren tugs your mouth open with his thumb, opens his jaw expectantly. Even amidst the rhythm of you bouncing on him, you find the presence of mind to spit, a long strand of drool swaying from your lips as it falls into his mouth. Eren’s eyes flicker at you menacingly when he swallows, growls deep in his chest.

“Good girl,” Jean murmurs from across the room, “good fucking girl.”

“Hear that?” Eren says, fisting your hair harder as your walls flutter around him, betraying just how close you are to going under. “He’s so proud of you, isn’t he? Taking my cock like a fucking champ.”

“Uh-huh,” you moan pitifully, hips moving with a mind of their own. Your eyes are out of focus, but through the bleary haze of your tears and pleasure, you can make out Eren, jaw slack and eyes sharp as he watches you start to truly lose it. His fist around your hair grows so tight you squeak, and he yanks your head down to rest against his shoulder. It would be almost sweet, if he weren’t tearing you apart at the seams.

Eren’s lips, his hot breath, ghost over the shell of your ear as he whispers to you. “Bet he’ll be twice as proud if you cum all over my cock, nice and pretty for us.”

That snaps the thin thread of sanity remaining in you, and you convulse around Eren, wailing into his shoulder. He makes no effort to shush you, to pet you gently and work you through it; no, Eren only curses loudly, bites into your shoulder so hard your body jerks even as it clenches and contracts around him, shoots his hips up into you– a warmth begins filling you from the inside out, sticky and balmy against the electric aftershocks of the orgasm wracking your limbs.

Once Eren’s hips have stopped twitching up into yours, he grabs your tired body by the shoulders, shoving you to sit up properly on his softening cock. You mumble something akin to discomfort, wiggling as disobediently as you can while Eren examines you. Your muscles are still quivering with the aftereffects of cumming, though, and you aren’t able to put up much of a fight, something Eren notices and grins at.

“You’re really something, aren’t ya?” Eren says to your limp form, rubbing his hands on your shoulders. “Might have to share your girl more often, Jean.”

-

just a little snack while i battle my way through the 1500 wips i have going!! <3 love you all

[humanpurposes]

De Jure

In light of a recent scandal, she finds herself becoming part of Aemond's plan for the future- Part 2 to De Facto.

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Main Masterlist // AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, politics (putting my degree to good use), questionable power dynamics, manipulation, dub con/non con elements, baby trapping

Words: 4121

A/n: He looked too good at the New York premiere and I couldn't help myself :)

A strange feeling seems to follow her around Hightower House, like there are eyes on her, like everyone around her is watching her, like they know something.

It’s plausible enough that Aemond likes to keep her behind late most nights because he trusts her, more so than the other staff. There’s always something they need to talk through, some crisis that needs solving, some issue they can form a preemptive strategy for. Mostly “crisis resolution” comes in the form of him bending her over the desk and tearing through her tights, or having her on her knees with his hands in her hair and his cock slipping between her lips.

Aemond is precise, attentive, relentless. He leaves her stunned and satisfied in a way that the wanting never satiates itself. 

Then there are the occasional glances, the sparse touches, his hand on her back when he walks into a room, his hand on her thigh under a desk, in the back of a car.

He’s careful to act inconspicuously around others, but there’s something about the way Maris glares at her, the way Alys watches her with her brows raised.

What if they know? How could they? How could they not?

Then she starts to get noticed by Otto Hightower. He’s a formidable figure in Hightower House, notorious for expecting the best from the staff, for his bluntness, his restrained but short temper, his intolerance for anything less than perfection– this is the man who made Aemond Targaryen the political force that he is after all.

After Aemond’s success in de-escalating the Aegon situation, Otto Hightower had personally pulled her aside and commended her. “Aemond said he wouldn’t have been able to pull it together if it weren’t for you.”

She’d been rather stunned that Aemond would mention her to his grandfather. 

“Just doing my bit for the party,” she’d said.

He nodded his head at that, mouth poised in something like a smile.

She never has plans on a Friday night these days. She’s working through some polls, anxiously waiting for Aemond to finish a meeting with the inner circle, Otto, Cole and Alicent.

Alys is watching her between glances at her laptop, the same red lipstick on her lips, an eerie white light illuminating her face from the screen. Her nails tap against the keys and the surface of the desk when she pauses to think, to stare.

“What?” she says sharply, weeks of patience wearing thin.

Alys smirks to herself before slowly closing the lid of her laptop. “It seems as though something’s bothering you.”

A panicked feeling hums in her chest. She was too harsh. Her reaction was too obvious. “No, I’m fine,” she mutters.

“I thought you might be tired, you know, with all the overtime Mr Taragryen has you doing.”

She tries to laugh it off, to smile and shake her head, but her mouth feels stiff.

“Maris thinks he likes you.” Alys leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“No more than he likes anyone else, I’m sure.”

One of Alys’ eyebrows lifts. With a short humming sound in her throat her lips break into another smile that bares her teeth. “Between us, I think Maris has a crush on him. It was cute at first but now I think she looks a little desperate…”

Desperate. What does that make her?

“... I think he likes you because you’re good at your job, but then sometimes it’s like he goes out of his way to ignore you. I thought he might be doing it to make the rest of us feel better.”

They stare at each other, locked in a silent dare. She feels her chest moving with her breath, her heart drumming under her skin. 

“I think you’re reading into things,” she says, wincing at how dry her throat is.

Alys’ smile is gone now. She has this certain look, it can be unassuming and yet unnervingly intense. But they go back to their respective tasks. She looks like she has another thought brewing in her head, but she is interrupted by the ringing on the phone on her desk.

She picks it up instantly. “Hello, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send her through now.”

The meeting isn’t over yet, the others would have passed the office on their way out. She tries not to stand too eagerly, taking her time as she collects the papers in front of her and picks up her phone– but what if Alys thinks she’s moving too slowly? She resists the urge to tut at herself or fiddle with the fabric of her skirt.

She has to walk by Alys’ desk to get to the door, and the thought fills her with dread, like she’ll be able to see right through her head and read every thought.

“Wait,” Alys calls as she hovers in the open doorway. 

She turns to face her.

“He’s sweet,” Alys says, “and too gorgeous for his own good, but the Hightowers are opportunists.”

She knows that. The whole country knows that. For a generation, Westerosi politics has been nothing but a game between the Greens and the Blacks, a rivalry that started when Otto Hightower’s daughter caught the eye of Viserys Targaryen.

“You’re a smart girl,” Alys says. “Be careful.”

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual. The closed door feels more daunting. She taps her knuckles against it three times and pauses for a moment, until she hears his voice telling her to enter. 

The days are growing shorter and the sun is already setting, a warm glow bleeding in through the tall windows. The light makes Aemond’s hair appear more golden than silver. He’s sitting on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, hair dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it.

Criston Cole is sat in an armchair and nods to her when she walks in. Otto Hightower sits with his back to the door, Alicent beside him.

They’ve been in here for hours, the table between them is covered in empty coffee cups and newspapers with bold headlines. Some have moved on from the Aegon scandal, others have not.

She looks to Aemond for an instruction.

He beckons her with a single finger, anticipation already pooling in her belly despite their company. She stands beside him, hovering by the arm of the sofa where Aemond leans against his elbow, clutching her papers close to her chest.

Otto greets her by name. She’s rather proud of how far she’s come since her first day, scared to even step foot in his office.

He and Cole continue to discuss the Duskendale by-election which will inevitably take place in light of Aegon’s removal. Otto says this will be an opportunity for the Blacks to capitalise on the scandal, win themselves another seat in Parliament and put pressure on the Greens, on Aemond. Alicent listens all the while, picking at her fingernails.

“Rhaenyra will pick someone close to her, someone charismatic,” Otto says, looking directly at her. 

Why would he do that, does he expect a note to be taken on the conversation?

Aemond’s hand appearing on her waist takes her by surprise. She stares down at him wide-eyed at his carelessness. He doesn’t seem worried as he gently pulls her down to sit on the arm of the sofa. His arm stays wrapped around her back, his hand slotting into the curve of her body, his thumb tracing circles against her shirt. 

She tries to look at Otto and Cole without drawing too much attention to herself, but they don’t seem surprised at Aemond’s little display of affection. Alicent stares at them passively.

“Who in the Black Party has any charisma?” Cole says dryly. “She’s hardly got any allies left.”

“Jacaerys,” Otto says.

Cole scoffs. “He’s fresh out of uni.”

“He’s young but he has appeal,” Alicent says. “Certainly more than Aegon ever did.” She says it so gently but with no hesitation.

“And a good speaker,” Aemond adds, “people respond to him, he’s likeable.”

One more question remains, a ceaseless itch in her brain, as distracting as Aemond’s hand clinging to her body. She clears her throat softly. “Who’s our candidate going to be?”

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightens and he looks up at her, dying sunlight beaming over his face, catching on the tip of his nose, the curve of his lip, the lines of his jaw. “We’ve been discussing that.”

She hates this, feeling like she’s a step behind everyone else in the room. She looks up at the faces of Otto and Cole. Aemond has a sister, Helaena, but she stays away from public life. His younger brother, Daeron, is still studying. There are also plenty of Hightower cousins, people already in their inner circle. 

“If we are all in agreement,” Otto says, fixing his suit jacket as he stands. “Come, Alicent.”

Aemond’s mother has always been a glamorous woman, younger than she appears. It’s not something she’s ever noticed before but she has such a solemn look about her, wide brown eyes and fallen lips. 

Aemond stands to kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, softly, still loud enough for her to hear it.

“I trust your judgement,” she says.

With that the three of them leave the room and Aemond closes the door behind her.

She’s still sitting unsurely on the arm of the sofa, resisting the urge to dig her fingernails into the leather.

Aemond turns to face her. He slips off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the coat hanger by the door. He takes measured steps towards the sofa. “I have something to tell you. Sit down.”

Her stomach drops at the sinisterly soft tone of his voice, but she does as he says, slipping from the arm to the sofa itself, only to find she cannot sit comfortably. The back isn’t quite in the right place, the seat is too soft, like she’s melting into it. She tries to sit with her back straight, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap and her head held high as he approaches her.

By now she thinks she has a good read of him, the subtleties in his expressions, the hints into his mind. She can’t read him now. He looks at her with excitement, with something softer, with a look of hunger and lust. But she can tell that he’s far too happy with himself.

“You look nervous. Are you nervous?” he says, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pulling them up to bare his hands, the muscles and tendons of his forearms.

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s exciting, I promise.”

Exciting to him, clearly.

“Alright,” she says.

Aemond stands before her and smiles, only for a moment. Usually, in this position, he’d reach out for her cheek, maybe he’d lean down to kiss her.

He just looks at her, with amusement, wonder, curiosity, perhaps even pride. With a small hum to himself, Aemond says, “we need a candidate for Duskendale.”

“So I’ve heard,” she says, quietly but defiantly. 

“I want it to be you.”

She feels her eyes go wide. The room feels cold and close. She can hear Aemond breathing through his nose, slow and steady.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond says, “what do you think?” 

It takes her too long to find her breath. “You suggested it to Otto?”

“Yes. He and my mother agree, you’ll be perfect.”

Heat flushes in her face. She feels an urge to laugh, or cry, or grab him by the shoulders and ask him why in seven fucking hells he thinks this would be a good idea.

But then this is what she’s always wanted. This is why she studied so relentlessly, spent hours and hours in the library pouring over textbooks, why she gave up sleep to meet her deadlines, missed meals to afford rent in Sunspear, dedicated so much of herself to the extra work, all so she could have the very job Aemond is offering her on a silver platter.

It would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Knowing she could actually make a difference to the world that seemed determined to have her fail.

What if she asks him “why?” What if she gives him a reason to doubt her and he snatches that chance away?

She barely registers Aemond’s hands closing around hers before he pulls her up to stand. His forehead and his nose rest against hers, his breath warm over her skin. His lips are almost upon hers but he doesn’t move to kiss her, he keeps her waiting and restless.

“They’ve all agreed,” he mutters, “we need someone with no history, no scandals, nothing that could be held against us, not after the mess Aegon’s made.”

She pauses, pulling back a little so they can meet eye to eye. “You want me because I won’t embarrass you?”

Aemond tilts his head. “I want you because you’re the best option.” He leans in again, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. “You’d be a perfect fit, you’re intelligent, you’re meticulous, you don’t miss details and you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth but she turns her head. “I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” she utters.

Aemond’s mouth trails to her neck instead, kissing her firmly. “You have earned it,” he says, his hands moving to her waist, squeezing her, claiming her. His touch roams over the rest of her body while he kisses her neck, her thighs, her rear, anything he can reach. 

It’s dangerous how she responds when his hands are in the right place, and he knows it. But she reaches for his wrists to make him stop when he starts to tug on the waist of her skirt with his fingers.

“Is that what you think this is,” she says, “do you think I’m only trying to get a career out of you?”

Aemond frowns.

“Do you think I want to be remembered as some shallow opportunist? Is that all you think I deserve?”

When he hums it catches in the back of his throat. He makes a small pout with his lips, the way he often does when he’s thinking. 

“You have an opportunity to do something remarkable here,” he says, his voice low and chilling as he takes her chin in his fingertips. “Look at all the work you’ve done for me already, why deny yourself the chance to do more?”

It doesn’t have to be a denial, does it? Saying no to him would only mean she could take a different path, her own path, on her terms. Unless this is it. Unless she says no and this is the end of everything.

His fingertips press into her jaw, as if his patience is wearing thin with every passing moment.

She looks into his single violet eye and the sapphire prosthetic set in his left socket, determined to stand her ground. “Not like this,” she says.

Aemond tuts. “Are you worried you won’t get in? You’ll get the seat, I’ll make sure you do. You’ll get the career you’ve wanted for so long, you’ll get everything you’ve worked for.” There’s desperation in his voice, something familiar and yet primal. His thumb gently strokes over her cheek to her lower lip. “I’ll keep you with me. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Reason slips from her mind and something dangerous tightens in her gut. “What do you mean–”

Her question ends up muffled against his lips as Aemond kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her into him, closer and closer.

She holds her hands up and the only place for her palms to go is against his chest so she can feel his heat and his heartbeat through his shirt. She parts her lips, welcoming his tongue and his teeth, welcoming the way he consumes her.

“Once you’re in Parliament we can make things official,” he mutters between their kisses.

He goes in to kiss her again and she pulls back. “What?”

He huffs impatiently, taking her face in both his hands. “I need someone reliable by my side, someone like you. It’ll be good for my image, and for the party, to appeal to family values.”

She feels herself scowling. “Did your grandfather tell you that?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says teasingly,

“What about all the work I’ve done already? I can’t give everything up?”

“What would you be giving up?”

Infuriatingly, her mind is suddenly blank.

Through the windows behind them, the sun is setting lower and lower in the sky, the golden rays only shining brighter as night creeps in. The world is as it was when they first met. Aemond’s eye burns in the light, his eye that has bored into hers as he’s pushed her over the threshold of bliss, that finds her across crowded rooms, that must have seen every inch of her skin. 

“We’ll announce an engagement before you’re confirmed as our candidate,” he says. He comes to kiss her gently. The moment could almost feel tender, if he were not seeking to uproot her entire life. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against her lips. “Say yes to me, please, I need you to say yes.”

It’s easy to get lost in Aemond Targaryen, in his intensity, in his rare offerings of praise and approval. Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling herself into him, absentmindedly rocking her hips against his. His promises excite her as much as they terrify her.

“Say it,” he purrs, his voice catching in his throat as he walks her back. “I need an answer from you.”

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She takes a moment to breathe and find her bearings.

Aemond’s eye is hooded and dark, his lips pressed together. She can feel it all simmering under the surface, his hunger, his desperation.

He needs her. He cannot lose this seat to the Blacks, he can’t give them space to challenge him. He can’t let Aegon’s indiscretions overshadow everything he’s been working towards. The Greens need to purge themselves of this damning image, they need a clean slate, and they’re willing to put her in the centre of government to get it.

“I’ll do it,”

His kiss is harsh when he captures her lips again, needy and commanding as he grabs at her waist.

She lets out a breath of surprise when he positions her to lay back on the sofa without parting from her. He’s over her, pressing her into the plush leather, a firm hold trailing from her neck, her wrists, her sides, her breasts through her blouse.

He undoes the buttons slowly, kissing the exposed parts of her flesh of her chest and stomach. When he has the blouse off completely he makes quick work of undoing her bra, discarding that to move his attention to her breasts. He toys with her nipples with his thumbs, lips and tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. She can already picture the bruises that will bloom in his wake.

He’s slow with her skirt too, she can hardly stand it, feeling the fabric and his fingertips dragging down her legs. With her shoes removed, Aemond sits back on his haunches and wraps his hands around one of her ankles, smirking as he strokes small circles over a sensitive spot of her skin.

“Please,” she utters, reaching her fingers out to graze his stomach, still hidden underneath a perfectly white shirt.

“I know, I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers in her panties to pull them from her legs. “I just like seeing you like this.

He wastes no more time, placing her ankle over his shoulder, spreading her other knee with a wide palm and leaning down until his face is between her legs. He knows to start slowly, to tease her with slow drags through her folds. It’s an infuriating feeling but she savours it. It’s the burn she loves, being dragged towards pleasure like a continual tide lapping at the shore.

She craves these unhurried moments, and she supposes there will only be more once Aemond gets his way.

His motions increase in speed when her breath quickens and she starts to squirm, with whispered mumblings of “please… I’m so close… please.” He borders on frantic, hums of approval vibrating against her centre.

It builds and builds until it releases a bloom of warmth in her belly that soon fades back into need when Aemond untangles himself from her. She watches him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it from the loops in his slacks. He bares himself to her. There’s no pride this time, just awe when he looks at her.

He positions himself above her, running the tip of his cock, already hard and leaking, against her, pushing against her clit with every gentle thrust.

She holds onto his arms for leverage, letting herself succumb to the sensation, the smell of his aftershave and his sweat, the heat and the sound of their breaths in unison.

“I mean it,” he says with a sigh, “I think you’re perfect.”

She smiles, planting a peck against his lips, before she slides a hand between their bodies and positions him at her entrance. She’s taken him enough times but the initial stretch has her gritting her teeth. 

Aemond stills. “We can–”

“I want to take it,” she utters, “I want to feel you,”

His resolve melts, but he doesn’t push further, waiting for a nod from her before he inches himself deeper inside her.

Their bodies mould against each other, her arms around his shoulders, his head nestled into her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he pants. She watches him thrusting into her, chasing his own pleasure as he nudges against a spot inside her that leaves her feeling weightless. 

He tries to increase his pace, but the back of the sofa hinders him somewhat. He grunts in frustration, gathering her in his arms and moving them both to the fur rug on the floor with ease. He brings her legs onto his shoulders and pushes into her once more, to the hilt, eliciting a gasp from her.

He chuckles to himself, showing his teeth and licking his lips. “You like that?”

“Yeah, fuck,” she breathes.

“Know you like it when I’m nice and deep,” he mutters, fucking her with swift snaps of his hips. With one hand on the floor he takes a gentle hold of her neck with the other, leaning in so her thighs are pressed against her chest. “My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”

Her second climax is within reach, she feels the heat rising inside of her, her hips trying to buck but she’s caged by him.

Aemond’s hold on her neck tightens. “You’re close,” he says with a wicked smile on his lips.

Her back arches from the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, “please don’t fucking stop…”

She clings to him, each one of them at the other’s mercy.

“I’ve got you,” Aemond says, continuing to drive his hips against hers. He must be reaching his own end, his pace is starting to falter, his moans unrestrained. 

Usually he makes a habit of spilling himself over her body, her stomach or her thighs.

“Aemond?” she breathes.

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he says, “you’re mine now, we might as well get a head start.”

The realisation makes her stomach drop. “Wait–” she tries to murmur between her whines, “you can’t– not yet–”

He leans in to kiss her, to soothe her, to silence her.

He comes with a guttural groan, his hips stilling against her and a warmth spreading inside of her. Her own pleasure erupts after that, she can feel herself clenching around him, her body greedy for everything he has to offer her.

Aemond stays pressed against her for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He withdraws from her slowly, bringing her legs down– she sees the way his eye lingers between her legs, something hot and wet dripping from within her. He gathers it with the tip of his cock, pushing himself into her again with short, shallow thrusts.

He takes her by her neck again, demanding her attention.

She gazes back at him, breathless, wide-eyed.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “With any luck we’ll have a due date to announce alongside your victory in Duskendale.”

[its-time-to-write]

OMGGGG WELCOME BACK QUEEN!!!!! honestly you can write quite literally ANYTHING (esp hurt/comfort pls pls pls) with jamie bc all your fics are simply immaculate 🫶🏼

THANKS QUEEN. I’m starting off with the most open-ended prompt and let me tell you, ya girl is RUSTY. This took way longer than it should so pls forgive me😅

But yeah requests are still open so ask away!

birds of a feather

The lights are off when you get home, but you don’t bother turning them on. You’re familiar enough with Jamie’s house that you can make your way upstairs and to his bed without looking. You drop your bag, kick off your shoes, and trudge upstairs.

The light’s on in his room but he’s passed out. You smile to yourself despite the day and switch off the lights.

You weren’t going to cry again, really you weren’t, but by the time you’re brushing your teeth, they’re sliding down your face.

But it’s dark, so no one can see.

You slip into bed where you can (hopefully) cry yourself to sleep when a sob escapes your throat.

Another slips out, then another, making it hard to stop and harder to breathe.

“Babe?” comes Jamie’s hoarse voice. “You alright?”

You can feel him reach for the light, so you blindly grab for his arm. “Don’t,” you gasp, “Please, just leave it off.”

Jamie understands what you mean. You’re trying to say, I don’t want you to see me cry.

He shifts so his face is two inches from yours. He’ll be awake in a few hours, but it doesn’t matter at the moment.

“What happened?” he whispers, but he already knows the answer. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Beard had been running the team ragged in training.

You take a shuddering breath and Jamie’s eyes have adjusted enough where he can wipe away a tear. “Went exactly as expected, didn’t it?” you say. “She did what she always does. Asked for money, was furious when I said no. Asked for advice, was mad when I gave her an answer. Asked me to listen, was upset when I wasn’t giving her solutions. She stormed out after an hour, but not before throwing her wine on me. I ruined the dress you got me, I’m pretty sure we got papped, and I’m really, really sorry.” That’s going to be a lovely article to wake up to in the morning. If Keeley were here, she would be able to come up with a catchy headline for it, rhyming “Tartt,” with something about sisters and WAGs and thrown wine. 

But Keeley isn’t here, it’s just you and Jamie, and you can’t help but think it’s too early in your relationship for this.

Really though, you haven’t been together long enough for your name to tarnish his. That’s a milestone that should be passed in ten months. A year, even.

Jamie barely catches himself from asking, “Why do you still see her?” just like everyone has asked him about his father.

Instead he says, “I’m not fuckin’ worried,” and wraps you in his arms. 

You exhale and snuggle as close as you can. 

It’s times like this where you remember exactly why you’re with him. He just- gets it.

You met him through Keeley. Keeley had been your sister’s friend first, met at a photo shoot, but it was hard to stay friends with your sister. You and Keeley became close while your sister accused you of stealing all her friends.

“Keeley would love to see you,” you had tried to tell her one time in an attempt to keep her from shouting.

“The fuck I would,” Keeley had snorted when you relayed the story hours later.

Keeley’s a genius, really. She took a horrible a vitriolic viral tabloid story about Jamie’s dad and a charity gala, and managed to create this, whatever “this” is.

Jamie’s running his thumb up and down your arm as your breathing evens out.

“Want to go on a run with me and Roy tomorrow?” he asks. “I’ll get you breakfast.”

You whisper back, “I can buy my own breakfast,” and Jamie’s grateful that it’s dark so he can roll his eyes without getting smacked.

“What if I fucking want to get it for you? What then, ey?”

You respond, “Hm,” and then you’re asleep.

—

If Roy’s surprised you’re with Jamie in the morning, he doesn’t show it. He grunts and says, “Don’t think I’m going fucking easy on you, Tartt,” but he sets the warmup at a pace you like before saying, “You’re doing fucking sprints today and I don’t want to hear fucking shit about it.”

He’d never admit it, but Roy’s excellent at reading people. The sprints are so you don’t have to have a single thought inside your head. By the time the sun rises, you’re enjoying coffee on a bench with Roy while Jamie completes his eighty-second pushup.

“Don’t fucking read the fucking Sun,” is the last thing Roy says before leaving to go to his actual work. You grimace, but Jamie takes your hand and swings it the whole way back to his house.

“I’m not going to see her again,” you tell him. He knows you’re lying. He said the same thing about his dad month and a half ago, but he’s going to see him in rehab next week.

Jamie hands you a credit card on his way out the door “to get something fucking hot, babe.”

It won’t change anything and it won’t even fix anything either, but that’s not the point.

The point is he’s looking at you. He sees, he understands, and he’s still there.

You do end up reading the article. It’s complete shit, a made up story about you being a bitch whose newfound celebrity has alienated you from your loving family. Nowhere does it mention that said “loving” family only comes crawling around when they need something. That what they take from you will never be enough.

The fuck did you read that shite for? comes Jamie’s text after you’ve ignored his last five. ik that’s why ur not responfing

Why is your autocorrect never on? you write back instead of answering.

Jamie’s reply is quick: for the aesthetic

You: So you can write “aesthetic,” but have trouble spelling “responding?” Seems strange

Jamie: Sma helpd

Then: *Sam.

You smile, despite yourself. Sometimes you wonder how much of this he does just to get a rise out of you. You suspect it’s more than he lets on, but you’ll let him pretend to be stupid for now.

You check the time. If he’s texting at this hour, it means training’s done. Your finger hovers over the call button for a fraction of a second before pressing it.

Sam picks up on the second ring. “Your boyfriend is hitting Isaac with a towel,” he says, no preamble. “It is chaos.”

“He was just texting me a second ago,” you say.

You can practically hear Sam shrug through the phone. “It escalated quickly. Do you need him? I’m sure they will stop since you’re calling.”

He doesn’t sound too sure, which makes you laugh. “No, it’s all good, can you just tell him-”

You’re interrupted but the muffled sound of the phone being wrestled away from Sam.

“Jamie’s a dickhead,” comes Isaac’s voice far too close to the speaker before there’s vague wrestling again and you hear Jamie, very much out of breath.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks and you don’t even remember why you called him in the first place because you’re smiling too wide.

“I really fucking love you,” you tell him and even though it isn’t the first time you said it, you feel nervous. The good kind, where you know he’s going to say it back and mean it, and that his words are just for you.

Jamie says, “I love you too,” and tries his best to convey a thousand meanings into four words.

“Great,” you say, “because the top Google story for you is me with a giant wine stain on my dress. So I think we should go out tonight and look so hot that everyone forgets all about it. Thoughts?”

Jamie says, “Fucking mint,” then, “fucking ow,” and you can tell by the sounds in the background that Isaac’s gotten him again. 

“GottagoloveyouheresSam,” he says in a rush before you hear him practically hurl his phone.

“You have some strange coworkers, Sam,” you comment.

“You have a strange boyfriend,” he retorts, and he’s right. But Jamie’s strange matches your strange, so you think it’ll last.

[peachdues]

SANEMI V. NO-NUT NOVEMBER

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆ ･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳

In honor of it being Thanksgiving in the US, I thought I would feed you all. Happy Turkey Day, skanks.

CW: MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Let’s count the ways you’ve tortured him over the last thirty days

You would purposefully wait until he arrived back home at his estate before getting yourself off — in his bed, or in his private bath, so that Sanemi had to watch or feel you working yourself, whimpering his name as you imagined your fingers were his.

You’ve never seen a man wound tighter than Sanemi, coming home after a long night of fighting demons and having to put up with incompetent younger Corps members, who is greeted with the sight of his lover, in his bed, legs spread wide open as she plunges her fingers in and out of her wet and ready core, moaning his name. 

You also were fond of trouncing around his estate wearing little clothing — if any. In fact, you were far more fond of wearing nothing but his haori as you cooked for him. Sanemi thought you wouldn’t be able to resist him sidling up behind you and sliding his hands between its open folds to rest on your bare waist. He thought. 

As it turned out, you were more than happy to swat away his eager hands and resume chopping vegetables. Sanemi managed to hold in his groan of frustration until you bent over to pick up a stray piece of carrot that escaped the pot.

Not to mention it was his BIRTHDAY on the 29th and you wouldn’t so much as let him eat his favorite cake (your pussy) 

“But I’m not the one being pleasured, it’s you,” Sanemi’s voice bordered on a whine as he danced his fingers down the curve of your outer thigh.  You swatted his hand away. “Need I remind you that, on more than one occasion, you’ve had to change your clothes after spending time between my legs?”  Sanemi’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his head as you primly turn away from him, tightening the blanket around your half-nude form. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me —“ “Goodnight, ‘Nemi. Happy Birthday.”

But when the clock hits 12:01 AM December 1?

“If you think you’re walking out of this not pregnant — or that you’re walking out of here at all —,” he said severely, yanking you by the calves until your ass was pressed against his thighs. “Then you’ve got another thing fuckin’ coming.” 

Listen. Sanemi respects the fuck out of women, but you’ve been disrespecting him for the last month. He’s about to get MEAN.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that Sanemi is going to need to purchase new furniture by the end of it; shit’s getting smashed by you two. The bed, dressers, tables, you name it, you’re getting fucked on it, and it’s getting broken. 

You are being edged to oblivion. If you whine or complain, it only makes the punishment that much worse (so does crying but he actually wants to see those big fat tears). Sanemi breaks up pace consistently to ensure this happens.  Also, he’s gonna cum as much as he wants, but you’re not until he says so.

And when he finally, finally lets you cum, don’t you dare think it’s over — now he’s going to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing (again)

“You think you’re done, sweet girl?” His saccharine coos made your stomach curl because you knew that tone meant he was being anything but sweet. “Like hell you are.” Sanemi flipped the pair of you over, forcing you to lay with your back against his chest, your arms pinned behind you. The hand not restraining you slid to your throat, gripping softly and tilting your head back against him as Sanemi began to thrust sharply up into you.  “I’ve had to watch you cum around everything but me for the last month, darlin’,” his teeth sank down into the soft flesh between your shoulder and neck. The wince you made at the sharp prick of his teeth was quickly chased away with a few soothing licks and caresses from his deceptively soft lips.  “So you’re gonna be my good girl and cum on my cock until I’ve decided you’ve had enough. Understand?” 

It gets to the point where you genuinely cannot tell apart the fluids on your skin — sweat, your cum, his cum, or your tears 

When he’s finally out of stamina (which is like. days later, RIP you), the last few rounds are much slower, and he’s much softer and clingier. Granted, he’s shooting blanks by then because he’s also overstimulated and exhausted, but he thinks he’s made his point clear enough. He’s actually asking you for just one more, and if you’re crying, he’s quick to kiss the tears away and murmur words of encouragement and love

“Fuck, baby,” Sanemi moaned, his feet digging into the plush of his futon as a means of giving himself leverage to push into you, his thighs and hips having long since lost the ability to work with the same vigor they had when he’d first bent you over. “You feel too fucking good to stop.”  You cried out, fists clenching against the painful pleasure your lover continued to bestow upon you. Part of you was desperate for him to stop, to rest, but your body kept betraying you, your legs tightening around his waist to hold him in place.  “S-Sanemi,” you whimpered, fingers digging into the ropey muscles of his shoulders, unable to decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. “No m-more — I c-can’t —“ “One more, sweetheart, just one more.” He cooed, bending his face low to brush kiss after kiss against your lips, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Sanemi braced his weight upon his fists, situated on either side of your hips as he continued to rock into you. His pace now was far at odds with the one he’d maintained over the last day or two, with the scar-speckled Wind Pillar forgoing his vicious, unrelenting speed that had you clinging onto the nearest piece of furniture for dear life in favor of something far softer and more gentle.  “You can do that for me, right?” Sanemi circled his hips. "Just one more, sweet thing, that's all I ask." 

And you give it to him; though there are big, fat tears leaking down your cheeks and though every nerve in your body is screaming for a break, you come apart around him once more. But Sanemi still isn't fully satisfied even though he's a groaning, cursing mess rutting into you, so his thumb works its way between your legs and presses down. Only when a surge of your sticky fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin, does Sanemi finally relax, his own climax rolling into him like a steady wave.