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slytherinslut0 · 9 days ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

fuckfest. the slytherins — groupsome / drunk sex.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: malfoy manor is a great place for drinks, laughs, and…. orgys?

warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUTTTTTT, porn with negative 100 plot, literally just sex and mentions of alcohol, group of uni students that love to consensually gangbang when they have the chance (sorry i’m cackling at that), pansy and reader kiss a few times, multiple orgasms from some of the boys, anal sex, fingering, oral.

Habits are simple, predictable things, slipping into your life without much thought. Some are reckless, some harmless. And some, well—some come with the taste of someone else's lips.

You're not sure when kissing Pansy Parkinson became one of them. What started as a drunken dare, a little more fun than you'd planned for, has now undoubtedly turned into something else—something almost close to ritual. With every night that stretches long, every round of drinks that comes too fast, it's inevitable that your lips will find hers at one point or another, like clockwork.

And a habit is just a habit, but this one—this one you never feel like breaking.

"You ever try body shots with tequila?" Pansy whispers, breath warm against your lips as her smirk hooks you, the same way it always does.

"Plenty of times." You grin back, your mouth barely brushing hers. "What, you want me to lay back for you, Parkinson? Shirt pulled down—or off?"

Theo whistles, and Pansy giggles. They've seen this before, watched it unfold in countless variations, yet it's still equally as entertaining every single time.

"Pull it down, take it off, whatever gets me there faster." She's already moving, grabbing lime and salt with hands that are too steady for how much you've all been drinking. "You know I won't complain either way."

You pour her a shot, liquid gold catching the dim light in the room. You feel the weight of every inebriated gaze on you—Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo, Theo—all of them watching, same way they always do when you and Pansy put on a show.

You blink and she’s back in front of you, lime and salt in hand. You feel bold, drunk on the moment as you hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt, leaning into her kiss only to break it as you pull the fabric over your head. The boys shift around you—more whistles—and Pansy's hands find your face, greedy and gentle all at once, barely giving you a moment to toss the shirt aside before she nudges you onto your back.

"You're so fucking hot," she purrs, slinking between you and the boys who are seated around the table, grinning. "Tilt your head, that's it—here—"

She nestles the cool shot glass between your tits while sprinkling the salt on your neck—then, the lime slice is between your teeth before you can even register it, and now you're staring straight at Blaise—his dark eyes roving over you like a feast, lips parted just enough that you can imagine the feel of them pressed against your own.

Your thighs tense, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"The boys wanted a show," Pansy whispers as she pulls off her own shirt. "They'll get one."

You hum in agreement and she works like she's done this a hundred times— shot glass disappearing between her lips, tossing the tequila back before she sets it aside— warm tongue dragging along the line of salt on your skin, moving up to suck juice from the lime between your lips. She meets your eyes for what feels like a split second before the lime is yanked free and her mouth is on yours, lips tasting like tequila and salt and something wild—

You close your eyes against the flood of sensation—the alcohol, the heat, the spinning of the room—and kiss her back with equal fervour. Her lips crush yours, sloppy and wild, a thousand impulses spinning through your mind and inevitably, you're too weak to fight them, tugging her closer as a result.

Pansy huffs, fingers curling into your hair as she crawls on top of you—straddling your hips on top of the table as one hand slips down to your chest. The boys are muttering things that you can't hear as the kiss is frantic now, teeth grazing, tongues tangled, the taste of lime and tequila lingering in each exhale.

"Gods, Pansy," you gasp into her mouth, hands sliding down her waist, digging into the fabric of her skirt. "You're insatiable."

She pulls back just enough to smirk, breathless, her dark eyes glinting. "I could say the same about you, babe."

You feel the tension in her greedy fingers as they curl against your scalp, her weight pressing you down into the table, and suddenly—all the teasing, all the playing at flirting feels too far away—you need her closer, need to take control back, need to feel her beneath you instead of towering over you—

"Pans—" your hands find her hips, gripping tight as you push against her, trying to flip her onto her back—but in your haste, you misjudge the edge of the table and before you can stop her she's tumbling forward, off the side, straight into Draco's lap. "Oh—shit—"

Everyone gasps, the room pausing for a moment and you're vaguely aware of Blaise's hands clutching your waist, pulling you steady into his lap as you teeter off the table too, the tequila making your head spin. Pansy is sprawled over Draco on the floor, skirt hitched high enough to give the rest of you a perfect view of her ass—to which everyone in the room is admiring. Shamelessly.

It's a spectacle—and the boys have always loved a fucking spectacle.

"Merlin's sake—" Draco grunts as Pansy slumps over him, straddling his waist. You catch the way his hands grip her thighs, fingers flexing like they don't quite know what to do with themselves. "Always the bloody dramatics with you two.”

"I'm not even sorry." Pansy grins, unrepentant as ever as she leans into Draco's neck, teasing like nothing's even happened, like she's perfectly content to remain there, straddling his lap. "You make a good seat."

Draco scoffs, and Theo snickers from across the table.

"You're a menace." The words from Draco's lips sound a lot like praise, and something about the way his eyes flutter shut when Pansy's tongue finds the sensitive skin at his throat makes your mouth go dry. "You're alright, though?"

"Fine," she murmurs, though her tone suggests she's thinking of anything but her well-being. "Totally fine." Her fingers brush over his chest, tracing the buttons of his shirt. "Are...are you fine?"

"I'm—" his voice catches when her fingers undo the first button. "I'm fine."

"You are," she agrees, voice a little hoarse, as she undoes the second, then the third. "Very, very fine."

Draco's face flushes, and there's a sheepish edge to his smile as his hands—almost without thought—begin to slide higher, fingers trailing under the hem of her skirt, pulling it just a little further up her hips. Her eyes flutter closed for just a second as he settles over the curve of her ass, and there's a spark, a shiver of something between them—

Your gaze flicks to Blaise, feeling his presence at your back—solid, grounding, the warmth of his chest pressed against you as you lean into him. You don't have to see him to know he's watching, though you find the confirmation anyways, his dark eyes tracing every movement, every shift between the two heated Slytherins on the floor.

When you glance back, you see the boys are all watching, too—Theo, Enzo, Mattheo—all glued to the sight, silent in their anticipation.

Pansy grinds down, and Draco's head tips back, eyes closed, hands clinging to her hips, her ass, anywhere he can find—

"They don't waste any time, do they?" Blaise murmurs, words a tickle at your pulse, the sound of his voice pulling you back into your own body, your own skin.

You shiver as his fingers trail lightly up your ribs, teasing the edge of your black lace bra—you tilt your head and you catch Theo's gaze sliding over you, flicking back and forth between Pansy's legs and the way Blaise's hands have begun their slow exploration along your sides. You grin as you meet Enzo's eyes next, his lip pulled between his teeth, fingers tracing the rim of his cup—

"You could take notes, Zabini," you murmur, the words catching in your throat as his lips graze your shoulder—so close, too close.

"Me? Take notes?" He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the spot just below your ear. "I've already got it down to a science, baby.”

"Yeah?" You hum, lost in the feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his fingers are edging dangerously close to your breasts. You can feel Mattheo's gaze, burning into you from across the table, but you don't dare look, you'd crack if you did. "You sure about that?"

"Quiz me if you'd like." As if to prove his point, he pushes past the fabric of your bra, long fingers finding a nipple, and your hips twitch of their own accord, a gasp leaving your lips. "I'll pass any test you give me."

"Cocky." There's a slight edge to your voice as you roll your hips, meeting his heat with your own—just to distract him, of course. "You're gonna' make the others jealous."

"They'll have their fun," his finger toys with the clasp of your bra, now. You feel him undo it. "I want you first."

"Oh," you gasp at the sensation of cool air against bare skin as he yanks it off your arms, exposing your tits to everyone at the table. "Cocky and greedy."

"You'd expect nothing less, baby." He practically growls.

You choke on a moan. "Blaise-"

"That's my name," he's groping, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to make you squeak. "I know you're real familiar with it."

Pansy's moans, soft and breathy, fill the space as Draco works her out of her skirt, mouth moving between her thighs. You clench—seeing them—her fingers in his hair, her gasps growing louder and more frantic—your pulse quickens—

"Jealous?" Blaise's taunts, having caught you staring.

You shake your head, but—Merlin, how could you not be? You'd give just about anything to relieve the heat between your thighs. To feel the heat of all the eyes watching you right now against your skin. Mattheo, Theo, Enzo—

"Not jealous." Even you can hear how breathless you sound. "Just impatient."

"Patience is a virtue," Blaise says, all mock-virtuousness, squeezing your tits again, as if to punish you for being impatient. "One I'm happy to reward—"

Mattheo is the first to snap, shoving the half-empty bottle of alcohol aside and standing up, chair scraping across the floor. Theo considers doing the same, you can tell, eyes still glued to your half-naked body as he drains his cup in one gulp. Your eyes flick to Enzo, who's merely staring, his lip still being bitten to death between his teeth.

Merlin help you.

Mattheo strolls around the table—eyes roaming as he moves, stopping just behind where you sit on Blaise's lap, breath warm on the back of your neck as he murmurs in your ear—

"I've been patient." You think it's to Blaise. "Where's my reward."

Blaise snorts, and then Theo stands up.

"We've been patient." He's looking at Blaise, lips just starting to grin. "Real, real patient."

Enzo laughs as he rises, too—all three of them forming a loose semi-circle around you and Blaise. You can almost taste the testosterone—hot and eager and hungry—as their eyes rake over you.

Blaise tugs you closer, his hands sliding down to your hips. "I'm feeling outnumbered."

"You're outnumbered," Theo agrees, smirk growing as his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you off Blaise's lap and to your feet. "You're also outvoted. You think we're going to just sit around and watch?"

"Not a chance in hell," Mattheo growls as he moves behind you, calloused hand running up your thigh.

Blaise grunts from where he's still seated, watching you with molten eyes, "you lot are animals, you know that?"

You almost laugh at that, considering he had your bra off in minutes.

"We're just—eager." Theo whispers, leaning in just enough to breathe against your neck, kissing a path up your jaw while Mattheo's hands work at undoing your skirt. You're so turned on you're not sure how you're not dripping down your thighs. "I wanted to be inside you three fucking hours ago."

You whimper at his words, the thick air of the room suddenly too much as Mattheo's hands push your skirt down your legs.

"Three hours is generous." Enzo's moving now, but he isn't looking at you—his eyes are locked on Pansy as Draco slams into her—the two of them locked in a trance. "My head's been filled with filth since this afternoon."

"Filth?" Blaise cocks an eyebrow. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Filth," Mattheo husks, and his hand comes up to wrap around your throat—lips pressed to your ear. "All I've been able to think about for the past week."

Your hips twitch at the pressure against your throat—and you moan louder than Pansy. "Gods—if one of you doesn't fuck me in the next minute—"

"Told you," Blaise chuckles, watching Mattheo's hand around your throat like a hawk. "Animal."

"Then what?" Mattheo ignores him—fingers pressing against your pulse just a little harder as he pulls you flush against him, teeth finding your ear, and you feel Theo's fingers trail down your front, teasing your slit. "What're you gonna do?"

"Fuck," you mutter, breathless, hips jerking toward the touch. "I'll die—"

"Oh, that's not good." Enzo's looking now, circling around to stand on your free side, his gaze traveling from your face, down your body, to where Theo's fingers are centimetres from pushing into your soaked cunt. "Is it our responsibility to prevent that?"

"Probably. It's only the right thing to do." Mattheo's cooes against your neck. "Can't have you dying on us, now can we?"

"Mm. Not the only," Theo murmurs, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes a finger inside you. "I can think of a dozen things to do right now."

"A dozen?" Blaise scoffs. You're starting to hate the sound of his teasing fucking tone. "Only a dozen?"

You can't even reply—any words you possess are swallowed by another moan as a second, then a third, of Theo's fingers push deep into you. Even his fingers are long, you think. You forgot just how big—

"Merlin, Theo—fuck—"

"That's the idea," he grins against your lips—you moan again when his fingers curl deep.

"You like that?" Mattheos hands are all over you—your tits, your ass, the press of his chest against your bare back—and you think that you need to see his face, need to see his eyes. "You need more?"

"Yes." You're not sure if you're speaking to Mattheo, or Theo, or Enzo or Blaise, or all of them. "Yes, please—please—"

"Oh good," Blaise muses. "She's polite."

"Of course she is," Theo groans as your cunt clenches around his digits—your slick sounds filling the space between you, mingling with the sound of skin smacking from a few feet away. "So good for us."

"Mm," Mattheo adds, teeth scraping over your shoulder, squeezing your ass to make you gasp. "Very."

"A real angel," Enzo purrs, still circling like a fucking shark, eyes flitting over to Pansy and Draco again as her moans grow louder, more insistent. "Especially when she's begging."

It's all too much—Theo's fingers pumping deep, his thumb swirling your clit, the sounds of Draco and Pansy and the feel of hands and lips and intoxicated eyes everywhere—

Your head falls back against Mattheo’s shoulder. "Oh, please—fuck—please—"

"What're you begging for, Bellissima?" Theo murmurs, drawing your eyes back to his. "Wanna use your words?"

You gasp as his fingers move faster, deeper, as if he's trying to pull the words out of your throat. "Need—"

Blaise snickers. "Yes?"

"Need to cum—" you cry out, hysterical as Mattheo pinches your nipples, groans against your neck. "Need to be—fucked—"

"And I'm the greedy one." That's Blaise again, insufferable as ever.

"We like greedy," Theo grins against your mouth, fingers crooking, and your knees buckle. "Right, boys?"

"We do," Mattheo growls.

"We like it a lot," Enzo agrees, his eyes finally meeting yours. "We love it."

"Then what're you waiting for," you gasp, unable to take much more of the heat building, twisting, every point of contact sending a new wave of need through your body. "Give it to me—"

"Give you what?" It's Blaise again—God, he's driving you fucking insane tonight. "You gotta be more specific, babygirl."

"Give—ohh—" your orgasm is right there. Right. Fucking. There. "Give me your fucking dick, Zabini—fuck—you called first—"

"Oh I did, didn't I?" Blaise still hasn't moved from his seat, but you can see the way his trousers are straining. "Guess it's my lucky day."

Theo lets loose a groan, and you can feel his hips jerking in rhythm with his fingers. "Thank Merlin for small favours."

"Lucky for all of us, really." The corner of Blaise's mouth twitches, almost with the suggestion of a smile. "Don't you think, Enzo?"

Before you can even comprehend Enzo's response, Theo curls his fingers just right, thumb rubbing your clit just right, Mattheo groping your chest and kissing your neck just fucking right—and then you're there—climax charging you, release spilling all over Theo's fingers—

"Oh, fuck—yesyesyes—"

You cry out and shudder forward, only being held up by Theo and Mattheos hands, and you're barely back on earth before you feel Blaise's fingers under your thighs—urging you back and laying you out across the table as if you're a fucking feast for him—

"Patience," Blaise grins down at you, hands finding your thighs, squeezing hard enough to drag you back to reality and realize he's got his trousers undone. "Is really such a virtue."

"Right," you mumble, still breathless as you look up at him. "Too bad I'm fresh out."

Blaise chuckles at that. "I can tell."

Fuck this—

"Blaise—if you don't fuck me right now—" you push up from the table, urging him back into the chair he was sitting in. "I will let everyone else fuck me first and make goddamn sure you watch."

There's a flicker of surprise in Blaise's eyes as he slumps back in the chair—Mattheo snorts behind you and for a second you wonder if you may have just gone too far—

"Not a chance," he smiles, his words coming out in a growl that's all heat and lust and something just a little dangerous. "We'll have none of that."

And then, he's on his feet again. But this time, when he touches you, it’s firm and fast and not at all gentle. He directs you around the table before bending you over it, and you hear someone—Theo, you think?—groan like they're in pain, the sound swallowed by a desperate moan that you know for certain is Pansy's.

Your eyes flutter when you hear it—you just don't know where to look—

"No, look up. Up." Blaise's hand is in your hair, forcing you to look up from the table, and you realize where the sound came from. "I want you to watch."

Your head's spinning in a way you're sure is not entirely from the alcohol, and it only intensifies when your eyes focus on the scene just across the room—Draco and Pansy sprawled on the couch, now, Pansy riding him while stroking Enzo's insistent dick, his glossed eyes glued to yours, watching, just watching—

Blaise's hand is still in your hair. "That's it. Watch."

Enzo smiles at you, cheeky and fucking taunting before Pansy tightens her grip while jerking him off and his head tips back—

"Gonna' be good for me," Blaise murmurs against your back—his tip pressing against your dripping entrance. "Gonna' take it all for me?"

"Yes," you gasp, catching a glimpse of Mattheo and Theo just off to the side of you, sharing a smoke. "Fuck yes—"

"That's it, baby. Just relax," he cooes, and then he's pushing into you. "Relax and enjoy it—"

There's a sting as he stretches you, and keeps stretching you until he's bottoming out far fucking deeper than you'd remembered—there's a moan from you that gets tangled between your teeth, a gasp from infront you, a moan from someone else, and—gods, if Blaise doesn't start moving—

"Blaise—oh, fuck—"

Blaise gives a low moan as your walls flutter around him, a swear under his breath that's punctuated with a hard squeeze of your hip. "Good—god—Merlin—"

He pulls out just enough to make you cry out, shameless—and it melds with Pansy's from across the room.

"Shh," Mattheo steps infront of you, blocking your view of Pansy and Draco and Enzo. "Let Blaise feel you—"

—and suddenly, Mattheo's hand is on your jaw, forcing your head back, coaxing your eyes to his. His other hand disappears, down past his belt, and you moan again—wet walls squeezing Blaise as he slowly starts to rock into you.

"I wanna' fuck your throat," Mattheo murmurs, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. "Badly."

"So needy," your words are a breathless moan, but Mattheo doesn't seem to mind—he just grins as he unbuttons his trousers. "Can't even watch for five minutes without—"

"I know, I can't," he interrupts, and his hand's back at your jaw, gripping hard. "You've got me too fucking hard."

You're about to reply with another smartass comment, but Theo saddles up next to his fellow Slytherin and before you can blink his hand is on the back of your head, tangling in your hair, angling your lips toward Mattheo's now-exposed cock—

"Don't worry about the smart mouth," Theo leans down close to you, every intention of cutting off your reply. "We have other uses for it."

You'd probably roll your eyes at the phrase if it wasn't for Mattheo's dick pushing past your teeth and hitting the back of your throat so quick you gag— eyes squeezed shut as Blaise bottoms out, again and again.

"That's one of them." he adds with a smirk, watching you choke on his best friends dick.

You can't even think. Every thought that enters your head is immediately replaced with another moan, another sensation, another need, another—

"Draco! Fuck!" You hear Pansy cry out from the couch.

"Keep going, Pans," Enzo grunts, his voice sounding choked. "Just like that."

"She taking you good, Blaise?" The question comes out in a moan of his own—you think it's Draco—and you wonder idly who's doing what over there now. "Tight as I remember?"

“Tight and wet and—fuck—" Blaise's voice has taken on a new level of strangled, desperate, need that's almost too raw to hear it, and— "she's—good. She's good."

"That's it," Draco grunts again, like he's pleased to hear it. "She's an—oh, yes, Pansy, fuck—"

The noise from the couch is too much—you're not able to think past the fullness—the desperate, overwhelming heat that's consumed you, and that's when you feel a pair of lips at your ear—

"Does it feel good?" Theo's words are barely louder than a whisper, your gagging sounds almost drowning them out. He grabs your hand, slowly bringing it to his crotch. "Having us like this?"

Your fingers are clumsy, shaky as they wrap around him and try to push his trousers down—it's hard to see past the water in your eyes but once you do you're rewarded with a gasp and a low swear under his breath that sounds so damn good you want to hear it a million times more.

"Mmmfff." You moan around Mattheo as Blaise's fingers find your clit, coaxing you towards a high you're not sure you can handle—

"That's it," Theo whispers, moving your hand just the way he likes it. His fingers are tangled with yours while his free hand finds your hair again, shoving you closer to Mattheo. "Fuck. That's it."

Everything is spinning and whirling in the best way, the best possible way, and you know you're there, so close, but it's so hard to think, so hard to do anything—when—

"You gonna' cum for us, baby?" Another pair of lips at your ear, not Theo's voice, but Blaise's—ragged with his deep thrusts. "Gonna' cum for us good and hard?"

Your response, which most likely would have been something along the lines of: "yes" or "please" or "gods yes fucking please," is completely smothered by Mattheo—his hand at the back of your head alongside Theo's, fingers tangled in your hair, cockhead slamming the back of your throat over and over and over—

"Then do it," Blaise knows your answer anyways. His fingers rub quicker, his hips piston faster. "Now."

And it's in this moment where you lose yourself completely—the world narrows down to your body, every sensation flooding through you, and the fucking sounds—Pansy's moans, Theo's groans, Blaise's pants, Mattheo's swearing, Draco's whimpers and Enzo's fucking grunting—where you can't do a goddamn thing to stop it, not that you even wanted to. You do what Blaise told you, cumming so hard you see stars behind your eyes, and for one blissful, everlasting second—you feel nothing but pure unadulterated pleasure, until it all comes rushing back with force.

You think you hear Theo say "good girl" as your body tenses—shaking, trembling, clenching around Blaise so hard his pace falters and his hips slow and his thrusts turn erratic—and then you feel it—the result of his pent up passion as he slows to to an absolute standstill—spilling his cum deep into your cunt while he shudders against you, gasping out a curse that might have been your name.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, slowly—carefully—and you feel him pull out of you just as Mattheo moans, hands tightening in your hair, spilling his own release down your throat. "Oh, sweet Merlin."

It takes a moment for reality to filter back in, and you try to catch your breath in a way that's probably not very dignified. You're not quite sure what to do with yourself—and quite frankly, you're not given the chance to figure it out as Mattheo pulls out too and Theo slips up behind you—

"Come here, Bella," he murmurs, his lips at your ear again—he sounds like he's trying to catch his breath, too. Through the fog you remember that at one point you were jerking him off—and you feel the confirmation of his need still hard against your ass as he pulls you up against him. "There we go. Easy now."

You try to speak—you're not sure what you would even say—but your voice is as shaky as the rest of you, and all that comes out is a soft moan.

"She's—" Blaise's still trying to steady his breath as he slumps into his prior chair, trousers still half undone. "—she's on mars."

"I've a feeling we all are," Theo mutters, holding you against him. His fingers skim down your stomach, almost like he's mapping out the aftershocks. "Some more than others."

You can almost feel the way his eyes flick across the room with that—noting the way Draco's splayed out on the couch next to Pansy who's now riding Enzo and jerking a still half-hard Mattheo—

"Oh, relax," Draco scoffs, eyes shut and head tipped toward the ceiling. "I'll rejoin the land of the living in a moment."

"Sure, Draco," Mattheo huffs, and you can practically hear the roll of his eyes from here. "We'll be here when you do."

"Mm—fuck, Pansy—"

Enzo's moan cuts through their bantering and it's at that moment where Theo finally decides he's waited long enough—he grabs your wrist and pulls you away from the table, directing you to the couch where he slumps down and drags you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his—throbbing, leaking cock pressing against your cum soaked cunt.

You moan, and Pansy moans beside you.

"I think," Theo murmurs into your neck, his words as thick and as needy as his hardness, "I could get used to this."

"S'that right?" You try to keep your words cool, to be as unaffected as you'd like, but—there's no hiding the way your breath hitches, the way you move your hips just the slightest in his lap. "I can't say the same about your size."

"Take me at your own pace." He husks, a smirk you're sure is attached to the words. "I'm halfway there already from that handjob."

You'd laugh at that if you weren't still so breathless and shaky from before, so instead the laugh comes out as a needy moan as you slide forward, shifting in his lap until you feel his tip brush up against your already sensitive clit—

"Gods," you breathe out the word, bracing your hands on his shoulders. "Such a gentleman."

"Always," he replies, completely sincere just before his hands grab your hips and in one quick motion—he's guiding you down onto him. "Always for you."

You'd reply—you'd probably even say something that might be sweet, if you could, if the rest of the world didn't fade into a sort of pleasurable blankness as you sink down—down until the moan that leaves you is so unbridled that it should have been embarrassing if the whole fucking lot of you weren't so far passed embarrassment—because just the head of him is so thick and you're suddenly thankful Blaise stretched you out so deliciously because otherwise you think it'd be too much, too quick and—fuck.

You're still sensitive, and you know he can tell—

"Oh, she's tight." Theo's voice is low in your ear, his lips tracing your jawline. "Too much?"

"Never," you gasp out, offering some weak shake of your head. "Never too much."

He grins against your pulse, teeth scraping across your skin—

"Good."

He punctuates the word by sinking you down a bit more, the stretch of his shaft drawing out a moan from deep in your chest—

"And when it is?"

—he pauses, tightening his grip on your hips to pull you up slightly before sliding you back down—

"Tell me."

You're only half able to form the thought at this point—the other half of you is so preoccupied with the feeling of his hands holding you, his lips against your skin, his voice in your ear—you nod, anyway, and there's another moan from somewhere in the room—Enzo again, and it's more of a whimper than anything else.

"That’s it, Pansy, so good—"

"Feels good, Enzy?" Her response comes through gasps. "You like it like that?"

Blaise answers for them both—you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, slumped back in his chair with a new drink in hand. "Keep that up and he'll never leave that couch again."

"He's not the only one." Theo's words vibrate through you, and while you're not sure if it's the meaning behind them or the way they're sent deep into your neck with a hint of teeth, either way you have to swallow a moan before you can respond.

"Is that so?" You reply, doing your goddamn best to keep your voice steady as Theo's hips roll up into you again.

"It is so," he murmurs. "You think you can handle staying on this couch all summer?"

Summer. Hardly a week away. You think of the days and nights you're going to spend in this manor, in this room—in this room on this fucking couch—

His hands slip to your ass, guiding you up and down. "You think you could last another hour?"

"Mmm," you manage to get the sound out before he rolls up again, the perfect angle to hit that sensitive spot somewhere deep inside you and that's all you have to say before all other higher level thinking goes out the window. "Oh, Theo, you’re fucking deep—"

"I know," he replies, his breath harsh against your throat, his words lost between the moans you can't seem to keep from slipping out. "I know, bella, I know—"

Cocky bastard.

You lean down, pulling his head against your chest with hands in his hair and he follows. You'd think he'd try to pull back, just to say something witty with a smirk on his face—but instead he groans, his tongue flicking over your nipple and that's when you hear Mattheo grunt from somewhere beside you—

"Fuck me." His voice comes out as a gasp that he's struggling to keep from sounding strangled. Pansy's still lazily stroking him, multitasking while riding Enzo. "I'm so fucking hard again."

If you could manage a proper response, you might have said that was the idea—you'd probably have said something very clever about how you wouldn't mind letting him down your throat again.

You can still think, but the thought is a struggle, so all you manage is a breathless—

"Matt—“

"Mmm?" Hardly a hum—and for some reason it's so much more attractive than it probably should be. "Yes, princess?"

The way you shiver at the pet name is something you're going to have to examine at some point—not now, though, because if you have to put any more thought into any single thing you're going to explode.

"You—you—"

Theo interrupts before you can finish the sentence. "Fuck her, Riddle."

If Mattheo's surprise at Theo's apparent order is evident, it's masked by the moan he lets out as Pansy does something that must have felt especially good.

"I, fuck—I already fucked her throat, Nott. If you'd finish gatekeeping her—"

"She's got another hole, Riddle," Theo replies, with that self-assured tone that's too goddamn cocky to be legal and you wonder absently if he knows what it does to you as he gives a sharp, deliberate roll of his hips. "She can handle it, can't you, bella?"

You try to moan out an answer—you're sure there's a sound there—anything to let him know that yes, you not only can but that you're not sure there's anything you'd rather do—yet the words die before you can get them out as Mattheo is already moving—rough hands finding your ass, spreading your cheeks as he leans down to press a kiss to the dimples on your lower back. The sensation catches you off guard but you don't have time to think about that before you feel something wet—his saliva, you think—slick between your cheeks and then his fingers are there, rubbing and massaging against your tight hole—

And then, he's pressing a finger into you. "Oh—"

You're not even sure if your gasp is a reaction to Theo's movement or Mattheo's—all you know is that for a moment it all just combines into a whirlwind that seems to just drown all the oxygen out of your lungs completely—

"I know," Theo's breath is as laboured and rough as yours—the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, your collarbone. "God, I know—"

"Jesus," another moan, strangled and needy, and it's not from you or Theo or even Enzo—it's from Mattheo. "Oh, this ass is tight—"

That's not something you're going to be able to get over—hearing that coming from him. "Oh fuck, Matt—"

"Mmm?" There's a smile in his voice—and you'd see it on his face if you were facing him, if all of his focus weren't so decidedly somewhere else. "You want me to fuck this perfect ass, don’t you?"

With that he pushes another finger into you while Theo wraps his arms around your waist to hold you steady to his chest. His hips cant up into you, and you swear you're on fire—Mattheo chuckles.

The sensation is so much you’re crying out again, his teasing turning infuriating. "You're a goddamn—ah—bastard—"

"Maybe so," he replies, with a smack to one of your asscheeks. "But a bastard that's going to—"

He stretches you out, pumping and scissoring slow, just as deliberate as everything else he does—and the moan you let out is enough to drown out whatever witty, dirty words you're sure he was going to follow that with—

"Fuck—fuck," the word is all you can manage as you brace your hands against Theo's shoulders, nails digging into his skin— "oh, fuck—"

Mattheo groans against your back and you swear it's intentional because he has to know what all of this is doing to you—what it's doing to Theo by association.

"Fuck, she likes that—" Theo's gasp hits you like a punch in the gut. "I should have—"

It's like there's a whole sentence, some snarky, perfectly articulate statement he had in mind, but whatever words it was comprised of are lost in the way he shivers—in the way his hips jerk more erratically due to how tight you're squeezing him—due to the way your walls spasm as Mattheos fingers keep pumping, stretching—

"Should have what?" It's a miracle you manage the words, and you're feeling particularly proud about the way it's more of a challenge than a question, even if it's half mumbled.

Whatever it is, he can't say it, and whatever retort you had for that is interrupted by the sound of a grunt—Enzo. His face is screwed up in pleasure, his breath is coming in ragged, uneven pants and there's a look in his eyes that looks distinctly broken.

Mattheo groans and pulls his fingers free. You feel the tip of his dick replacing them. "Can’t fucking wait any longer."

Enzo's eyes meet yours, then, and they're absolutely wrecked. "I'm going to—"

Pansy grins and moans out her reply. "Yeah, you are."

There's little else you can say—not that you'd have the words even if you weren't as lost as the rest of them. You just have a flash of thought about how you've never seen Enzo look like that before, open and vulnerable and completely at the mercy of whatever bliss he's riding right now, but then there's another feral moan escaping your lips—

"Oh, Gods, Mattheo!—"

Theo groans into your neck as Mattheo presses in and it takes merely two seconds before your eyes roll back—the way he sinks into your ass is a level of fullness you weren't sure you could reach, and even that's a thought that's too complex for you to process as your head drops, forehead pressed to Theo's shoulder.

There's a hiss from his lips, another muttered curse that you half catch as he bites at your collarbone, his hands moving back to squeeze your hips—

"Fuck, yes," Mattheo's voice sounds more strained than you've ever heard it. "Jesus Christ, that feels good—"

"Don't think the saviour would like you taking his name in vain," Blaise says, from somewhere in the room. "Not in this scenario at least."

No, he wouldn't, you think, but there's no way you've got the wherewithal to speak now—any focus you had is lost now that you're impaled on not one, but two cocks and it's like your entire nervous system's been turned over to the sensation of being so fucking full, so surrounded—of not being able to do anything except try to remember how to breathe.

It's not working very well.

"Mm," Theo's moans, fucking up into you nice and slow. "I think he'd understand."

"I think that's a rather blasphemous stance to take," Blaise replies. "Then again, given the scenario, perhaps that's not the most shocking revelation I've had of you all today."

"Blaise," Enzo groans, his tone somewhere between pleading and demanding. "Are you really going to try and have a conversation right now?"

"Just making an observation," Blaise says casually, and you swear that part of your brain that still functions can see the smirk plastered on his face in your mind. "Merely commenting about the depravity on display."

"Your commentary is duly noted," Mattheo breathes, his words punctuated by a low moan as he smacks your ass. "And dismissed."

There's a grumble of agreement through the room at that, including one from you, but all your words come out as a gasp—

Theo loves you like this. You can tell he's fucking savouring it. "That's it, bella. You don't need to do more than that."

Part of you wants to protest the statement, wants to argue that you have it in you to contribute more, but no matter how hard you try—and you do try—all that comes out around the moans is an inarticulate mess.

"Yeah, that's it," Mattheo groans, and you'd be embarrassed about how utterly ruined by all of this you are if you could focus on anything other than the two dicks pumping you in rhythm. "Just let me and Nott take care of your—mmf—tight fuckin' holes."

There's a whine that worms its way out of your chest and through your lips at that, and you don't know what it's begging for—just that it's begging, and all your mind cares about right now is that Theo and Mattheo understand that.

Theo's response is a moan of his own and a hand finding the back of your neck, his fingers wrapping around your hair. "So fucking wet—tight—"

"And taking us so goddamn well," Mattheo adds as one of his hands grab your ass again, spreading you open. "Fucking hell—I'm so close—"

"So are we," Theo responds for you, and the words are harsh and desperate and make your whole body shudder. "So—ah—so are we—"

The realization that he can feel how close you are makes you clench—walls fluttering around the both of them as they fuck you tempered—it’s only a few more seconds before you're seeing stars so bright you hardly register the sounds of Enzo and Pansy reaching their climaxes next to you—the feeling of Pansy crashing her lips to yours as she cums and moans into your mouth propelling you further over the edge, into your own ecstasy—

And if there were a way to describe it, you're sure you'd think of it later, but right now it's all just fire and lightning—pleasure wracking your body until you're certain you're not going to come down for hours. You can't really hear anything—just the rushing of your own blood pulsing in your ears—but as it starts to subside, your vision returns and the sound follows—your lips still pressed to Pansy's as Theo moans underneath you, spilling his release into your cunt while Mattheo is still thrusting slow—

"Oh my god," you gasp as you break the kiss, all of you breathing so hard you're sure it's going to take a while for the oxygen levels in the room to return to normal. "Oh my god, oh my god—"

"Mmm," is about all Theo seems to be capable of currently.

It’s a rare thing for him to be rendered speechless—and you'd grin at the knowledge if it weren't for Mattheo still thrusting deep in your ass—leaving Theo trapped inside your cunt, his length still twitching and throbbing within your walls.

"Still with us, princess?" Mattheo's chuckle is somewhat strangled, and the hand he's not gripping your ass with finds your hair again, tugging your head back to expose your neck. "You aren't done already, are you?"

If he expects—or even wants—an actual answer to that question, he's going to be very disappointed because all you can manage is a strangled half-moan that's a decent representation to how you're feeling right now—

"I think she's lost her words," Mattheo murmurs—and then it's like he realizes something. "Maybe we should test that."

"Wha—"

It's not a proper word, but you don't even have the chance to fully get it out before his hand in your hair is pulling your head back even further and you realize that at some point Pansy had gotten off of Enzo and he's now kneeling on the couch in front of you with his cum covered cock aimed directly at your lips—

"Clean me off."

It's another demand you'd probably be inclined to respond to with a snarky reply if you were at all confident in your ability to do anything other than open your mouth and let him press the tip to your tongue—

"Good girl," Enzo says, and the praise is delivered with that voice that sounds like it came from some dark place inside him, the one that's only ever really appeared in the privacy of these walls and with this group of people. "Taste your bestfriend on me, hm? You like that?"

It's a question you'd probably deny a few months ago, but that's not the case anymore—and you know that the answer would be obvious regardless, given how you've just proven you're more than happy to share them with her. So instead you give an answer that's a better representation of how you feel without having to admit it, and it only comes out as a hum of agreement as you taste her.

"I know you do," Enzo replies, and he's got that same smirk he usually has when he's got the upper hand, the one that usually makes you feel at least mildly put out—now it just makes you shiver. "Little slut."

Theo, who's still trapped underneath you and still half hard inside you, moans at that.

"Mmmm-" yes, you want to say, but you can't and the noise you manage instead, around the taste of your bestfriend on your tongue, comes out more like a whimper that has absolutely no business doing as much to you as it does.

Mattheo growls with a deep thrust into your ass, and the whimper turns into a whine as Pansy moves closer to you.

"You look pretty," she murmurs, her mouth pressed against your hair as Enzo pushes his dick deeper down your throat. "You look so fucking pretty right now."

There's something about that, the way her voice caresses the words, that makes something warm rush through you, wrapping around the bliss and squeezing until you're almost overwhelmed again.

Your eyes water, as you gag. "Mmgh—"

"Mhmm," her lips move down your cheek, next to your mouth where Enzo is still slowly fucking it, and it's like the action is deliberate—a way to show, without saying it outright, just how wrecked you are. "And you say I'm insatiable."

That's fair, because right now you're fairly certain you've never wanted something to continue forever quite as much as you do this, regardless of the fact that you know it's not practical.

"Ah, fuck—" Mattheo grunts with a messy thrust. “Oh, fuck—"

He's not the most loquacious person in the world but even he is having a hard time getting words out—and you're not much better, with the only sounds you're capable of making completely indecipherable even for you, let alone the rest of the room.

"Fuck—" with a final curse, he spills his release deep into your ass and Theo groans from under you as you clench as a result. "—yes."

The feeling of him twitching and spilling inside you makes you moan around Enzo, and he groans too—one hand tangled in your hair and the other tangled in Pansy's to keep her close—

"Mm, yes," Enzo moans now, jerking his hips toward your face. "Feels good—so good—“

—and close is an apt word because they're all close to you, all surrounding you—even Blaise and Draco's exhausted presence are felt in the background.

"I'm pretty sure she's gonna be sore for days after this," Pansy says, the words whispered. "I hope you all know—"

"I think she'll be thanking us for that," Theo replies before anyone else can. "In a day or two at least."

Pansy giggles, a sound that's soft and familiar and comforting even in this current state of being surrounded and overwhelmed, and her cheek brushes up against yours as the two of you peer up at Enzo—

"You're probably right." She whispers.

Enzo grunts, pulling his cock from your mouth and offering it to Pansy who greedily takes it in her own—

"Selfless generosity," Theo murmurs from directly under your chin having just witnessed that, and his tone suggests he's got his signature smirk in place. "How noble of us."

"Very selfless," Blaise says, from somewhere in the room again—and even as you're lost in pleasure you know that statement borders on sarcastic. "Absolutely nothing in it for any of you."

"Nothing at all," Theo replies, the same amount of sarcasm in his voice as Blaise's. "It's all self-sacrifice."

"Mm," Mattheo murmurs against your shoulder, before he pushes himself off you and finally pulls out. "Not even a shred of personal satisfaction."

You're still collapsed on top of Theo, as boneless as a human being can be, and a quiet whine escapes your lips at the loss before you can stop it.

"See," Theo murmurs, a hand coming up to run through your hair. "We've practically made a martyr of ourselves here. Selflessness at its finest."

"So humble," Blaise says, and you swear you hear the eyeroll that's almost certainly included. "I think this calls for medals and a parade through the streets. A holiday, maybe. Selfless Slytherin Day."

Enzo huffs—you can tell he's considering telling Blaise to shut up before he ruins his orgasm but as Pansy drags her tongue along the underside of his shaft, he seems to forget about it—

"Absolutely," Mattheo says—and if you had the strength to lift your head and look at him there'd likely be a smug smirk on his face. "I'd volunteer to be parade marshall, personally."

Enzo pulls out of Pansy's mouth with a gasp—and it's all but two seconds before he sprays sticky jets of cum all over your face and hers, his head tipping back as he does—

"I'm sure you would," Blaise says dryly, his voice coming from closer now than before. "I'm sure you would also volunteer to accept the medal, and then offer a speech about how humble you are."

"Mhm,” Mattheo sounds unbothered. You know he is. "Obviously. Someone's got to make sure the truth is told."

Pansy giggles against your face, then, before her tongue drags across your cheek, collecting some of Enzo's release. "Well, it's no good if you all are going to keep doing a poor job at the selflessness part.”

"I think we're well past the point of pretending we're doing this selflessly," Theo mutters dryly as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "If we were capable of that level of pretending, we'd all be in Ravenclaw."

Your hands find Pansy's hair, holding her close to you as you lick Enzo's cum off her chin and jaw.

"You're welcome to switch houses if you'd like," Blaise responds dryly. "Some of us were sorted to our houses for reasons other than self-satisfaction—"

"Oh, shove it, Zabini," Enzo says as his breath comes back. "You're acting like a bloody dad."

Blaise opens his mouth, presumably to offer some kind of sharp retort, but before they have a chance, Pansy cuts in. "If you're all quite finished with the pissing contest—“

"We've been done for minutes," Theo replies quickly, hand now stroking through your hair. "Now we're just bickering for the sake of it, as usual."

"Which means we've got at least another half an hour to go," Blaise mutters—before apparently giving up all attempt at sounding cool and collected and flopping down on the nearest open section of sofa.

"At least," Mattheo agrees. "Maybe an hour, if we're lucky."

Next to you, Enzo grunts out a laugh as he starts trying to fix himself back to modesty. "Lucky is one word for it—"

"I think lucky is an excellent term for the current state of things," Theo replies, his voice all smooth and silky and perfectly at fucking ease. "In fact, I'd be hard pressed to think of anything more lucky than getting to experience this."

Everyone is in agreement, at that.

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theshitpostcalligrapher · 2 years ago

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"scalloped" taters, an Old AF family recipe that was only written down in the last 20 years or so, with no measurements anywhere on the recipe card

oven-safe dish. preferably lidded, but loose aluminum foil works fine too

potates, however many you want or need to use up, sliced as thin as you get can them without a mandoline because no one in the family has ever had one

onions, halved and also sliced thin, quantity relative to how much you like onions

all purpose flour

milk (or halfnhalf if you're a decadent lil guy. you can also use unflavored and unsweetened nondairy milk. i've never tried it, but relatives have and reported positive results)

butter, either room temp so you can plop little bits of it or cut into tiny cubes

seasonings (salt, pepper, i've added fresh thyme and sweet paprika before to great success, old bay because i was half asleep and thought it was paprika and it was fine, nutmeg, five spice, go ham)

add a layer of taters to the bottom of the dish, not specified how deep, but flat double layer turns out best by my experimentations. add some onions. sprinkle some seasonings on it to taste. sprinkle some flour on it. again, no measurements, i use at least one heaping big soup spoon's worth of flour per layer, a solid dusting but you should be able to still see the potatoes through it. a few dots of butter. cannot stress enough that this is how the got dam recipe is written

repeat layers until you run out of potatoes, pressing down as needed. you want a little room between the top of the taters and the lip of the dish. or just bake it with a sheet pan on the rack below it if you're paranoid. don't flour the top layer of taters, butter it liberally instead. how much butter do you want? this is a recipe from 1890s southern usa, home of Eating Fat Recreationally, so the traditional answer is "too much"

the strongest vibe check: pour an unspecified amount of milk (carefully) into the potatoes without disturbing the layers. i usually put the milk in my nicest measuring pyrex with the good spout and pour slowly against the side of the dish. "how much milk?" you might ask naively, like i once did. "enough" is the answer i got. i usually pour until i see the whole mass of taters/onions/flour just start floating off the bottom of the dish. top layer not fully submerged but rubbing elbows with the milk. i like saucy potatoes. the temperature of the milk doesn't matter. i've simmered shit like garlic and bay leaf in it before pouring to great success

bake at 375 until it's done. literally word for word what the recipe says, doesn't say to cover it. i do so i can control sauce thickness and browning, but even that isn't necessary. i start checking after 20 mins. when it's done, the taters and onions will be soft all the way through and the milk/flour/butter/seasonings will have thickened into a sauce. how well this sauce hugs the taters and onions will entirely depend on whether my great great great grandmother reached through your spoon to help guide your flour to milk ratio. too runny for your liking, take the lid off and bake it some more. too thick, add more milk, push it around a little bit to mix, and bake it some more. the world is your potato

it's at its best after a 10-15 minute rest, but it isn't necessary. amount made is also relative; i have done a single serving of this in a ramekin with one (1) potato, quarter of an onion, in a toaster oven, all while very very sick, and it turned out splendidly. it's solid comfort food, 20/10 if great³ gramma possesses you during assembly

------

ooooh ty ty

#submission #you can exchange the butter for bacon fat if you're a lunatic like my uncle. it fuckin slapped though #recipes

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what-even-is-thiss · 4 months ago

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One of my friends requested I write down my deviled egg recipe for them because I make really good deviled eggs and I figured I might as well share it here as long as I've got it written down. My personal secret ingredient is the vinegar. If you use it in small amounts you can't taste it but it makes a world of difference with the texture. I do most of this by sight these days but this is basically how it goes:

Deviled Eggs by Roman

(Scale up or down, adjust seasoning to your tastes, makes 2 dozen, best served as an appetizer or potluck dish.)

12 hard boiled eggs peeled and washed

½ - 1 cup Hellmann’s/Best Foods mayo

1 tsp white or apple cider vinegar

2 tsp mustard powder (adjust according to desired spice level)

1 tsp salt

1 tsp black pepper

½ tsp paprika, more for garnish

Slice eggs in half, placing the yolks in a bowl. Set the whites aside.

Add spices, vinegar, and salt to the yolks and smash them in with a fork until the yolks are broken up into very small pieces and the spices and vinegar are evenly distributed.

Add mayo one large spoonful at a time, mixing into the yolks with the fork and getting any lumps out. Keep adding more until the mixture is the desired texture. It should be smooth and pasty enough to fit through a piping bag but not so full of mayo that it’s turning pale.

Taste the yolk mixture and add more spices if desired.

Pipe or spoon the mixture into the egg white halves. The mixture should completely fill the egg whites and go over the top just a little bit.

Sprinkle lightly with paprika for decoration and cover eggs and refrigerate for at least an hour and no more than a full day before serving.

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unholyhelbig · 7 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

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thebearer · 1 year ago

Text

the milestones menu: teddy's toast

prompt: you and carmen tell teddy some big news.

the rest of the milestones menu can be found here!

contains: fluff. dad!carmen x mom!reader but truly just fluff :)

3 tablespoons granulated or brown sugar

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Pinch of kosher salt

Unsalted butter, for cooking

4 slices of brioche bread

In a small bowl, stir together the cinnamon, sugar, and salt. Melt some butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-low; you’ll want enough to lightly coat the bottom of the skillet when melted. Swirl the bread around to absorb the butter. Cook until light golden brown. Add another pat of butter. Sprinkle the toasted tops edge to edge with a thin layer of the cinnamon sugar. Cook until the underside is golden brown.

“Daddy.” It was hardly a whisper, teetering on the edge of a hiss. Carmen’s vision blurred, still foggy with sleep, making out a mess of curls in front of him.

“Daddy,” Teddy’s voice was louder this time, ticking up in octave the way yours did- a sweet coo you always used when you were coaxing her out of bed. Carmen’s heart swelled, she’d picked up on that. Teddy was acting more and more like you every single day, and Carmen couldn’t be happier.

“Yeah? Yeah, ‘m up.” Carmen groaned, rubbing the heel of his hand to his eyes, rubbing out the sleep in them. His body ached, sore from the long week. Hamstrings burning in the most miserable way. “What’s up Teddy Bear? You sleep good, hm?”

“Yeah.” Teddy giggled, pushing up on the edge of the mattress. She was still too little, which selfishly made Carmen smug. She was so big now, four years old. He blinked, and now she was her own little person.

“Where’s Mama?” Carmen muttered, looking around. It was too late in the morning for you to be in bed. The doorway was vacant of you leaning against it, a tiny smile and cup of coffee cradled to your chest, soaking in watching Teddy and Carmen interact.

“She’s throwded up again.” Teddy frowned. “She not feel good?” It was a question, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed.

“I think she ate somethin’. Got her tummy all messed up.” Carmen muttered, tickling Teddy’s little tummy, leaving her squealing and kicking in his arms. He hoped it would distract her. Stop her from asking too many more questions.

“Are you hungry? Mama made you breakfast yet?” Carmen asked, sliding out of the bed with Teddy on his hips.

“No,” Teddy shook her head, tiny, chubby fingers poking at Carmen’s chain. “She was gonna until she gots sick.”

“Oh,” Carmen nodded slowly, opening the door. Anchovy chirped, stalking in and out of his legs, head nuzzling against his calves while he walked. He wanted Teddy down, the toddler and the cat had been inseparable since birth, but Carmen liked to tell himself Anchovy was excited to see him.

“How about we make somethin’ that will make Mama feel better?” Carmen suggested. He could hear you in the guest bathroom, water running and vent going to drown out your heaves. It had worked at the beginning, but now Teddy was catching on.

“What?” Teddy asked, head tilting to the side so sweetly Carmen wanted to squeeze her.

“What do I make you when you’re feeling gross?” Carmen asked, settling the toddler on the counter, one hand on her hip to steady her, the other preheating the oven.

“Soup?” Teddy chirped.

“In the mornings.” Carmen tried again.

Teddy thought for a moment, a grin spreading across her face. “Teddy’s Toast.”

“Yeah,” Carmen smiled proudly. “You think that will help Mama feel better?”

“Uh-huh.” Teddy nodded, curls bobbing when she shook her head. “I helps?” She pointed at herself, lips rounding cutely when she asked the question. Carmen was sure his heart might just swell and burst out of his chest, she was so cute sometimes. He didn’t know how he’d handle two.

“Yeah, you can help. Get me the bread?” Carmen put her on the ground, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before nodding to the pantry.

Teddy scampered past you, nearly knocking you over in the process. You looked sick, a little woozy still. It was less now, just a little upset in the morning, then you were fine.

Carmen’s eyes flicked over to you, rounding with concern. “Hey, mornin’, baby.” He muttered, a hand running across your back when you met him. “You feel alright? You good? Need some ginger ale or Sprite?”

“I just need water.” You swallowed the spit that filled your throat, still a little sensitive from the retching moments ago.

Teddy swung the bread on the counter, jumping with raised arms to Carmen so he could lift her up- so she could ‘help’ him cook.

Carmen passed you a glass of water, which you took gratefully, lifting Teddy on the counter. “Gotta sit still, Dorothea, alright? You start movin’, you’re down.” He gave her a stern look, which she just waved off with a cute nod.

“Teddy,” You cooed, voice still a little raspy. “Did you go wake up Daddy?”

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you-you was sick, Mama.”

Carmen’s eyes met yours, a knowing look shared between you. “I was. Thank you for getting Daddy. That was a good thing to do.” You praised her lightly.

Teddy beamed, looking at Carmen gleefully while he cut the butter into slices. “Now we make you breakfast, Mama.” Teddy nodded.

“Oh? What are you making me, Chef Teddy?” You asked, head leaning into the palm of your hand.

“‘S a secret.” Teddy whispered, fingers pressed to her lips. “Surprise!”

“Oh, it’s a surprise, hm?” You asked dramatically, hoping to reach her level of excitement.

Carmen smirked, wrist rotating the butter on the pan. “Yeah. You’ll like it, honey. Promise.” He winked at you softly. You flushed, cheeks tingling with heat. He could still make you flustered, still make you swoon.

“Yeah, pwomise.” Teddy added with a little bob of her head; her own nod of approval.

“Hey, Teddy. Could you do Mommy a big favor?” You ask, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Could you get Mommy’s phone from the living room and bring it in here? Two hands, please?”

Teddy nodded, Carmen setting her down so she took off, two feet pounding against the hardwood floors. “Do you think we should tell her?” You asked, sipping the rest of your water, eyeing Carmen carefully.

“Tell her now?” Carmen pointed towards the counter, sprinkling the sugar mix on top of the browning toast in the pan.

“Yeah, I mean… She’s catching on.” You mutter, hearing Teddy’s rough grab of the charger ripping out of the wall with your phone. “Might as well tell her before she starts telling everyone I’m sick and they get worried.”

“Yeah, we-we can do that.” Carmen nodded, flipping the toast gentled in the pan. “If you want, honey.”

“I think it would be best. Try to do it and then I can get the thing out of the closet for her.” You mutter, Teddy running back in, announcing triumphantly she found your phone.

“Thank you, my sweet girl.” You coo, lifting her in your arms, peppering her face with kisses while she squealed and squirmed. Carmen tensed at you lifting her, eyes glaring at you in warning before turning back to the food in front of him.

Teddy sat in your lap in the nook. You weren’t sure why you wanted to hold her, cuddle her softly while she babbled to you and Carmen, feeding you pieces of ‘Teddy Toast’ with an excited screech. You’d blame the hormones, mixed with the anticipation of telling her the news.

“‘S good?” Teddy asked, turning to you with bright eyes- identical to Carmen’s. You wanted to melt. “Feel better?”

“So much better.” You nodded. “How did you know this would make me feel better, hm? You’re so smart, aren’t you Teddy Bear?” You baby talk her, pressing kisses to her cheek. You know you shouldn’t anymore, she was four, growing up now, but how could you not? She was still so little to you.

“Hey, you done?” Carmen asked, wiping Teddy’s hands when she nodded. He pushed the plate away, eyes cutting to yours carefully. “Teddy, we gotta tell you somethin’, ok? Somethin’ big.”

Teddy stilled, ears perking at Carmen’s words, his tone. “Big?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, smoothing a hand down her curls. You moved her, turned her in your lap so she was facing both of you. “You know Mama’s been getting kinda sick lately?”

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you ated something.”

“Right.” Your eyes cut to Carmen’s. “Well, not really ate something… Do you remember when Aunt Sugar had baby Jamie?” You started.

Teddy’s lips twisted in thought, nodding. “And you remember Aunt Sugar had Jamie in her, uh, belly?” Carmen tickled her tummy softly, a lopsided smile spreading across his face at her little squeals and giggles.

“Yeahhhh…” Teddy sang, collapsing into Carmen’s arms dramatically.

Carmen snuggled her to his chest, nose pressed to her hair, looking at you. “Well, Mama’s been a little sick because,” You took a shuddering breath, clammy hand smoothing over your tummy. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, so nervous to tell your toddler.

“Because Mama has a baby in her tummy.” Carmen finished it for you, found the words that were choking in your throat, struggling to make their way out.

Teddy frowned slightly- confused. You wanted to laugh, she looked so adorable. “A baby?”

“Mmhm,” You nodded. “Your baby. Well, our baby, but your baby brother or sister.” You and Carmen paused, looking at Teddy, analyzing her every little move- every tiny tick and quirk as she thought silently.

“There’s… There’s a baby… in there?” Teddy processed it slowly, pressing a tiny finger into your ribs.

“Yeah, right in here. That’s your baby brother or sister.” You nod slowly, voice calm and even, hoping to help her understand.

“That’s why Mama’s been a little sick.” Carmen added.

“Because of the baby?” Teddy clarified.

“Because of the baby.” Carmen nodded slowly.

“Because you ated it?” Teddy’s brows furrowed, looking up at you.

You and Carmen paused, looking at each other. You’d played hypotheticals for weeks now- what if Teddy was upset, how would you say it, should you tell her until you’re out of your first trimester, what if Teddy didn’t want the baby?

You hadn’t planned for this.

“Uh, I didn’t…” You looked at Carmen for help.

“Mama didn’t… she didn’t eat the baby.” Carmen said slowly.

“Then how’d it getted in there?” Teddy asked, throwing her tiny little palms out for emphasis. Not at all affected by the news of a sibling- oh no, your child was worried about how the baby got in your tummy.

“Uh,” Carmen looked like he might throw up, looking at you for help.

“Daddy put it-” Carmen’s eyes widened, face reddening furiously. “I mean, Daddy and I got it at the store, and-and we have to grow the baby.” You stuttered, heat rising up your own cheeks. “Like-Like the flowers we grew in the backyard, remember?” Teddy nodded.

“It’s like that. A little baby seed that has to grow in my tummy, then you’ll have a brother or sister in a few months.” You said as calmly and confidently as you could.

Teddy was silent, nodding slowly, finger tracing on the table slowly. “Are you- You have any questions for us, Teddy Bear?” Carmen asked hesitantly.

“Where did you buy the seed at?” Teddy turned to look at Carmen.

“Target.” You said smoothly, ignoring Carmen’s bulging eyes at you. “Anything else? Are you feeling ok?”

“Can I buy a baby seed?” Teddy asked, little hands pressing into her chest.

“Absolutely not.” Carmen scoffed, louder than he meant it to be, harsher.

Teddy’s eyes rounded softly, shining with hurt. You glared at Carmen lightly. “No, baby. You have to be older to buy it.”

“A lot older.” Carmen added, holding the tiny toddler closer to his chest.

Teddy thought for a moment, silently processing everything. “Do you have any more questions, baby? I know this is a lot of big news. It’s ok if you do.” You say softly, grabbing her little hand in yours.

“Can we go to Target today?” Teddy asked, eyes shining bright and excitedly. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.” You giggled, tickling her sides softly. You grinned, beaming at her. She looked just like Carmen, but she was just like you. You hoped the next one would look just like Carmen too, act like him too.

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whore4abby · 1 year ago

Text

salt & sugar; ellie williams

a/n; this was in my drafts for over a month and i finally finished it today lol and i kinda hate it

summary; ellie’s birthday surprise fails, so she makes it up to you in different way

warnings; smut - cunnilingus (r!receiving), mdni

wc; 0.9K

the kitchen is a delightful chaos, with flour dusting the countertops and mixing bowls scattered across the table. ellie had practically dedicated her entire day in the kitchen, the air filled with a cacophony of pots and pans clanging together. every time you even came near to the kitchen she would lovingly yet firmly shoo you away promptly, yelling about how you’re gonna ruin the surprise.

the sides of the cake smudged with swirls of frosting, giving it a gorgeous and imperfect appearance. the top adorned, with a layer of pink sprinkles that are haphazardly scattered and despite its messy appearance, you cant help but fall in love with the gesture of ellie baking for you.

in the end, it's not about the messy appearance or the not so flawless execution. It's about the intention and the effort.

your heart practically melts as ellie proudly presents the cake to you with a beaming smile filling her freckled, sun-kissed face. “happy birthday, gorgeous!”

you rush over to her, looking at her with big doe eyes. “ellie….you really made me a cake? thank you, thank you!” you can't contain your joy as you lean in to give her a tender kiss. and the realisation hits you like a wave - ellie had actually went through all the trouble of making you a cake and a giggle escapes your lips.

she slices you a generous portion of the cake and waits expectantly for you to take a bite. you happily scoop some of the cake onto your fork and you take a bite, expecting a burst of sugary goodness. however, your taste buds are greeted with an unexpected and overwhelming saltiness. and you instantly recoil at the sour taste. “ellie- what the fuck?!”

“ellie you used salt instead of sugar…!” you groan and watch her full lips form an ‘o’ shape as she realises her mistake. “fuck baby, i just ruined your birthday huh?”

you pout and shake your head, “god no! baby it doesn’t matter….the fact that you even went through all this hassle to make me a cake in the first place is the sweetest thing ever.”

you lean up to give her a kiss on her lips, lingering there for a couple seconds before pulling away and giggling, “but you’re probably the worst baker i know…”

ellies face scrunches up as she tries to defend herself, giving you a little frown. but her defense quickly falls apart, as she knows it’s true, she’s a terrible cook, her shoulders fall in defeat and she runs her hands through her messy hair.

”hey….hey, it’s okay.” you coo softly and tuck some stray hair behind her ear before planting kisses across her flushed cheeks. “ellie it really doesn’t matter. i love you, okay?”

a wave of relief washes over ellie as her eyes crinkle at the corners, smiling coyly as she nods her head. her expression soft and content as she sighs, “mhm…i love you too.” she reaches out and gently tucks some of your hair behind your ear, just the way you had done so for her seconds earlier.

ellie leans in and starts to kiss you languidly, her tongue gently swiping against yours as she pushes her hands into your hair. a soft moan escapes both of you as the kiss deepens. eventually you both surface for air and gaze at eachother with an undeniable lust.

“can i make it up to you?” her wide eyes filled with desire as she hoists you up onto the counter and drops to her knees in front of you, manoeuvring you to quickly pull off your shorts and push your panties aside. you nod dumbly, your breath hitching in your chest as she exposes your cunt to the open air, your body trembling in anticipation for what she’s about to do.

ellie looks up at you through her thick lashes, her fingers graze against your inner thighs and up towards your waiting pussy. “so wet already, baby~” she runs her fingertips over your slit and collects up all the slick pooled there and smushes it over your clit.

she leans in and with the first stroke of her tongue, she already has you whimpering out her name and begging her for more. she pushes her face against you, bumping into your clit with her nose as she licks up and down the silky skin.

ellie finally plunges her tongue into your pussy, rubbing circles over your clit with her thumb as she fucks you with her tongue. she’s lapping up at your slit and tasting you as your back arches up into her and you cry out in pleasure. “fuck….ellie. please don’t stop~”

you thrust your hips upward and gently tug on ellie's hair as the moans and whines continue to spill from your lips as she continues to lick and suck at you, tormenting your clit and flicking her tongue against it harshly.

you’re panting, absolutely consumed by the pleasure that ellie is able to coax from your body, your grip on her hair tightening as you get closer to cumming right into her mouth.

she flattens her tongue and holds it flush against you, shaking her head side to side, slurping up at your sopping hole and moaning into you. “g-gonna cum….els, fuck~” you whine, your thighs clamping around her head as you grind into her face as you cum.

the taste of you still lingering on her tongue as she stands up straight again and connects your mouths lazily, tongues meeting messily and letting you taste yourself.

you pull away and press your forehead against hers, smiling at her dreamily as you look into her blown pupils and listen to her low voice whispering to you, “happy birthday, sweet girl.”

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.ೃ࿔myfics⌨️#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams

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missmonsters2 · 2 years ago

Text

—Just Like Silk

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is a rigid person. She wears the same type of clothes everyday, eats the same thing every morning, and always wears her hair in braids. You find something exhilrating about undoing all those things—undoing her.

Warnings: the intimacy is real

Masterlist || Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: just a little something as I cry over my other wips 🫶 Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 💘

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday will never be the type of person to say the words, 'I love you,' even if she feels them. They could build in her chest and claw at the back of her throat, but they will never make it past her lips.

The words themselves are incomprehensible. It carries too much and nothing at the same time, and Wednesday may never be ready to release them into the air where she can't monitor them.

Love is flexible, and Wednesday is a very rigid person.

The day starts the same way it always does. She wakes up at exactly 6:15AM, dresses in her monochrome clothing, and braids her hair neatly. After ensuring her bangs are brushed four times, she wakes Enid up before leaving for the cafeteria.

The cafeteria is usually empty at this hour, with many students still sleeping and dreading their day. It's something Wednesday likes to soak in the quiet morning hours. She gets a tray and grabs the same thing she does every morning: a slice of toast with jam, much too sweet, and orange juice that will undoubtedly taste horrid after brushing her teeth.

Wednesday's about to leave when her eye catches a small cup of fruit. It's filled with slices of strawberries and grapes, seemingly the last one, as the other cups are filled with apples and bananas.

Wednesday clenches her jaw, her hands tightening on the tray slightly. She begrudgingly grabs it, places it in the top left corner of her tray, and briskly walks to an empty table. She can already hear the miserable moans of students who are already awake and feels herself relax at it.

As she grabs the little packet of salt and rips it open, someone slumps beside her on her left.

"G'morning," you mumble sleepily as you fight back a yawn and rub your right eyelid delicately.

"You've been up early." Wednesday skips the greeting as she sprinkles the salt on her toast. "Why?"

You smile lazily at her and rest your temple against your hand on the table. You point at the fruit cup on her tray, and Wednesday makes no movement to suggest you can or cannot take it, but you do.

"Because if I'm not, you'll have grabbed the fruit cup for nothing," you tell her as you pop a slice of strawberry in your mouth.

"Are you suggesting that I'm grabbing it for you?" Wednesday's tone is threatening, and her eyes are narrowed at you.

"I would hope you are," you pop a grape into your mouth. "I'll be upset if you're grabbing fruit cups for other people. That's a terrible thing to do to your girlfriend."

The words do something to Wednesday, making her both miserable and filled with pride.

All of this was new to Wednesday, but if she was honest, the beginning of you didn't disrupt her life. Yes, there had been times she was vexed because of you and what you made her feel, but you didn't disrupt her rigidity.

Wednesday had still woken up at the same time, did the same things in the morning, and ate the same foods.

Until recently, it seemed.

Usually, you weren't up until just before the bell rang, often forgoing breakfast for sleep. Then suddenly, you showed up one day, five minutes after Wednesday sat down. You didn't have much of an appetite in the morning, but you looked on in envy at one of the students eating a fruit cup with strawberries and grapes as they typically were the first to be gone.

And Wednesday had watched you stare at the fruit cup.

"You think too highly of yourself," Wednesday's narrowed eyes relaxed. "I'm merely taking it to deprive others—"

You shoved a grape into her mouth, smiling innocently as Wednesday looked murderous.

"You should eat some fruit in the morning, ma diable. It's good for you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You've been disruptive lately, and you know it.

It's hard not to push Wednesday's boundaries, knowing she'll let you in it. She may grumble and threaten your life, but she quietly does. She may never tell you she loves you but, quite frankly, this was better.

You had woken up early one day on a whim, and it had nothing to do with disrupting Wednesday and all to do with the fact you simply missed her. And then the next day, when you showed up early again, Wednesday had been waiting for you with a fruit cup. There was no promise you'd be there early again, but Wednesday had done it, and that could only mean that she hoped you would be there.

So, sacrificing some sleep for your murderous girlfriend, who always saved you the best fruit cup, was well worth it.

And now, on a Thursday evening with it pouring outside, you were about to be disruptive again.

You watched as Wednesday typed stoically, her hands never hesitating. She worked methodically, the story endlessly pouring from her mind and her hands working in tandem.

When Wednesday returns the carriage, you see your opportunity.

"Wednesday," you call softly from her bed, grabbing her attention as she looks at you without moving her head.

"What?" Wednesday looks back at her paper.

"It's raining."

"Stellar observation."

You smile at her. "It's raining, so come keep me company."

"We are in each other's company, are we not?"

"Come actively keep me company."

Wednesday furrowed her brows, her lips pursed in displeasure. She turned fully to you, and you knew it could go either way. "You know I write every day for an hour," Wednesday reminded you.

You nodded. "I know, and tomorrow you'll have an hour, and the next day after that, and the next day after that." Sitting up, you look at her more clearly. "But today is the only Thursday evening with thunderous rain and my shifting desire for you to keep me company."

"Are you saying you won't want my company the next time it rains on a Thursday evening?" Wednesday's looked even more displeased and threatening.

"I suppose we'll only know the next rainy Thursday," you nonchalantly retorted.

It was silent as Wednesday debated it; your breath caught in your chest. When she sighed, you smiled wider. Wednesday stood up and walked over to her bed, sitting at the edge rigidly.

"What do you want to do?" Wednesday asked to deflect how weirdly awkward she felt right now. "I've had enough of beating you at scrabble, so not that."

You chuckled without answering as you leaned over towards her, lifting your hand gently to grab her braid and dragging your hand down softly until it reached the end.

"Wednesday, I've never seen you with your hair down," you commented.

Wednesday remained rigid.

"Yes," her voice was stiff. "I only take them out before bed."

You hummed, playing with her braid.

"Wednesday," you called softly again, and Wednesday almost wanted to command you to stop saying her name like that. Except, she can't. She enjoys the way you say it.

"Can I undo your braids?"

The rain thumps against the window roughly, and Wednesday was glad it covered how harshly her own heartbeat was against her chest. It beat with a mission to break her rib cage.

"You can say no," you told her softly.

Wednesday closed her eyes. As much as the word 'no' was in her vocabulary, she nodded once stiffly. You pulled at her, and she let you guide her to sit further on the bed. You sat facing her side as you softly grabbed a braid, gently removing the black elastic at the end.

Wednesday braids her hair so often that it stays in its form without the elastic. But as you start to weave your fingers through the strands of her hair, gently undoing the work she'd done this morning, something starts clawing at the back of her throat.

You looked at Wednesday as her hair fell like water through your fingers. Her eyes were closed with concentration, and every time she swallowed, you could see it.

It was silent as you worked on the second braid, dragging your fingers through her dark hair. When it was in their neat braids, they were contained and distinguished. But undone, they were wild waves and slipped through your fingers unless you endeavored to tame them.

You continued to run your fingers through her hair, even after the braids were undone, watching as the strands slipped from you.

"Your hair is just like silk," you said just seconds before there was a crack of thunder.

Wednesday didn't comment. Her hands were tightly gripped in her lap to the point where her knuckles were white.

You brush her hair over her shoulder, the waves cascading down her back like beads of water. Your hand slid against her jaw as you cupped the back of her neck.

You pulled and pulled at her, and she let you until you were sharing the same air.

"Wednesday," you murmur, your lips brushing against hers. Wednesday visibly swallowed, her eyes opened and intently looked at you, but you're looking at her lips.

You kiss her tenderly, then. It would've been more chaste if Wednesday hadn't insisted on pressing against your lips more firmly and lingered. When you pulled back, your thumb caressed the bottom of her lip.

"Wednesday," you said her name, and Wednesday didn't think you knew how disruptive it also was in the way you said her name. "Your lips are soft just like silk, too."

"I see this has been your agenda all long as of late," Wednesday's voice is quiet as she basks in your scent and cold fingers. You had such terrible circulation, and she's obsessed with it. "You're suave at being disruptive."

Wednesday bit your bottom lip before her tongue smoothed it over.

"Just like silk."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

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charlottesuzee · 2 years ago

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Flashing Him Your Chest During An Argument (Monster Trio x Black!GN!Reader)

(Reader is gender neutral cuz Bara exists too)

Monkey D Luffy

- You were arguing about something childish, like how he shouldn't be wearing sandles and shorts when it's -10 degrees outside.

- He tells you that he's fine and doesn't even feel the cold that much and that you should stop worrying.

- It then turned into an argument about how you worry too much about him and how he worries too little about himself.

- Getting increasingly fustrated, you decided to just lift up your shirt and bare your chest at him, to get him to stop talking.

- It didn't work. Instead, it backfired on your end.

- "What the hell ?!? You just told me that I had to cover up more and now you're taking off your clothes ?!? That's so not fair !"

Conclusion: Does not work. He's too dumb.

Roronoa Zoro

- You were arguing about how he's been training too much lately and how he he's been ignoring you.

- He tells you to lay off of him, he can't become the strongest swordsman if he doesn't train.

- You snap that you're not asking him to drop training, you are just asking him to spend a little time with you.

- It's hard to get it through his thick skull and he'll mostly just start responding with "whatever" or "will you cut it out already ?" while not looking at you

- So, to get him to see your side, you bare your chest at him and it succeeds in getting him to shut up and look at you. He stares for a moment as you start to pull your shirt down.

- "Hey wait a sec, I was enjoying the show-"

- "Only boyfriends who spend time with me get to see my chest for long periods of time."

- This results in him actually making an effort to fix his training schedule so that he can make time for you.

- Conclusion: It works because he likes your chest more than he likes training

Black-Leg Sanji

- Sanji doesn't like to argue with you and tries to avoid it. Except when you commit food crimes.

- The chef in him can't stand it when he sees you doing something horrific, like putting ketchup on a hot dog. He'll make you the most gourmet version of a hotdog, sprinkled with salt, pickle slices, peppers and tomatoes decorating the sides, on a poppyseed bun, with mustard and relish, the only valid hotdog condiments.

- And you have the nerve to ruin it with ketchup.

- He'll go on about how you're disgracing the dish by drowning it in ketchup and how you don't appreciate him or his culinary skills, because you dare like ketchup on your hotdog.

- You're just rolling his eyes as he goes off on you about your personal choice in condiments and asks what did he do to deserve such blatant disrespect to his dish, when you decide to flash your chest at him because you know it will easily distract him.

- He immediately stops his tirade, his cigarette dropping out of his mouth. Suddenly he's all heart eyes and fawning.

- "You put whatever condiments you want on your food darling 😍😍😍~"

- Conclusion: It works way too well.

#one piece #one piece x reader #monster trio x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #black reader #gender neautral reader #one piece x black!reader

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myusuchaa · 4 months ago

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Elbert Greetia x afab reader - Tempted by Forbidden Fruit

ღ w.c.: 2.7K

ღ paring: elbert x afab reader/ Y/N

ღ cw: MDNI, NSFW, explicit sexual content, based on slight spoilers from Elbert's both endings special epilogue, use of Y/N, biting, oral, foodplay, fingering, dom, obsession, teasing

ღ a/n: well well, my first elbie nsfw fic is here!!! it is based off his both endings special epilogue, but mostly only the setting and a couple lines, so it doesn't have too many spoilers. i've been in love with this scene for months and wanted to finish what was started in the story.. hehe. elbie is the type to be in charge and yet still a needy, pouty lil bby and i love that about him. hopefully you do too, enjoy!!

MDNI ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶MDNI

You stood in the kitchen with one half-made and one fully baked apple pie laid out on the counter before you and Elbert.

Red, delicious apple slices, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, were strewn about. Excess dough sat in a small bowl to the side near a tall jar of flour, now half empty and decorated with your and his fingerprints.

It was a warm spring afternoon, and you and Elbert stayed in his manor on his day off, spending the time idly together. After learning of a new apple pie recipe, you both decided to try your hand at baking it, rather than leaving it all to the cooks and maids as they usually would do. In fact, Elbert had told all of the staff at the manor to take a leisurely day off in town, leaving you two isolated in the loving cage that was his mansion on the cliffs by the sea.

You plunge your spoon into the warm and steamy pie for a taste test. “....Mmmm, this might be the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted!”

Elbert pouts slightly, “I want a bite..”

The spoon with a new piece of pie is brought to his sculpted, perfect lips. He gazes down at you with the same intensity as always while taking the pie into his mouth.

“Mm.. indeed. It’s delicious. Very well done,” he replies softly. A gorgeous smile graces his lips, showing off how relaxed and content Elbert is in this moment.

Ah… he is beautiful.

“Isn’t it?! I’m pleased you like it, Elbert,” you reply a bit bashfully. “I’m so happy with how this turned out. We should bake and save the second one so the houseworkers may try.”

Elbert gives a small nod in a reassuring manner, as he usually does. He has always been attentive and caring toward the Crown staff, some of whom now work at his manor. That gentle, doting side of his continues to fully enrapture your heart as the days spent with him grow.

As he reaches for another bite, not with any silverware but with his own hands, you can’t help but pause to think about how you two must look in this moment.

Elbert is in a single linen button-up shirt, thinner and more casual than his usual attire that goes under his vest and ascot. His sleeves are rolled up just to his elbows, another fashion choice he rarely gets the privilege to make due to his constant appointments as a nobleman. His slender yet toned forearms, painted with veins that ran down through to his fingers like pale blue rivers, really stood out against his soft visage. Admittedly, seeing his arms like that must feel like what men think when they see a woman’s bare ankle and calf. It truly makes for a wonderful view.

You wear a light, rose pink and baby green floral dress he recently picked out for you. There was no petticoat or skirt layer - only a thin laced string tied in a droopy bow on your back prevented the top half from loosening and falling off of you. Both of you had flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, and apple bits stuck on various places of your clothes and body.

“You know, this is quite a sight. Eating scraps of pie with our fingers, all messy, while standing in the kitchen,” a giggle escapes you as you glance at him while eating the next bite. He chews slowly and tilts his head quizzically. “I mean… you being a nobleman and doing this… feels a bit naughty.”

In saying this, he smirks and looks off into the distance, as if he’s remembering something.

“I have been schooled in the ways of etiquette, but.. After Al came to live in the mansion, I would occasionally... get into mischief with him, when the adults weren’t looking. Sometimes, Al’s pranks ended up getting me in trouble, but….” he trailed off and paused for a while before blinking a couple times and turning back to you. “More often than not, they saved me from dark thoughts.”

A fleeting surge of envy made its way to your facial expression, and you cast him a sidelong stare while picking at the pie.

“Ahh.. that sounds so nice. I somehow wish I knew you then…” you were aware of the faint flush growing on your cheeks and the coy look you threw at him. Smiling, you say, “I would have loved to do things like that with little Lord Elbert.”

I don’t know why but I’m envious of Alfons…

You heard him chuckle under his breath before he asked, “Are you.. jealous, by chance?” His sapphire eyes looked at you with a gleam that told you he already knew the answer and was just seeing how he could toy with you.

“....yes.”

Now that it was made obvious - that the thought of doing something thrilling and ‘against the rules’ with him was extremely enticing, that you wanted to be the one to give him happiness - you really couldn’t help but blush.

Elbert laughed again in a husky tone before drawing nearer to you. He swooped in to kiss you mid bite, his arms suddenly on either side of you, pressing you up against the counter while his tongue reached between your lips to steal some of the apple that was beginning to melt in your mouth.

He pulled back and his ocean blue eyes darkened to a stormy glaze. “Sweet,” he whispers. You watch his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows what he stole from you.

“Elbert!”

“What is it?”

He asked this teasingly, but somehow innocently at the same time. His duality drove you insane.

Before you could answer, his hands grabbed your waist and effortlessly lifted you up.

“Wh-Wha..!!”

He placed you on the ridge of the counter, quickly swiped off the kitchen supplies that were in the way behind you with zealous power, and then pushed you back and down onto the messy, wooden surface. He loomed over you with a beautiful grin.

“Oohhh.. Right here?!” you gasp, a thrill rising within you.

“...Make some mischief with me in the kitchen.” His voice dropped into his lower, sultry register that made anything he said impossible to resist. “Don’t you want that?” The words danced off his pretty lips with a smile.

“Mm.. s-sounds fun..,” you stammered.

His lips were enticing as stared at them. “I want to experience it with you as well.”

With a smile he closed the gap once more and kissed you passionately, his tongue glossing over your teeth. He began to trail his kisses down to your jaw, your neck, collarbones, and chest. As he did this he lowered one forearm onto the counter, using that hand to stroke your hair and face. His other hand was placed first on the table and then on your knee, forcing your legs to come up and wrap around his waist. Something warm and hard pressed against you.

He exhaled hungrily into your ear after nibbling your earlobe, “You taste so sweet…I feel like I have a decadent dessert laid out before my eyes.”

“Nnghh…Elbert, I..,” you plead, savoring how good it feels when he switches from gentle to forceful, when that beastly look, as if he is about to devour you, starts to contort his expression with a dark greed.

Continuing to lick and suckle the flour and juice from your skin, his hand slips under the small of your back to deftly undo the bow on your dress. His fingers crawl up to the neckline and he pulls it down, like you are his present on his birthday that he can’t wait to unwrap. He bites the fabric and drags it over your breasts with his teeth.

“Wait!! You–y.. Mmnn!!” The feeling of his tongue and hot breath on your now enlarged nipples is downright maddening. You realize your empty pleas to stop him are useless.

His long eyelashes flutter as he rests his chin on your stomach and looks up at you. “You want to make me happy… yes?”

Caught in your throat is something between a cry of agreement and a satisfied moan. You nod your head vigorously, “Yes… I want that..nngh”

He sucks harder on your nipple, sending a wave of pleasuring sensation down your stomach. Still in between your legs, he lifts your dress as his hand expertly finds its way to your throbbing, moist spot. One, two, three intentional circles stimulated you, as he groaned, “Then who am I to refuse such a sweet temptation?”

“Mnnn-,” you instinctively lock your ankles together around him and pull him in. Both of you, eager to lap up the sugar and saliva dripping from each other’s mouths. His fingers slip under your panties and push into your dripping heat.

“Mnn, let me hear the voice that’s only for me, Y/N,” he rasps, reaching in and out with his long, agile fingers, as if curling them in to beckon you closer. A bite sinks into your shoulder, sending a shock of ecstasy to the pit of your core, aching for more.

“El… ah..I-I’ll be too loud..” Before you could finish he kissed you once more with a growl rising from his throat. He knew exactly what you wanted. You come undone on the counter as he swallows your moans, all you could do was grip the edge to hold on for dear life as he hastily pulled off your underwear and knelt down to drink your nectar. “Ahh, sh-!”

He stops you by pushing the fingers that were just inside you into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his thumb, you sucking in pure pleasure as he feasted on you below. You grab his golden locks and move him round as he inhales your glistening cream like it’s his last meal. You feel yourself on the precipice of climax. His tongue traced your vulva and clit softly but with intense longing, and as he did so you heard him loosen his belt and unzip his pants.

Just as the greedy queen longed to be beautiful, you craved his entire, beautifully exquisite being, sinfully delectable. A nobleman on his knees for you…whining in desperation.

Elbert then stood up, a sheen of manic desire in his jewel-toned eyes. “Y/N, I’m a greedy man…”, he says, breathless. “When I say I want you..”

You reached out to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him toward you, meanwhile he held his pulsating length just a centimeter from your swollen entrance. He taunts you by lightly rubbing his tip, moist with precum, in circles on you. Just the feeling of it makes your eyes roll back.

“Nnghh… feels s’good… and I know.. El,” you can barely speak at this point. In your mind you are begging him to thrust his manhood into you.

“..It means I want to see all of you. Show me what sends you - nngh - over the edge..,” he slid into you while saying this and readjusts your position until you fit securely in his arms, wrapped around your waist. Your back arched in response as he slow-thrusted forward. A satisfied sigh left him as your moist cunt was welcomed his length in full.

“Let me in deeper…” he was already panting, pleading, eyebrows upturned, yearning for your touch. “...into your very core… this too..mm..” he rubs your clit with his hand as he rhythmically pumps his erect member in and out, hitting that sensitive bead every single time. “..this is mine.”

“Mnn..nnggh- Elb-..!” Your moans fill the empty hallways, the heat radiating from you two becoming palpable as fog against the window above the counter. For some time after he enters you, there are no words spoken. Only the melody of your voices, sounds, his moans - a sensual duet filled the silence. He continued to stroke your sweet spot with his gifted cock, an intensity so strong you felt yourself drift into absolute bliss. His languid yet desirous rolling of the hips has your nectar dripping down the sides of your thighs. Looking up at him in a daze you see his gorgeous, ocean blue eyes gleam under his bangs that fall in front, tinged with madness. More love bites are left on your collarbone and breasts, him only pulling away after a hot mark, the color of a plump red apple, is left on your skin.

“Hah..” he heaves in and out with more force now, tensing his erect member and pushing it as far as it can go until you squeal, his bulging head hitting your cervix as you dig your nails into his back. “You’re mine…Y/N.” The sight of you gasping, writhing, and with the hickies he left on your delicate chest drove him wild. That deep, slimy desire - that dark voice within him: Claim her. Own her.

He suddenly pinned both of your wrists together, crossed over your head, with one of his large hands. His grip was shockingly strong, it made for the perfect shackle of flesh. Chained to the counter by his right hand, he groped your exposed and supple breasts repeatedly with his other hand as he quickened his pace in and out of you. His lips turned up in a crazed smile. Almost laughing in hysteria and illicit pleasure, he gritted, “Mmn.. Hah, you’re beautiful..” He lifted your right leg over his shoulder to get even deeper inside you, both of you crying out as you near orgasm. Still with one hand crucifying your arms to the table, his other hand wrapped around your thigh with wanton obsession. His pearly white canines sank into your thigh as he licked playfully and pushed his erection deeper still.

Damn it, how can he be so.. so!! “!!! Ahh.. Nngh, I-I’m.. I’m gonna-!!” you yelp as you try to shake off his hand that held yours down, attempting to claw at the air, extreme rapture making you shake and twist, intensifying the feeling of him hitting your g-spot.

“Wait,” he hissed, “I’m not satisfied yet-” he slammed your wrists back down above your head and locked your leg in place over his, bending into you, breathing in your scent and gorging on the sweat beads that formed on your neck. No doubt, his carnal urges drove him to the brink of abandon. Before you was a man filled with lustful greed. His eyes a darker shade of blue, his silky hair now strewn and sticking to his chiseled chin and neck. You kiss his lips as if deprived of oxygen. A faint hint of cinnamon fills your palate.

Mere seconds later you both reach the climax at nearly identical times. “Ah!! El, I’m-”

With one forceful thrust, he erupted inside of you. A warmth unlike anything comparable spreads within. You cum as whimpers leave his lips and exaggerated breaths make his chest heave deeply upon you, his rock solid length throbbing inside. Pulling his hair and squeezing your thighs tightly around his waist, an ice cold and yet burning wave of ecstasy, like an ocean wave on a summer night, rolls over you both. Your panting mirrors his, and he lays on top of you, motionless, save for the rise and fall of your silhouettes from the sunset glow peaking through the window above you.

Slowly, he pulls out, still somewhat hard, and within seconds a gushing flow trickles out and down onto your behind. He stood in front of you, erect enough for his glistening cock to still stand, a drop of your viscous honey dripping from his tip.

A gentle touch of his finger catches his cum that drips out of you before it falls on the floor. He delicately traced your rosy, swollen cunt. Leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, he asks timidly, “Are you alright?”

He pulls you up into his arms, holding you like the most precious treasure in the world.

“Mm, y-yes.. but Elbert…that was…,” a naughty, playful smile bloomed on his stunning face when you called his name.

“Yes, Countess? Will you scold me now?” He teased, as he dusted some flour on the tip of your nose with his index finger.

Gleeful laughter from both of you danced on the breeze, followed by the scent of freshly baked apple pie.

fin

#cybird ikemen #ikemen villains #ikemen series #elbert greetia #ikemen villains elbert #ikevil #ikevil elbert #yandere #fanfic #fanfiction #ikevil fic #ikevil fanfic #elbert greetia x reader #apple pie #snow white #taste test

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