#my shoulder radiates pain every time i breathe

[filmtv2022]

Part III: Our Time is Limited (18+)

Part II

Pairing: Geta x Reader (Romantic) & Platonic!Caracalla x Reader

Synopsis: Fighting back worry, Reader reveals their concerns about Acacius and Lucilla. In the dark of night, Geta & Reader find solace from the weight of the world in each other, even if the reprieve is temporary. The struggles of the empire are only part of the obstacles that move to keep Geta & Reader apart. Caracalla's illness rears its ugly head proving to Geta that protecting the ones he cares about most may not be a possibility, throwing him closer to the edge of despair and desperation.

Warnings: smut/sexual activity + drug use + violence

A/N: Oof am I excited about this installment of the story! These three have my whole heart and I'm beyond grateful to those of you who are joining me on the journey of telling this story. Some of this will continue to follow canon, but I haven't fully decided how the story will end... therefore if things diverge... don't be surprised. I'm letting these characters dictate where the story goes within the realm of my planning. And as always, please forgive me for any and all mistakes!

** I will start working on the next part soon, but work is picking up for me in the next few days. So I apologize if it takes a bit longer to get part four out!

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The cool stone was in stark contrast to the humidity and heat that rose through the heavy air. Steam clouded your vision, marking the water's surface in swirling patterns not unlike the constellations in the night sky. Trusting your knowledge of the room, you tracked through the dark with expertly placed steps avoiding the slippery spots and sharp edges. Barefoot and clad only in the robe Caracalla had discarded before slipping into bed, your mind wandered to the events that had unfolded just hours earlier. 

You dipped your toe into the farthest bath. Warmth radiated up the length of your calf enticing you to sink into its depths. More than ready to shed the tension in your muscles and the ache of your cheek, you plucked at the knot around your waist. The heavy fabric fell off the slope of your shoulder, exposing your skin to the air. Letting it drop to the floor, you kept a firm grasp on the smoking bundle in your hand. Inhaling deeply, you allowed the medicine to sit in your lungs easing the pain and dulling your mind. 

Alone, you stood exposed to the empty space. For a moment, the haze over the water cleared revealing your reflection. Here, hidden from prying eyes you were free to map the passage of time. Youth remained in the pleasant curve of your chest and hips, and yet your eyes… they were no longer the bright windows to your former self. Tired, and anxious, you stepped carefully into the bath. Sinking down on the ledge beneath the surface, the water washed in choppy waves. 

Covered to the top of your chest, you brought the furl of dried flora to your nose once more. The foggy weight of the opium and devil’s breath wafted around you, smoothing your senses. Lost to their powerful hold, you almost missed the emperor’s approach. Geta stood beside you, admiring the glimpses of your skin. 

“You’re late.” Your head lolled to the side to look at him. The makeup he’d worn earlier had been wiped clean apart from the smudge of scarlet that painted the fatigued skin beneath his eyes. Dressed down from what he’d worn during the day, rings still adorned nearly every finger. Their stunning jewels glowed in the dim flickering torchlight that danced about the room. 

“And you are… relaxed.” Geta smiled down at you, amused with just how far gone you were. Standing beside the pool, he twisted the ring on his pinky, an anxious habit he’d picked up in his youth. 

“And I’d be better if you were in here with me. Do you intend only to watch or join?” Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to focus your vision under the influence. The deep fortifying breath you took filled your lungs with moist air and the murky lull of the opium. The pain had long since ceased and yet you continued to partake, the blend doing wonders to ease the nervous jumble of your mind. Unburdened, your free hand slid beneath the surface, teasing your pebbled nipples before dipping between your thighs. 

Under the watchful gaze of emperor Geta, you allowed your eyelids to close, blocking out the rest of the world, focusing on the brush of your fingertips along your core. In your self-imposed darkness, you listened to the muted thump of clothing being discarded beside you. Geta’s robes pooled at his feet leaving him bare and in search of the water’s pleasant heat. With care, he stepped in to join you, the waves lapped harder at the sides as his weight upset the balance. Ripples crashed upon you, marking his approach, but it was the sensation of his presence surrounding you that snapped reality into place. 

Geta’s broad palms came to rest on either side of your head, leaning his weight into his elbows so that mere centimeters separated you. Mesmerized by his beauty, you reached for him, mapping the planes of his chest with your fingertips so that glistening trails reflected back at you. 

“You’re late.” You repeated, this time the plush of his lips brushed yours as you spoke.

“As you’ve mentioned,” Geta smirked into the kiss. The velvet of his tongue exploring yours added fuel to the fire stirring within. Just as he felt you lean forward, chasing more, he pulled back earning a pitiful whimper. “Can you find forgiveness within?” 

“Perhaps.” Emboldened and consumed with need, you tossed away the bundle, its flame extinguishing in the puddle beside your discarded clothes. Entirely free, you ran an eager hand along the soft expanse of his stomach, teasing your way closer to where you knew he desired your touch the most. A sharp inhale tumbled into a choking gasp as you reached for him beneath the surface. Geta was half hard in your hand as you rolled your wrist, passing the width of your thumb over the tip and sealing the rest of the words in his lungs. Swift and gentle, you pushed against his chest, leading him across the bath to rest on the far ledge. Enveloped by steam and the feeling of your hands upon him, Geta’s head tipped back bumping lightly upon the stone. 

From this vantage point, it was impossible not to lose your senses in the delicious features of the man before you. His shoulders heaved, shuttering at your steady grip along the length of his cock. Trusting you completely, Geta’s jaw fell slack, his eyes squeezed shut, blocking out everything besides you. The thick bands of gold wrapped around his fingers bit into your waist as he pulled you closer, forcing you to balance with a knee upon the ledge beside him, your other thigh resting between his spread legs. The hand at your waist held tight while the other kept him from slipping, his hips raising to meet you, desperate for more. 

“Is this what you desire, Geta?” You whisper along the shell of his ear, timing your question with the twist of your hand. A greedy smirk wrapped around the rest of your thought. “Tell me what you want.” 

“You.” Geta’s eyes snapped open, and the dark of his pupils was blown wide, showing the depth of the lust that consumed him. Using all his strength, Gets hauled you into his lap, your lush thighs pressed along the outside of his own. In one fluid motion, the breadth of his hand fell to the base of your throat feather-light over the bruises that marred your skin, while you hastily sunk down on him. Swallowing each other’s moans, Geta devoured you in a heated kiss. Unsteady, you reached for his shoulders, using him as an anchor. 

Devoid of any thought but the storm of pleasure that continued to build, crackling in lightning strikes across every nerve in your body. The pair of you were in perfect harmony, his body moved in unerring time with your own. Leaning back, Geta pursued you, dropping his hand from your throat to lay a line of fire down the column of your neck, traversing the swell of your breasts above the water. 

Focused entirely on you, Geta groaned as your velvet walls fluttered around him. His free hand came between you, laying expertly placed brushes on your clit. The swirl of your hips faltered as did his own. The pair of you worked each other over the edge, the sound of unhindered moans echoed through the room before giving way to shaky breathes. Boneless, and weak, Geta’s strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest. Exhausted, he buried his face into the side of your neck. 

“Mine… you’re mine. Always.” You could feel the ghost of his words drift over your flushed skin as he spoke. His confession twisted the knot in your stomach, for you knew it was the truth you both desired, but not the reality that existed. For as long as Caracalla lived, this was all you and Geta could ever be, lovers in the night, shrouded in shadow and hidden from the world. 

“Yours… but only so far as the night allows.” At the sound of your voice, Geta sat back to look at you.

“Only so far as the night allows… though I’ll gladly take what the gods permit.” His response was met with a half smile from you. Geta studied the bleary look that remained in your eyes from the opium and devil’s breath. Even held captive to the influence of the medicine, the worry and fear from earlier at the arena returned. 

“What if the gods have abandoned us?” You murmured, pressing the pad of your thumb along the expanse of his lower lip.

“Where is this coming from?” His head cocked to the side, the scared boy returning in full force at the look on your face. “You promised a confession… that you’d tell me the concern which occupies your mind. You have my ear.” 

“I did, yes. I just… I do not know if what I speak is truth or the anxieties of a mind on edge.” You admitted sheepishly. 

“It matters not. It weighs upon you, and you mustn’t carry this burden alone.” Geta’s wide eyes looked up at you, encouraging you to share the concerns of your heart with him, to trust him in a way that no other had ever dared. For there were many who gossiped to and confided in him as an act, but never had another trusted him with their innermost contemplations. 

“It’s the General and his wife… there is something afoot with the pair of them. The way he spoke before the crowd today… Those were not the words of one loyal to Rome or you. And Lucilla… you should have seen her face when that gladiator stepped into the arena. It was as if the world fell away.” Taking a shaky breath, you reached for him, pulling his brow to rest on yours. “There’s something wrong there, Geta. You must be cautious. I need you safe, both of you.” 

“Acacius… and…” He looked past you, dropping his countenance so that he could stare into the abyss beyond. 

“Lucilla, yes," You repeated hesitantly.

“But they are…” The tremble in his hands radiated over your body as he clung to you.

“Meant to be your closest allies, I know.�� 

“It cannot be true.” Geta’s voice cracked, the thoughts catching on the barbs that constricted his throat. Not wanting to lose him entirely, you held his face between your palms, your thumbs sweeping in tender arcs across his cheekbones. 

“And I hope that it isn’t, in earnest I do, but until you know for certain I pray you to keep a weather eye upon them. For I am uncertain where their true loyalties reside.” A shallow nod marked his comprehension. “You know I would not speak of this unless I believed there to be at least a thread of truth in it. Geta, you and Caracalla… you are my priorities.” 

“I know.” Words failed him. Desperate for you to know how sincerely he understood, Geta’s lips met yours. With careful hands, he fastened his hold on you, gripping tight to the back of your thighs as he lifted you to sit on the edge of the bath. The temperature change sent gooseflesh rushing over your skin, causing you to shiver, though the discomfort was short-lived. Geta followed you to the side, his hands skimming from your ankle to the bend of your knee allowing him to see the sway of pleasure at his touch before reaching for your robe. Standing to his full height, but still within the water, he swept the flowing garment over one of your shoulders. Together you threaded your arms through the holes, letting it drape behind you. Satisfied that you were protected well enough, Geta exited the steaming bath. 

Bent at the waist, he reached for his own robe. The bright carmine of the fabric was beautiful against his skin as he donned the cover. Not wanting to slip on the damp stone, you stood at a snail's pace and made your way to him. You grabbed for the ties he held in his hands while yours remained unfastened. Geta relinquished his hold without question allowing you to methodically form the knot. 

“Take me to bed, Emperor. For tonight I am yours alone. Let no fear of the future keep you from me and I shall do the same.” Tugging lightly, you felt Geta pitch toward you, his hands finding your frame to keep from tumbling further. The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip in contemplation. 

“As you wish.” Geta deftly closed your covering, tying it loosely before reaching for your hand. His own quivered, painting a picture of the tremulous hold he had upon his nerves. On instinct, he guided you both back to his chambers. The journey was short and uneventful, only the two guards beside his door remained awake at this time of night. 

Back in the relative safety of his room, the pair of you undressed and fell into the comfortable plushness of the bed. Already spent from the night’s previous endeavors,  Geta curled into you, his strong arm protective around your middle, holding you flush with his chest. The emperor’s distant stare sat buried in your shoulder, and with each mellowing breath, he inhaled the scent of you and attempted to let go of his thoughts.  You didn’t need to see his watery eyes to know his struggle. Threading your fingers with his, you willed peace upon him, hoping that sleep would overtake him soon and relieve the pain and worry. 

A new day broke over the imperial palace. Within hours a hectic flurry of action would overtake the relative calm of the early morning, but for now, a tenuous peace remained. Geta, still free from the perils of the waking world, did not so much as stir as you gingerly pulled yourself from his arms. Dressing quickly, you found your way back to Caracalla much the same as the day before. The dull ache from your wound had returned with the absence of the opium’s presence in your system. At the back of your mind, you noted the itch to reach for more, to pull from the supply that sat ever present in Caracalla’s chambers. To your better judgment, you ignored the desire. 

Sunlight trickled into the vast room, not yet strong enough to illuminate the space in full. Heaped upon the bed, Caracalla lay tangled beneath the sheets, his bare chest milky white apart from the marks that littered his otherwise perfect skin. Dundus’s elated chirp announced your arrival. The tiny creature picked its way across the table, seeking attention and affection. Dressed in clothing fit for an emperor, Caracalla’s faithful pet and companion lept from the back of the chair he’d crawl on to get closer to you, landing upon your shoulder. Tiny hands plucked at your clothes, tickling the exposed skin at your neck. 

“Good morning, my little friend. Thank you for keeping him company.” You collected a piece of fruit from the nearby bowl and handed it to Dundus who happily accepted the gift. Like this, you made your way to Caracalla. The young man stirred in his sleep, more aware of you than you’d previously thought. At the side of the bed, the faithful animal departed, scurrying off in another direction as you pulled back the covers to join the emperor. 

“Where did you go? I woke and could not find you.” The groggy croak of his voice caught you off guard. 

“I know, forgive me.” You tucked yourself into his side, your head resting on his chest, hiding your face from him. “But I am here now.” 

“I do not like it when you are gone. I am lost.” His confession was barely more than a whisper, so low you were uncertain whether he meant for you to hear it. The bridge of your nose burned, the guilt of leaving him behind was always present, but hearing him speak candidly… it hurt more than you were prepared to handle. 

“I am never truly gone, Calla. You can always find me, here, even in the dark.” You pressed the width of your palm to the place above his heart. Caracalla’s hand came to rest on top of yours, keeping you close without asking for more. Silence descended upon you both, leaving far too much room for your mind to spin. Like this you waged war with your thoughts, counting away the minutes until the sun rose fully above the horizon. 

Almost done dressing, you ran your hands over the pleats in your stola, fixing them in place. The black and gold swirled together impeccably, fierce and sharp. Caracalla’s unassuming frame came into view beside you dressed in matching attire. Your gaze fixed on the mirror before you assessing the picture of unity the pair of you presented, but the look in the emperor’s eyes faltered the rhythm of your heart. Turning to face him, you noted the absent feel of his gaze. It was as though you barely existed in his current reality. 

Caracalla reached for you, his slender arm extended weakly, just close enough for his fingertips to brush the gold inlay of your clothing. His touch wandered haphazardly over your stomach to the curve of your hip, dragging higher and ghosting over your breasts to your collarbone. 

“What are you doing?” You stilled his movement, holding him in place. “Talk to me.” 

You craned your neck trying to look into his eyes again, but nothing came of your request. The emperor remained silent. 

“We should go, your brother is waiting… your public is waiting.” You took a step to his side, floating past him a fraction of a pace before an iron grip clamped around your bicep, ripping you backward. Off balance, you tripped over the flowing cape that draped down your back, smacking into the wall with force. A sharp pain shot through your shoulder causing you to gasp. Flat against the stone, you didn’t have time to think when another blow landed. Caracalla’s nails bit into the tender flesh around your chin, your face held like a vice in his hand.  

“Calla, stop… ” You pleaded knowing it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. You grabbed for his wrist, struggling to speak, “You’re hurting me.”

“You're mine, whore,” was all he uttered, fresh blood trickling down your face as skin tore. The slamming of the chamber doors reverberated powerfully through the room breaking his concentration long enough for you to slip from his grasp. You stumbled forward, arms extended to try and keep from falling. Your knees crashed into the unforgiving ground and rattled your thoughts. A voice called in panicked waves from whomever had entered the room. Distantly, you recognized your name but could not respond. 

As carefully as he could, Geta who had come to collect his brother, lifted you from the ground. Back on your feet, you tried to focus. You felt the strength in your knees give way as Geta wrapped you into his chest. Over the top of your head, he locked eyes with Caracalla. Still trapped in his delusion, Calla started toward the pair of you forcing Geta to bark an order. 

“Macrinus, take her.” He gestured to the silver-haired man behind him whose face was absent of emotion. 

“I’m fine.” You tried to protest, but your argument was shallow given the crack of your voice and the droplets of red that welled like shining jewels from your wounds.

“You’re not.” As gently as he could, Geta passed you to Macrinus who guided you to sit upon a nearby chair. With keen attention still on the brothers behind him, the man pulled a cloth from somewhere deep in the pocket of his robes and handed it to you. 

Across the room, Geta held onto this brother, a hand tense on his shoulder and the side of his head, keeping Caracalla's eyes from drifting toward you. Quietly he whispered, his words not powerful enough to be audible from a distance. But it did not matter, even without them, it was obvious what transpired. The struggle to bring Caracalla back to reality grew more strenuous with every fit that overtook him, each bout taking more time to end than the last. 

The world refocused around you, allowing you to really look at the relative stranger who stood beside you. Mapping his features, you noted the way time had been kind to him, such beauty lingered along with the scattering of lines that shaped his face. As if he could feel eyes upon him, Macrinus’s focus fell to you and it chilled the blood in your veins. A hardness enveloped his being, a calculated focus left his eyes void of life as though everything human about him had died. You stood to meet him, forcing the man to continue to pay attention to you rather than the emperors. 

“Leave us.” You demanded, no longer wishing for his continued company.

“What?” He scoffed in disbelief at your boldness. 

“You heard me. Leave us. Your presence is no longer necessary.” You stepped in front of the man, your hand ghosting closer to the blade strapped to your thigh. Shoulders pulled tight, you cringed at the pain that radiated down your arm, but held firm in place, preventing any ludicrous idea that he might draw closer to Geta and Caracalla.

Macrinus's eyes flicked between you and the brothers. Giving into your request, he raised his hands in resignation, humanity returning to him as he backed up before turning away from the scene. You waited for him to navigate out of sight before returning your attention to the emperors, and it was heartbreaking. Slumped cross-legged on the floor was Caracalla, his head swaying from side to side, Geta knelt before him still holding onto his brother. Tears streamed down Calla’s rosy, pockmarked cheeks. The worst of the spell appeared to have ended leaving behind the childlike shell of the once lucid emperor behind. You knew this version of him intimately. Gone was the violence, replaced by a soul-deep desperation for closeness. 

With cautious steps, not trusting the strength of your legs, you made your way to the pair. Geta chanced a look back at you over his shoulder, his own eyes wet with emotion. As you got closer you attuned your ears to Caracalla’s senseless mumbles, ignoring the warm trickle of crimson down your chin and neck. The words he spoke would have seemed meaningless to an outsider, but they were far from it.

“Lost… lost… I can’t find…” Still muttering under his breath, Caracalla reached for his brother trying to make him understand, but failing to communicate. Stepping into the space next to Geta, you lowered yourself beside him, using his shoulder for support. Your attention was focused entirely on Caracalla, but you could feel Geta’s eyes on you… watching. 

You tested the waters, making contact with the man seated before you, treading lightly with your words, “I’m here. I am not lost.” Calla’s face snapped to yours, and in an instant, he was crawling to you.

His uncoordinated limbs wrapped around you in a fierce embrace. The crown of laurels that decorated his fiery hair pinched uncomfortably at the side of your head as he buried his face in your neck. You could feel him shaking in your arms, sobs wracking his body. Locked together in a never-ending maze of time and memories, you sat back on your heels, twisting to finally sit on the floor. You gripped him tighter as you rocked smoothly from side to side. 

Geta burned to touch you, to hold you, to tend to your hurts and nurse you back to health, and yet, here with his brother, he was trapped. He pleaded with you silently, praying to the gods for forgiveness. He failed to do what he’d promised, keep you safe. The weight of the empire rested on his shoulders, its tenuous balance almost too much to bear. It was never supposed to be this way, him working alone. But all of that paled in comparison to the bone-deep guilt that chipped away at this heart when he looked at you. 

A heavy sigh fell from Geta as he ran a hand over his decorated countenance, wiping away the tears and smudging the color that surrounded his eyes. Sensing his sorrow, you extended a hand, begging for him to take it. For a moment, he hesitated, terrified of needing you and simultaneously petrified at the thought of losing you. With a simple nod, you invited him once more to take your hand, and by the mercy of the gods he did. The weight of his fingers laced with yours seemed to right the injustices of the world, giving you both the strength to carry on.

[ghostzzy]

i sincerely do not want to be high all day today, with high pressure work shit happening it seems like a bad idea, but like. i can barely think straight with this much pain anyway so if i’m worried about job performance it may be a wash.

[littlest-w01f]

Bloody

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Even after being told against it time after time, you took a hit meant for Sylus

Cw: Blood, injury, angst, little suggestive at the end

The fight was a blur to you, all you remembered was that you and Sylus had been attacking your own Wanderers, as you finished off the Wanderer in front of you, you rushed for Sylus when you saw another about to take a strike at Sylus while his back was facing the creature.

With a cry of desperation, you lunged towards Sylus, throwing yourself between him and the looming threat of the Wanderer's weapon. Your body took the brunt of the impact, the alien's weapon slicing into your chest with brutal efficiency, the cut cauterised on impact. The pain was excruciating, but you barely registered it.

As you lay there, the gash burning your chest, your clothes slowly burning in, your vision blurring, you felt Sylus' strong arms wrap around you, cradling your injured form. His face was etched with concern, his eyes searching yours desperately.

"Stupid, aboslutely dumb little kitten!" Sylus growled, right eye pulsing red, his body nearly shaking in anger as he rushed home with you in his arms, being careful not to hurt you further, "Why? Why the fuck would you do that!?"

"You... You were gonna get hurt..." You gasped out as he set you on his bed, surrounded by pillows. "You always protect me... So I thought..."

"You don't take my hits!" Sylus growled, his hands hurting to remove your clothes so they didn't stick to your burnt skin, his words were harsh, yet they were laced with a desperate fear. "I step in front of you because I heal faster than you can blink. I will always step in to protect you, but you don't have to do that! Have you gone mad!?"

Sylus' intense gaze bore into yours, his chest still heaving with agitation. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across his chiselled features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow above piercing crimson eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to tense even further beneath the leather jacket he hadn't removed yet. "If the blade was a little to the left YOU WOULD'VE BEEN DEAD!"

As he stepped back, giving you space, and himself too, his clenched fists hung at his sides, the knuckles white with restrained fury. The air around him crackled with barely contained rage, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you didn't flinch at how pissed he was, knowing he would never harm you.

Sylus paced back and forth across the room like a caged beast, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The anger radiating off him was palpable, making the air feel charged with tension. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over to you lying on the bed, his expression softening just slightly before hardening once more.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," He muttered, his voice low and rough. "But that doesn't mean you get to throw yourself in front of danger like some kind of martyr, sweetie!"

As Sylus tried to calm his breathing as if trying to lessen the power pulsing in him, his mind raced with thoughts of how close he came to losing you. The memory of seeing that Wanderer's blade pierce your chest made his stomach churn with nausea even if he had destroyed it, he hoped he could've tortured it more. He couldn't bear the idea of living without you, of watching your life slip away before his very eyes.

He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face you with a look of determination etched onto his features. With swift movements, he shed his jacket and kicked off his boots, revealing his toned physique clad only in a black fitted top and pants.

"Sylus…" You whispered weakly, trying to sit up but wincing at the pain in your chest. He quickly moved to support you, helping you recline against the pillows.

"Just relax, sweetie," He murmured, his fingers gently tracing along the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. His eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at you, all pale and shaky. You could've died, and for what? To prove some stupid point about how much you love me? I know you love me, you were crazy for what you did."

Sylus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his chest heaving with agitation. He knelt beside you, brushing away a stray lock of hair that clung to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his rough exterior.

"Damn it, y/n," Sylus muttered, frustration clear in his voice, "I can't lose you. I can't stop seeing you... On the ground... I..."

"Don't worry," You whispered, the words barely audible even to your own ears, "I'm fine."

Sylus growled lowly at your weak reassurance, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Fine?" He scoffed, his large hands hovering over your exposed torso, hesitating to cause you any more pain.

His breath hitched at the sight of your tattered flesh, Sylus scoffed, unclasping and slipping off his leather belt, "Now this is going to hurt for you, kitten." You automatically opened your mouth for him to put the leather between your teeth to bite onto, having gone through him using his Evol to heal you before. He held you down, hands holding down your shoulders, he focused on your gashing wound, red and black tendrils formed around your injury, energy humming, stitching your skin back up as you struggled in pain.

Your breath hitched as Sylus' Evol surged through you, the sensation of your flesh knitting together was excruciating. BItting onto his leather belt in pain, tears lining your eyes. For Sylus, he was used to healing, the pain was almost unrecognizable to him, but for you, it was torture.

Sylus kept his grip firm on your shoulders, anchoring you to the spot as he focused his energy on repairing your torn flesh. The sound of your pained whimpers and whines were like nails on a chalkboard, tearing at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to take away your suffering, to make everything better.

As soon as the last tendril of energy dissipated, Sylus released his hold on your shoulders, allowing you to slump back against the pillows with a gasp of relief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of his heart, yours slow, gaining speed back after you were healed, a faint line now replacing the gash.

"There," Sylus said, panting lightly. "It should heal nicely." Sylus' touch was tender, his fingers tracing along the newly healed skin, ensuring every stitch was done correctly, leaving no opening. His eyes never left your face, watching every flinch, every grimace that crossed your features.

Leaning in closer, Sylus pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then to your eyes, making the tears fall, his lips brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. "Never again," He spoke softly, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of his unwavering dedication to protecting you. "Never do that."

He was furious. Furious that you'd willingly taken a blow meant for him, furious that you'd endangered yourself for him, furious that he hadn't been quick enough to stop you, or protect you. Sylus's voice was low, almost a growl, "You're mine to protect, not the other way around, alright, my pretty kitten?"

A vulnerability, a hint of his underlying emotions that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "You can't just throw yourself in harm's way like that, y/n," he said, his tone softer now, though no less firm.

You looked away from his burning eyes, still a little weak, "I just..."

"You just what?" Sylus demanded, his voice rising once more as he towered over you again, looming over you. "Couldn't bear the thought of me getting hurt? Thought you could play the hero?"

His words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your own eyes blazing with determination. "I did what I had to do," You said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the pain still coursing through your body. "I won't apologize for not wanting to see you hurt."

For a moment, Sylus seemed taken aback by your defiance, his brows furrowing as he studied you intently. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You stubborn kitten," Sylus' nostrils flared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "You have no idea what you put me through," He muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Seeing you lying there… It felt like my world was ending."

For a moment, his usual tough exterior crumbled, replaced by raw vulnerability. He took a step back, raking a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sylus..." You whispered, voice a little shaky, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm, feeling the corded muscles beneath your touch, the other stroking his cheeks. "I'm ok... I'm ok because you healed me... I'm so much better already..."

Sylus sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. For a moment, he remained silent, as if grappling with his own emotions. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pressed his face further into your now healed chest. "I can't lose you, y/n..."

As he nestled his face into your chest, you felt his warm breath ghost across your skin, each exhale a reminder of his closeness. He buried his face deeper, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses, pressing his ear against you to hear the beating of your heart.

"I don't know what I would do…" He murmured, his voice muffled against your breasts. After a moment, he pulled back, looking up at you with those intense crimson eyes. "But I swear, if you ever try to pull another stunt like that… I'll tie you to my damn bed forever."

"Mmm... Kinky..." You joke half-heartedly, stroking his silver hair.

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Sylus's lips at your teasing remark, though his eyes still held a serious glint. "Don't think that's funny, sweetie," He warned, his voice a low rumble. "I mean every word."

"You're such a handful, kitten," He grumbled, shaking his head slightly, yet his actions belied his words as he settled further into your embrace. "Always causing trouble, always testing my patience." Despite his stern warning, there was a playful spark in his eye that belied his earlier anger.

"I love you, Sylus..." You breathed softly, nails scratching his head gently.

Sylus groaned in pleasure above you from your antics, "I love you too, sweetie."

He leaned into your touch, letting himself be pampered by your gentle strokes, something about your touch soothing his agitated spirit, his hands reaching your hips, calming himself with the feeling of you as you did the same with him, hands tracing his back, grounding yourself.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, reverse cowgirl, creampie, mentions of ovulation, dom!Dabi, Dabi is a warning himself, ass spanking

A/N: what starts as a reckless kiss ignites into a desperate need you can't control. It's frustrating to admit, but ovulation turns you into a desperate, needy bitch — craving dick you shouldn’t want so badly...

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Who would’ve thought a single heated makeout session would leave you completely at Dabi’s mercy, again? Ah, you hated how vulnerable you felt while ovulating, every nerve in your body betraying you with raw, undeniable need for being stuffed with a dick.

Dabi’s scarred hands trailed over the skin of your back. Heat radiated from his fingertips, leaving a lingering ache that was equal parts thrilling and dangerous.

With a sudden, fluid motion, one of his hands captured both your wrists, twisting them behind your back in a firm, unyielding grip. The restraint forced you to arch, pressing your chest forward and sticking your ass out, leaving you utterly exposed beneath his smoldering gaze.

A low, involuntary moan spilled from your lips as the tension between pain and pleasure coiled deep within you. 

His breath ghosted over your ear, his voice a rough, sinful murmur. "Keep making sounds like that, and I might not let you go, never."

In a sudden shift, you paused riding his dick in a reverse cowgirl position, drawing yourself up and away from his throbbing cock. Your fingers wandered down to your pussy, delicately tracing circles around your clit, spreading the slick wetness that had gathered at your entrance over your sensitive folds, only to spank them a few times later with the hood of your palm. Then, with deliberate slowness, your hand reached out for Dabi’s dick again, and guided his angry red tip to the very brink of your entrance. You tantalized both of you, using just the head of his cock to rub your slit and part your swollen labia. "Fuck," you whined.

She’s oozing juices like the slit in an overripe peach, Dabi smirked to himself, amused by just how obscenely cute the comparison truly was. He couldn’t take his eyes off your strait pussy as you guided his dick back into your cunt, trying your best to not spread your legs too wide to make yourself tight for him.

The skirt he had gifted you the day prior — a scandalously short piece — flared with each descent, its hem dancing teasingly up your thighs, showing the thick, plushy meat of your ass. The black stockings, tight and silky, sculpted your legs, accentuating every curve and contour as they ended in the middle of your thighs. Your shirt lay forgotten somewhere in the shadows of Dabi’s room, leaving you only in your bra, straps slipping carelessly off your shoulders. It sat slightly askew, offering a teasing glimpse of soft, firm skin as your breasts bounced while you rode your boyfriend’s cock.

One scarred hand improved the grip on both your wrists, pressing them tightly behind your back, pinning you in place as he controlled your movements. The other rested lazily on the arm of the couch, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his face. Dabi’s cerulean eyes, sharp and lidded, were locked on your ass, watching how his cock disappeared into your soaked pussy from behind. His shirt had long been discarded, but he hadn’t bothered removing his pants. As the heated makeout session intensified minutes earlier, breathless and driven by need, he simply unzipped and freed his cock out of its confines.

The burn in your thighs intensified with every passing second, your trembling legs barely holding you upright as you struggled to maintain the punishing position. Each strained movement sent electric pulses through your body, your muscles taut and aching, yet utterly consumed by the way Dabi’s cock stretched and claimed your seeping cunt — relentless, demanding, leaving no inch untouched.

A sharp tug on your captured wrists wrenched you deeper into the overwhelming sensation, forcing your back into a perfect arch. The position left you entirely at his mercy. 

He spanked your ass, growling like an animal. “Faster, bitch. Fuck, I love how wet you are during these days.”

Every thrust pushed his veiny cock deeper, dragging over every sensitive spot deep within you, the stretch burning painfully. The obscene sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room. 

His azure eyes, dark and hungry, locked on where his dick disappeared into your abused cunt, the wetness between your legs leaving a pearly shine on the rock-hard shaft that made his lips curl. “Look at that,” Dabi muttered, his voice low, gravelly, like the rough edge of sandpaper against your skin. His smirk widened as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke, the heat of his gaze fixed on your pussy making your stomach tighten. “Taking me so well. Bet no one’s ever stretched your little cunt like this before. Such a needy bitch. Who’d have thought you’d get so damn needy just from a kiss? Didn’t figure you were the type to melt just from someone else’s spit on your tongue."

“Dabi!” Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your thighs trembling as you struggled to keep up with the pace of his hips pistoning into you and maintain the balance of the position. His cock was slamming into you without mercy.

“Keep going,” he commanded, his grip tightening on your wrists just enough to make you whimper, your body responding to his dominance even as it threatened to overwhelm you. “Don’t make me do all the fucking work.”

The sound of your slick pussy meeting the hilt of his cock filled the room, louder than it should’ve been. Your mind was teetering on the edge of coherence as the burn between your thighs grew more insistent. Your body moved instinctively, hips rolling back against him despite the strain, desperate for more.

Dabi’s grin widened as he watched you struggle, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of your flushed cheeks as you turned your head slightly to look at him while moaning his name like a whore. “Knew you’d be a good bitch for me,” Dabi praised, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Look at how perfect you are like this. Made to take my dick. Bent like a string, just for my pleasure.”

You improved the hold on your skirt up around your waist and slowed down your pace to gyrate your pussy on Dabi’s cock. You leaned forward just enough to give him an unobstructed view of your slick, thoroughly filled cunt, stretched and claimed by his cock, the lips of your slick pussy sliding up and down his throbbing shaft with each roll of your hips.

After a moment, Dabi continued to thrust into you rhythmically from below, deepening the penetration. The cigarette in his hand flared as he took another slow drag, the ember casting an orange glow across his face. He exhaled the smoke directly toward you, the sharp scent mixing with the sweat on your skin as he chuckled darkly. “Bet you’re close, doll,” he rasped, his voice rough and low. His free hand slid to your hip, gripping with bruising intensity, his long fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The cigarette still rested lazily between his index and middle finger, smoke curling in the air as he thrust up into you with brutal precision, forcing you to take every inch of him, deeper and harder. “Don’t stop riding my cock,” he commanded, his tone sharp but lazy, as though he was enjoying every second of your submission. “I want to see you work for the orgasm. Make me believe you deserve to cum.”

You straightened your back as much as you could, holding yourself upright with grace. 

Dabi’s eyes traced the perfect curve of your spine, from the dip of your lower back to the elegant line of your neck. 

Your ass pressed firmly against his lower stomach with every drop. Gasping for air, you leaned forward, bracing your hands on his knees, your back arching again. Slow at first, you started rolling your hips faster, twerking your ass in a way that made Dabi’s cock throb inside your abused pussy which already was clenching around him.

The white haired man watched your ass cheeks bounce with every move, every arch of your back perfectly calculated to drive him insane. 

You glanced back over your shoulder, a wicked, tired smirk playing on your slightly parted lips. “Do you like my ass?” You teased, voice sultry.

“Fuck yeah,” Dabi rasped, tightening his grip on your hips as his nails scraped along your skin. “Keep going,” Dabi replied, accenting his words with a sharp spank delivered to your left cheek.

You bent even further forward, reaching your hands out, spreading your butt even more for him while furiously riding his dick, going up and down on his shaft. 

Dabi’s cock was wet and shiny with your runny juices, gripped tightly by your pussy walls.

You ground the tip of your boyfriend’s cock into your g-spot as you bounced up and down, your clit repeatedly smashing into his clothed thighs. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he flicked ash into the tray beside him, the smoke curling lazily around his hand. “Good fucking girl. Look at you — so desperate, so fucking ruined.”

Your head tilted forward, gaze falling to where your bodies joined, where his cock thrust into you with relentless precision. The sight made your pulse race, the way your slickness coated his dick, creating rings of white juices that slowly streamed down his shaft to his base, the way every inch of him disappeared inside you to reappear a second later. 

He noticed where your attention was, and his smirk deepened, his hips shifting upward to meet yours in a sharp thrust that made your vision blur. “You like watching, don’t ya?” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement as he exhaled another plume of smoke. “Bet you love seeing how fucking ruined you are for me.”

Dabi reached a hand with the cigarette out and stroked your cheek, but you abruptly turned your head, snagged one of his free fingers with your lips, and sucked the whole length into your warm mouth, not paying attention you might have got burnt by the cigarette. He groaned and pumped his hips up into you. You sucked harder on his digit, and lifted your pelvis up until only the head of his cock remained inside you. For a heartbeat, you hovered there, then slammed down against his jeans-coated lap.

Rose, slammed down, rose, slammed down, over and over.

"Love feelin' how wrecked that pretty pussy is, all stretched and ruined from takin’ my cock,” Dabi chuckled lowly, spanking your ass with his free hand.

The sound of his voice, the raw dominance in it, sent you over the edge. Your body clenched around him, trembling, and you gasped, barely able to catch your breath as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you shaking in his grip. 

His smirk never faltered, his hand loosening slightly on your wrists as he let you collapse backward, your back pressing against his chest. Dabi erupted inside your cunt, spurt after spurt, but still keep thrusting.

Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the coil in your stomach tightening until it snapped, your second orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled, your vision blurred, and your entire body shuddered as pleasure overwhelmed you being, your pussy clenching around his cock painfully as he groaned low and deep, still cumming inside of you.

Dabi held you there, pinned in place as you slowly rode out the aftershocks, your body trembling with exhaustion. His grin didn’t fade, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he finally released your wrists, letting them fall limp at your sides. “Good girl,” he murmured again, leaning back into the couch as he stubbed out his cigarette, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. 

Finally, you lifted yourself off him, feeling his unnaturally warm semen spill from your thoroughly fucked cunt, dripping onto his still-clothed lap. With a slow, deliberate grace, you stretched yourself lazily, his essence trailing down your trembling thighs in tantalizing streaks. Before you could even consider heading to the bathroom, his hand shot out with practiced precision, gripping your waist and yanking you back onto his lap. Your bare, overstimulated pussy, still slick and chilled from the cool air in the room, brushed against his cock — a touch that should have met soft flesh but instead found him thickening once more.

“Don’t ya dare thinking we’re even close to finished,” Dabi rasped, his breath hot against your ear before his teeth grazed the sensitive shell, sending a shiver down your spine as his calloused hands started fondling your tits. "I’m just getting started.”

♡ The art on the banner was made by @explosion-island ♡ I'm a member of @pixelcafe-network

[daisymbin]

[16:22] - kim mingyu

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

the kitchen is quiet as you lean against the counter. trying to focus on your phone, but mingyu is there, lingering in the doorway. you don’t have to look to know he’s smirking, he always does when he knows he’s getting under your skin.

"you’re mad at me," he says, his voice teasing as he saunters closer.

"you moved my mug," you snap, barely glancing up.

"so?" he shrugs, leaning against the counter opposite you. "you could’ve just asked me to get it for you."

"you put it up there on purpose," you accuse, pointing toward the top shelf where your favorite mug is now annoyingly out of reach.

"maybe," he admits, his grin widening.

you glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "what’s your problem, kim mingyu?"

he steps closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. "you’re cute when you’re mad," he says, his voice dropping low enough to make your stomach flip.

"don’t start," you warn, though the heat rising to your cheeks makes it hard to sound convincing.

he’s in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him. he leans in slightly, his hand brushing against your hip. "what if i just wanted your attention?"

"then grow up and ask for it," you retort, your voice sharper than you intend.

he chuckles, the sound soft and infuriatingly attractive. "you’re so stubborn," he murmurs, his fingers trailing up to rest lightly on your waist.

you open your mouth to respond, but before you can, he dips his head, his lips brushing against yours in the faintest of kisses. it’s barely there, just a tease, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

"mingyu," you say, your tone half a warning, half a plea.

"what?" he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. "give me a kiss and i'll help you. a proper one." he demands.

you dont kiss him, nor do you answer him. instead, your eyes flicker to his lips ever so briefly, but it’s all the encouragement mingyu needs to pull you closer.

he kisses you like he’s been waiting for it, his lips firm and confident against yours. his hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can’t help the small sound that escapes your throat.

"you’re so childish," you mumble against his mouth, though your fingers are already tangling in his hair.

"but it worked anyway," he replies, his voice low and rough as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, trailing his lips down to your neck.

you tilt your head instinctively, giving him better access as his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your ear. his hands tighten on your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter before stepping between your legs.

the shift in position has your heart racing, and mingyu seems to notice, his lips curving into a smug grin against your skin. "still mad at me?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"yes," you say, though the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

he hums in response, one hand sliding up your thigh while the other cradles the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you again. this time, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s savoring every second.

your hands move to his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch, and mingyu groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"you’re such a pain in the ass sometimes," you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him.

"but you’re not pushing me away," he points out, his grin infuriatingly smug.

you roll your eyes, though you don’t let go of him. "don’t let it go to your head."

"too late," he says, leaning in to kiss you again.

it’s intoxicating, the way he kisses you—like he’s in complete control, yet completely at your mercy. his hands wander, not enough to cross any lines but enough to make your skin tingle with anticipation.

when he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, the air between you charged.

"there," he says, his voice low and satisfied. "was that so bad?"

"kinda, yeah," you mutter, though the way your fingers linger on his chest says otherwise.

he grins, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back, his hands lingering on your thighs as he pulls away. "admit it—you love making out with me."

"get my mug," you demand, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

"only because you asked so nicely," he teases, reaching up to grab it.

he hands it to you with a smirk, and as you hop off the counter, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. he notices, of course, but he doesn’t say anything. instead, he leans against the counter, watching you with that same cocky grin, like he knows he’s won.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

This one is for all my retail pals

John Price has never worked retail in his life and it shows.

Price x reader, meetcute? if this qualifies

-

You're scrambling, have been since you walked through the door. They were already calling your name by the time you clicked your radio on.

From that moment forward you were hustling back and forth across the store, helping who you could, pulling orders for customer pick ups, trying to answer questions for the seasonal team members who got thrown to the wolves with slap dash training. 

You're tired, you're hungry, and you've been listening to the same 5 christmas songs on repeat since the 1st of November. 

You're trying to make it back to the break room for a quick snack, walking at mach speed, head lowered, praying that those you passed could see the sheer overwhelmed energy radiating off of you in waves and not ask you anything.

But there is always one.

“Excuse me!”

Your blood pressure shoots up immediately. 

You stop short, try to school your expression into something friendly. He's a big man, shoulders wide enough to fill a doorway, with mutton chops that strike you as odd, but suit his face. The man hustles toward you, holding an expensive jacket out to you like a toddler.

“Can you tell me the price of this?”

Everyone thinks you have a scanner.

The chops age him, but a closer look reveals that he must only be a little older than you, pretty blue eyes scrunched apologetically. You think this grown ass man should be old enough to see the scanners staged on every other aisle, the big signs attached to the ceiling highlighting their location. Irritation wells up like a geyser as you pull the garment from his hand searching for a tag. 

You search and search, even fishing around in the pocket to see if some kind soul accidentally yanked it off and put it back.

“Must be free!” Chops chuckles, and you think you should be able to pass out one free throat punch a day for simply working under these conditions. 

It takes effort, not to shrivel up like a raisin over the monotonous comment. Trying desperately to focus on finding the fucking price and ignore the way the big bastard bores holes into your face. He could have looked it up on his phone, you're certain, but instead he's standing a little too close, watching you flounder, at least his cologne is nice. 

A painful silence falls between you when you don't even giggle at his joke. But you must have a scrap of patience left in you because the angel of good will tugs on your ear, reminds you that not everyone stares at this shit day in and day out like you do, and he probably would have trouble finding it online anyway. 

You suck in a deep breath, fish out your own phone to pull up your company's website. 

“M'sorry for the trouble sweetheart” he murmurs, rolling almost sheepishly on his heels, hands reaching at his shoulders as if to grab something that isn't there, falling uselessly at his sides as he hovers over your shoulder. 

The pet name should piss you off, but the rumbly timber of it tickles you somewhere in your monkey brain, he is a handsome thing, and something about the way he crosses his arms, peers over your shoulder like this was a problem he's helping you solve is kind of endearing. 

You feel bad immediately for your bitchy attitude toward the fella. 

“Sorry It's taking a second, I'm trying” 

“I can see that, I appreciate you. I know you lot are busy, think I've seen you make a few laps now.” he teases, nodding to the bustle of people about the store, rummaging through once neatly folded tables like it's a yardsale. 

You type in the style number with a little amused huff. “You have no idea, I get in miles trotting around this place” you joke, scrolling through site’s workwear options to match the jacket in your hand. It's one of the nicer one's the store carries, a sturdy brown canvas with a fleece lined collar and interior. You try to make small talk that you're notoriously terrible at.

“You must work outside.” 

“Something like that” he muses, “been meaning to get the house prepped up for winter, I waited a bit late.”

You snort, “Hell me too, I barely have enough wood left for the stove myself, I'm just going to pile on blankets this winter!”

“Well that won't do.” 

The hard tone of Chop's voice breaks you from your searching. A quick glance confirms he's serious, brows pinched as his posture has shifted to looking directly at you. Chin tucked to his chest.

“What?” 

“You've got no one taking care of you?”

Nosy fuck. You don't know why you get defensive. “I take care of me just fine.” you retort confidently, finally pulling up the stupid jacket and telling him the price. 

“Negative.” is all he replies, looking at you with the same stern gaze. You suddenly feel like a child, wanting more than anything to prove to this man you were more than qualified to handle yourself. You work retail for fucks sake.

He cuts you off before you can smart off again. “You're going to write down that number for the coat, and your number, so I can bring a load of lumber by. I won't have a pretty thing like shiverin’ in the night.”

Something inside your brain purrs at the idea. The idea of somebody looking out for you when you barely have time to keep your clothes washed and body fed was…appealing. Especially coming from a pretty gorgeous stranger. And yet?

“I'm not giving my number to a stranger, sir.” you retort with some semblance of authority. 

Chops is having none of it, he makes a pointed show of raking his eyes down to your nametag dangling against your chest before flickering back up to your face. Your name rolls off his tongue easily, and you can't help the little shiver up your spine at the timber of it.

“John Price” he offers after, big paw curling around your own to shake playfully. “Not strangers now are we?”

[endlessthxxghts]

Use Me

No outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈1.2k

Summary: You tell Joel he can use you in an unconventional way. Will he take you up on your offer?

Content/Warnings: No physical description of reader besides clothing. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Somnophilia. P in V sex (unprotected). Creampie. Finger fucking. Sweet aftercare. A moment of insecure Joel, but you comfort him.

A/N: Literally no motive behind this drabble besides the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about Joel (more than normal LOLL) in the past 24 hours. So, enjoy my delulus. Also… this Joel is one with no outbreak…but for this particular scenario, I’m picturing him physically as post-outbreak…do with that what you will.🥴🥴🥴

MASTERLIST

Joel’s coffee nearly spilled through his nose with how off guard your question caught him. “You want me to what?”

“Well, I’m not saying like every night or something, I’m just saying. If you ever wake up in the middle of the night, hard and wanting, you can…” your gaze breaks from his. “You can use me.” 

Joel usually doesn’t have middle-of-the-night erections that wake him up and force him to take care of the issue immediately. However, with your suggestion being a lingering thought in the back of his mind all damn day, he finds himself, in the middle of the night, hard and wanting. 

Your usual sleep attire is a tiny shirt with no bottoms below, and tonight, lying on your stomach with your ass to the air, you’re looking particularly tempting with the way his cock pulses when his eyes meet your glistening cunt. 

“Always so fuckin’ ready for me, ain’t ya?” He groans to himself, debating whether or not he’s actually going to take you up on your offer. 

But just like the unintentional ironic little fox you are, you roll your hips and let out a little whimper as you go, your pussy on full display to him, even wetter than mere moments ago. 

He sits up on his haunches, walking on his knees to settle himself behind you. He brings his fingers to your slick entrance, running along the entire seam and to your clit. He circles it a few times. Your hips twitch in response, a breathy sigh leaving your throat. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. He removes his now wet fingers from your entrance to rub it all over his cock, pumping himself a few times before he scoots slightly closer to you and lines himself up. 

He runs the head of his cock through your slick this time. His tip catches on your clit and pulls another moan out of you. You’re stirring now, but you’re not completely awake yet. 

Unable to tease himself much longer, he grabs onto your hips and sinks into you in one sweet thrust, your warm, tight pussy pulling him faster to the finish line than he was anticipating. 

You let out a moaning gasp — you’re definitely awake now — followed by an already blissed out call of his name. “Oh, fuck,” you cry, your hands curling its grip into the bedsheets below. 

“Shit,” Joel moans, his hips fucking into you harder now but maintaining a steady pace. “This what you wanted, girl?” He grunts. “Wanted me to fuck this sweet pussy whenever I fuckin’ wanted?” 

“Ohmygod,” you rush out in a near yell, “yes, Joel, yes! Just like that, baby, fuck-”

“So fuckin’ good to me, sweet girl, ohhh fuck-” he moans, his hips faltering in its rhythm. His hand moves around your waist and to the front of you, the pads of his fingers finding your clit and circling it — just the right amount of pressure to get you to your finish line before him. 

You’re a babbling mess at this point — his name mixed with expletives the only vocabulary he’s reduced you down to. “‘M close,” you’re able to utter out. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. He bends his body over you, his lips near your ear as he damn near snarls, “Soak my fuckin’ cock, baby, let me feel you.” 

His ministrations on your clit don’t stop, but the desperations of his thrusts increase, harder with every pump. He bites down on your shoulder, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t finish before you, and the radiating pain and pleasure from the pressure sends you roaring to your climax — the room filled with nothing but the wet squelches of your slick and your high-pitched moans, loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

Your sweet sounds sends him into a frenzy, his eyes rolling back at the way he’s literally slipping in and out of you now. “Gonna cum, baby?” you whine at him, nearing overstimulation but truly not wanting him to stop. 

“So fuckin’ close, baby,” he tells you, he’s back up on his haunches, both his hands back at your waist, chasing his own impending orgasm. 

You muster up some strength and lift your ass up to meet his hips, your back arching like a cat in the sun. You give him some pushback, meeting his every thrust as you make it a point to squeeze him each time. 

“Atta girl, fuck-” he takes a shuddered breath, “‘M gonna fuckin’ cum, where do ya want it?” he grits out. 

“Inside!” you blurt out, all your inhibitions and logical thinking gone from your brain as he fucks you into oblivion. “Inside me, please, baby, please, love feeling you inside of me- love having you drip out of me just for you to stuff it back inside-” you’re cut off mid ramble with a gasp, you feel his cock pulse as his warm release paints your walls, a rugged groan from Joel filling the air. 

“Goddamn, baby,” Joel utters as he catches his breath, slipping out of you, but not going anywhere just yet. He watches your filled cunt, and in moments, his hot cum is leaking from your hole — his cock tries to jump at the sight of it. He takes his fingers, scoops up the residue, and pushes it back into your hole, fucking you slow with his fingers for a moment as your breathing picks back up, moans threatening to escape as your hips squirm against him. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he tells you. He helps flip you on your back, leaning down to kiss your tummy as he slips away for a few moments and returns with a warm cloth to clean you up. 

He’s gentle with it, thoroughly wiping the outer areas while patting the more sensitive areas clean. You still whimper at the feeling, more so because having him touch you down there sends butterflies fluttering all throughout your body. “I got ya, darlin’,” he soothes. 

“I know you do, baby,” you say as you reach your hand out for his face. He tosses the cloth into the hamper in the corner of the room as he leans into your hold. You pull him in for a sweet, lengthy kiss, your tongues tangling as Joel finds himself wrapped around you once more tonight. 

You’re dozing off again when you feel Joel’s voice vibrate your chest. “Say that again, baby?” you mumble sleepily. 

“Was this…was this okay?” he asks softly, sleep filling his voice but too much concern lacing it to allow himself to submit to his fatigue. 

You grab his face again, lifting your head to meet his lips. 

“It was perfect,” you smile at him. “Now go to bed, so I can wake you up in the morning.”

He gives you a smirk that heats your cheeks. “Goodnight, darlin’,” he mutters as his head rests on your chest again, dozing immediately.

My current brain capacity is telling me that I want to write, but I can't deal with really big storylines right now.. so. A bunch of stories on the shorter side it is - at least, for the time being🥰 I love you all, and thank you for the endless support. Also !!! Gif above is courtesy of @/nicolethered

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @janaispunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @lilynotdilly @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories @akah565 @getitoutofmymind @axshadows @joels-shitty-puns @its-nebuleuse

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future stories or would like to stop being tagged altogether! Xo

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[vervainandspritz]

MORE GRATEFUL THAN THIS

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: smut, deaththreat, gun, breeding, swearing, name calling, unprotected sex, choking, mean Tommy, humiliation, degradation

A/N: send smut requests for Tommy

~~

"Tommy, please I need you" Y/N whimpered out, leaning forward on the desk in his office. Her hand curled around the edge of the desk, eyes silently begging him to give in to her needs. Thomas knew Y/N too well to not be aware of how.. insatiable she was getting whenever she was ovulating. The way she trembled lightly, pressing her thighs together never ceased to make him stiffen beneath his slacks.

Abruptly getting up, he immediately gripped the back of her neck in his grasp, circling the desk and standing by her side. His body firm against her soft skin. The room would be completely silent if it wasn't for her heavy breathing which made him chuckle darkly as his fingers tightened around her throat.

"So fucking needy, eh?" He hissed, pulling her against his firm chest. Tommy's look was... Quite unusual today. His suit jacket was off, his white elegant shirt was covered by a vest. The vest.. covered the holster and gun sitting neatly beneath the material. "Distracting, not letting me work," He purred louder, seeing how her cheeks turned red and her eyes became cloudy and only then did he loosen the grip on her throat just lightly.

"Please–fuck, please!" She squirmed, trying to see him over her shoulder but he didn't allow it, quickly pushing her down onto his desk, causing a few pens and papers to fall on the floor, but it wasn't enough to get her attention. The tingling between her legs was much more bothering, causing her to whimper over and over again as her knuckles turned white. "Tommy!"

He chuckled arrogantly behind her back, eyes moving down onto her covered bottom as one of his hands kept her face pressed down onto the dark wood.

"Shut up!" He barked, pulling her dress up in a rough, indelicate movement, baring her round ass for his eyes only. "After all, I'm doing you a favour. The least you could do is shut the fuck up," His tongue wrapped around the.. cruel words nicely, bringing out the intense accent even more than usual as he watched her try to rub her thighs together, seeking friction more desperately as his snarling came to her ears. Thomas' lips turned into a grin, knowing well how mean words worked her up. How easily influenced she was by his presence. He knew exactly what she wanted and needed, even if she wasn't aware just yet. ”Needy whore,” He growled, tugging on her hair as the other hand ripped her underwear, causing the cold air to hit her most sensitive spot.

The arousal, desire and longing for his touch quickly mixed with anger, hearing his words. Squeezing her thighs harder, Y/N finally managed to speak up.

”Maybe I–I should go somewhere else then, wouldn't have to look long!” She bit back with a snarl, feeling the way his fingers pulled on the makeshift ponytail harder out of nowhere. His hand shifted further, gripping her jaw and throat with one hand, as his body covered her own from the back, pressing her down.

Only then she felt his wet, hot manhood gliding between her legs while throbbing angrily. The warmth radiating off his skin was almost intoxicating and she let out a quick whine feeling the wide tip of his cock pressing against her lips, not enough to breach the opening. Her eyes fell shut weakly.

”Feel that?” He asked in a husky, low voice, every ounce of humour disappeared from his tone. Another hand snaked beneath her body, petting her pussy a couple times and causing her to squirm feeling the painful stimulation on her sensitive clit. Before she could let out any sound, her eyes rolled to the back of her skull as the desk jerked forward along with the hard thrust Thomas gave her, burying the entire length of his thick cock in her cunt with a growl. ”That's my cock, stretching your needy fuckhole. I thought I taught you to be more grateful than this, pet.” He purred into her ear, and Y/N could only moan loudly as she felt his movements behind her back.

”But it seems like you need a reminder, eh?” He let out a chuckle, and Y/N immediately turned stiff head to toe, as she felt the cold barrel pressing up against her temple. His hot breath coming in contrast to the cold metal, as he laughed arrogantly again, beginning to move his hips, stretching her tender walls and stuffing her full of him. Her orgasm began running towards her like a train just then, and the mix of emotions became so blurry, she could barely make anything out.

”Who does this naughty cunt belong to, pet?” He asked calmly, almost like he wasn't holding a gun to her head. Y/N's eyes watered as her heart pounded loudly in her chest, yet the heat pooling in her pussy was unmistakable, and she knew he felt that.

”Y–You, Tommy” She stuttered out as he fucked her a little harder, keeping a steady pace. She winced hearing the sound indicating his weapon is charged.

”You can do better than that, eh?” He kissed her cheek lightly, his lips softly pressing next to where the barrel remained snugly.

”It's yours, I'm yours, Tommy! I'm sorry!” She cried out quickly, starting to genuinely fear for her life as he chuckled once more.

Pressing his lips to the back of her head, he inhaled her scent, closing his eyes. Tommy's hips picked up at a fast pace, ruthlessly rutting into her wet heat, huffing and growling under his breath at how tightly her pussy gripped him, almost like it didn't want to let him go.

”Good girl. Good fucking girl” He purred, his right hand grasping her hips in a bruising grip, making her whine at the sting as he fucked her hard and fast, chasing his orgasm. The coldness at her temple was a reminder, as Thomas pressed the gun harder against her skin. ”Come for me, pet. Because you may not have the chance anymore.” His words were drained from any emotion, his hips pulling her own in tandem with his thrusts, pushing deeper than ever before. The fear in Y/N's mind increased the arousal, causing her to see starts in the pitch black of her eyelids as she cried out, tears spilling on her cheeks. Her weak voice kept begging him not to, repeating 'please' over and over as finally, he groaned out loud, pushing his cock snuggly against her cervix, getting as deep as physically possible.

...and then she heard it. His huff, followed by the cling of a gunshot... Of an empty barrel. No bullet coming out.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, laying completely still with her eyesight being a blurry mess, as she felt his cum filling her to the brim.

Thomas slowly raised from her back, supporting himself on his hands as he reached to his pocket, pulling out a handful. Slowly, one by one he let the bullets fall on the desk, causing her to wince at the loud sound as she looked to see what it was.

Her heart stopped for a second, realizing that he took the bullets out when she couldn't see, laying face down on the desk. Finally, she managed to let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing. Tommy chuckled, seeing it before he leaned down, leaving little pecks on her cheek.

”You're welcome, Mrs. Shelby”

...and Y/N couldn't help but smile, trying to catch her breath as her husband pulled back, causing his cum to trickle down her legs.

~~

[clairoscharm]

falling fast, falling hard

pairing : ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings : blurb? drabble? idek… highschool au, hallway crush! reader, uhmmmm nothing much lol

credits : to pinterest for all the pictures & @anitalenia

✉️ : fun fact, this was inspired by a story from my moots back then! i write this thinking of them. yk who you are, ditto!

DAILY CLICK

DON’T BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

It was only Monday, and Ellie was already having one of those mornings that felt like a personal attack from the universe. She stormed through the school’s front doors, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking loudly on the polished floor, drawing a few amused glances from nearby students. Ignoring them, she focused on her target: her locker.

She wrenched it open with more force than necessary, muttering curses under her breath as she grabbed her chemistry books. They’d been sitting there since last week—a deliberate decision to avoid carrying extra weight in her already overloaded backpack. Brilliant plan, Ellie. Now she was out of time and scrambling.

Staying up until 2 a.m. playing the new Nintendo game Joel had bought her for her birthday had been pure bliss last night. The adrenaline, the triumph of leveling up—it had all felt worth it. Until now.

Now, every second felt like a reminder of her own terrible life choices. She shoved the books into her bag, slammed the locker shut, and bolted toward the staircase, determined to make it to class before the bell but the clock ticking down to a certain tardiness.

That was when disaster struck.

Ellie rounded the corner and charged up the stairs, her mind too preoccupied with excuses for her teacher to notice you coming down in the opposite direction.

The collision was immediate and catastrophic. Ellie barely registered the impact before her grip slipped, her books and files flying out of her arms in a chaotic explosion.

She barely had time to react before her own foot slipped on a stray sheet of paper. With a startled yelp, Ellie lost her balance and went down, her back hitting the stairs as she slid a few steps before coming to a stop.

Pain radiated through her shoulder and hip as she groaned, staring at the mess of papers littering the stairwell like confetti.

"Fuck..." she muttered, her face burning with embarrassment as she tried to sit up, rubbing her sore shoulder.

"Shit! I’m so, so sorry!" a panicked voice exclaimed. Ellie looked up and froze.

Can this day get any worse? She thought bitterly.

Of course, it had to be you—her hallway crush. Or, let’s be real, her crush in general. Denying it was pointless, but she’d try anyway.

Ellie blinked and there you were, crouching a few steps above her, your wide eyes filled with concern. Her breath hitched for a moment.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Ellie groaned, her frustration now aimed at the universe itself. “Seriously?”

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, but—wait, don’t move! Are you hurt?" your voice was laced with guilt as you crouched beside her, reaching out like you wanted to help up or give her space.

Ellie glanced at you, about to brush you off, when she noticed your hand frozen midair, hesitating. Your expression was so genuinely concerned that it softened her irritation just a little. "I’ll live," she muttered, finally sitting upright.

"Here—let me—uhh, get your stuff," you said quickly, darting to collect her scattered papers and textbook.

Ellie watched you as she stood up carefully, her irritation softening just a fraction as she took in the way you moved—quick but careful, your hair falling slightly into your face as you worked. There was something undeniably endearing about it.

“Thanks,” Ellie said grudgingly when you handed her the slightly crumpled stack.

You gave her a sheepish smile, your hand brushing hers for the briefest moment. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” Ellie said, her tone sharp but not entirely serious, her lips twitching despite herself.

“Could’ve avoided all this.”

You let out a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Fair. But maybe you shouldn’t sprint up the stairs like it’s the Olympics.”

Ellie’s reluctant smile broke through. “Touché.”

She adjusted her bag, glancing down at the mess you’d managed to somewhat clean up. "Guess we’re both disasters," she said, her tone lighter now.

"Speak for yourself," you shot back with a grin, stepping back. “Try not to fall again, yeah?” you teased before walking away, leaving Ellie stunned.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard by the sudden surge of confidence in your voice. She opened her mouth to retort, but you were already turning to leave, your steps light and unbothered.

As Ellie stared after you, heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. "Try not to fall again," she muttered under her breath, a weak attempt to mimic your tone. "Yeah, right."

Falling on the ground? Sure, she’d work on that. But not falling for you? Too late for that.

That ship had sailed before she even hit the stairs.

© clairoscharm 2024

[bowieandqueen11]

Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

[sollis-occasum]

you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 2 of 3)

a/n: you can read it as a stand-alone ♡

summary: when a ghost born from his past regrets returns to haunt him, darth vader has no choice but to confront it.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, blood, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex (no smut), reader is manipulating darth vader (but in a girlboss way), darth vader and darth sidious are their own warnings, no proofread, my english is the biggest warning.

word count: 2k

part 1

Darth Vader, who made the galaxy tremble with fear just by the idea of ​​his existence, had subdued leaders who were said to never bow down, destroyed kingdoms that were said to never be destroyed, and made even the proudest warriors beg for mercy. Ironically, the only person who could bring this Sith Lord, who struck fear into every beating heart, to his knees was the ghost of a woman whose heart had stopped years ago.

Was his master manipulating his thoughts to create an illusion of you in order to punish his failures? Or were you the reflection of a ghost trapped in this world because the parts of his soul that belonged to Anakin Skywalker were not ready to let you go?

Darth Vader had no answers to these questions. If there was one thing he knew, it was that you were haunting him and that you would not let go until his heart, which had become a mass that did nothing but pump blood, was numb and torn apart with pain and regret.

Your presence wasn't always this disturbing to be honest, at first he was taking a pleasure in seeing you that he couldn't even admit to himself. You were looking at him with a magnificent light in your eyes that even the greatest massacres and most brutal executions you had ever witnessed couldn't extinguish, you were smiling at him affectionately as if the man in front of you wasn't a war criminal but the little boy you entrusted your lightsaber to. Sometimes he felt a shiver as if you were running your hands over his armored shoulders, and this sweet feeling that covered his entire body reminded him of the times you spent together. Perhaps it was  your presence mixed with the air he breathed that prevented Darth Vader from taking complete control...

However, with each passing day in the empire of fear he and his master had established; with every innocent person he ruthlessly killed, with every enemy he tortured with disregard for their honor in the hope of getting information about his plans, the mask that had become the symbol of brutality was sticking more to the face underneath and his new identity was taking over him

While his burnt, torn body was trapped in an armor, the only thing that gave him a sense of freedom  was his memories of you. But they began to fade one by one, leaving nothing but the memory of your bloody body being dragged by a clone soldier. Your first meeting at the temple, the first time he held you in his arms at the weapons factory that had become a battlefield, the exchange of your lightsabers, the first mission you officially went on together, the first moment he realized he liked you, the first kiss you shared, the first night you spent together... All of them were so distant now.

Maybe that was why your ghost had also slowly begun to change. Your reflection no longer radiated the noble glow it had when you first appeared; your image was more colorless, paler. The sweet feeling he felt when you appeared had been replaced by a pain like an ice burn. You weren't even smiling. A disgusted expression that you only reserved for the most vicious criminals in the galaxy appeared on your face. Especially those eyes... Darth Vader had never seen even his greatest enemy look at him with such devastating hatred.

"You killed me," you said with great anger. "You are responsible for my death!"

Darth Vader had tried everything not to witness those words that had been echoing in his mind for years coming out of your lips. He had told you to leave, tried to ignore you, used the force to disperse your reflection... But you weren't leaving! No matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of you. Finally, he was about to ask his master for help, even if it meant enduring his punishment for being weak, when you asked a question he couldn't leave unanswered.

"Where's my lightsaber, Anakin?"

You were in the throne room of his fortress on Mustafar. Darth Vader was thinking deeply, leaning his arm on the edge of his throne and leaning his helmet on his hands, when he heard your hysterical voice. He reached for his lightsaber as a reflex, but he also knew that the only enemy who could stand against his saber, which was red as if referring to the blood he had shed, was you.

"Anakin... A name I haven't heard in a long time," he said with his robotic voice hiding his emotions. But he also knew that he couldn't hide his feelings from you. You knew his deepest desires and fears. You might have been living in different bodies, but you two were the same person.

You smiled mockingly as if he was a buffoon instead of a commander who had the galaxy wrapped around his finger. "You didn't think I would call you by that funny name your master gave you, did you? Please don't take offense, but you have the stupidest name out of all the Sith Lords."

"How dare you!?" he roared, raising his hand into the air and trying to throw you to the other side of the room with the help of the force, but nothing happened. You continued to stand tall. Apparently, even the force couldn't harm those who didn't belong in the world of the living.

"Do you really think you can get rid of me like that? It's surprising that a ruthless Lord like you can have such naive ideas."

Although you emphasized the word ruthless, an expression appeared on your face as if the anger of the man in front of you amused you.

"What are you and what do you want from me?"

You slowly shrugged your shoulders and started to wander around the throne room. Sometimes you would delicately run your fingers over the objects in the room and sometimes you would go behind the throne and watch the hellish view of Mustafar. There was a silence that Darth Vader, even the most fearless man in the universe, did not dare to break. Finally, you answered the question in a low voice, "Only you can know the answer." Obviously, the answer you gave was not satisfactory for you either.

"I could be your guilt or your regret. Maybe I am your remorse that you cannot silence. Who knows?"

"Nonsense." Darth Vader snapped. "I have no regrets about the past. Such feelings are only excuses for those who are weak enough to succumb to them."

"You may not have it, but Anakin Skywalker does. Maybe that's why you can't defeat him. The remnants of him you can't destroy are suffering, right? Even if you block your ears, you can hear his screams. The more you try to suppress him, the more he finds ways to survive. Look, his pain has created me: the only enemy you can't defeat."

"Shut up! You're not real!"

In a sudden move, he took his lightsaber and tried to separate your head from your body, but your reflection only waved for a few seconds.

"That's what I meant when I said the only enemy you can't defeat." You said with an exasperated tone and rolled your eyes. "Anyway, you've asked enough questions. Now answer my question. Where's my lightsaber?"

"Obi-Wan took it." he said with great passion. His hands clenched involuntarily as he said his former master's name. Even his robotic voice couldn't hide his hatred.

"Ah, I see. So you couldn't protect it. What a shame, it really was a beautiful lightsaber."

You slowly walked towards the throne and sat on the armrest. You tried to keep a sad expression, but it was obvious that the commander’s failures were amusing you. You began to gently run your hands over his shoulders. Even the touch of your abstract presence was enough to soothe him. You could feel him relax under his armor.

“I didn’t think you would give up the only thing I had left so easily.”

“We made a deal. First I saved your life, then you saved mine. After you paid your debt to me, I had no reason to protect the lightsaber.”

"So you're saying that our only bond was some stupid pact we made when we were kids? That the lies we told our masters just so we could spend time together, the kisses we shared, the nights we spent together meant nothing? Don't expect me to believe that, Anakin. If I were truly that worthless to you, you wouldn't have built this fortress on Mustafar as a monument to your failures, you wouldn't have found every clone trooper there that day and tortured them all to death, and most importantly, you wouldn't have sold your soul to your new master in order to save me."

Without waiting for him to respond, you removed your hands from his shoulders and gripped his chin tightly. Technically, you had no power over him, and your fingers had even passed through his mask, but Darth Vader had surrendered to you so much that he lifted his head slightly, just as you wished he would.

"Do you know what I'm actually thinking? Maybe your desire to be Palpatine's toy has nothing to do with me, Skywalker. You turned to the dark side to save me, didn't you? Nonsense! You were just looking for a new master, that's all."

These were words that were too degrading and humiliating for a Sith Lord like him, who was used to being feared and obeyed. He rose from his throne in a sudden movement and held his hands out to you. He knew that he could not harm you, but for the first time, he felt that his anger was harming him, not powering him. He had to do something to get rid of you! However, his desperate efforts to catch you were only making you laugh.

You sat down comfortably on the throne that was vacated by him and crossed your legs with confidence. Your hands were gripping the throne on either side as if you were its rightful owner.

"Look, you can't even sit on the throne, Anakin," you said. "How pathetic."

"The men your master has given you, or that stupid word added to your new name, mean nothing. No matter how much you deny it, you are nothing but a slave. When you were a child, you belonged to Watto, now you belong to Sidious."

Darth Vader clenched his hands into fists and held them up to his face, "I rule the galaxy," he shouted at you. But his voice was weaker, more insecure. You continued, enjoying the pleasure of hitting him in his most sensitive spot.

"No, your master rules the galaxy. You are merely one of his insignificant, dispensable puppets. You have no free will, you still have the soul of a slave. You need others to control you in order to survive. In the past, you needed Obi-Wan and my approval, now you look to your master for help. Because you destroyed everyone who ever cared for you for nothing, and no one else has accepted the monster your sins have created."

"Why are you punishing me like this?"

You had finally done it! The most powerful man in the galaxy, that magnificent figure who bowed to no one but his master, was now kneeling in front of you, his hands on his helmet as if to silence the thoughts in his mind. He was trying to stop Anakin Skywalker, whom he thought he had killed years ago, from taking control with the strength he got from your screams, but he couldn't.

"I am not punishing you, Ani. You are doing this to yourself. Do you want to get rid of me? Then go and avenge me. Make your crimes have meaning. You know who your enemy is."

tags: @circe143 @snowtargaryen @etheriaaly @ariskywlkr @tellybearryyyy @anisgurll

[velvetdesir3s]

Override: Roman Godfrey x Reader

Summary: After a shopping spree, reader encounters her magnetic but unsettling ex, Roman Godfrey, whose limo ride reignites old tensions and unresolved feelings.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, coercive behavior, mature themes and strong language.

Author’s note: Tried something new with this one, hope you enjoy! :)

After a long day of shopping, I trudged down the quiet streets of Hemlock Grove, my arms weighed down by bags full of clothes and shoes. The setting sun casted long shadows across the pavement, and the cool evening air was a welcome relief from the day’s heat. Still, an unsettling sensation lingered—like I was being watched. Every time I glanced over my shoulder, the empty sidewalks and occasional passing car did little to ease my growing discomfort. A sense of dread began to gnaw at me, as though something dark was lurking just out of sight.

Then, breaking the silence, a sleek black limo glided to a stop beside me. The back window rolled down to reveal Roman Godfrey, my ex-boyfriend. His impossibly charming smile radiated from within the car, but something in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze was intense, as if he could see right through my defenses.

"Need a ride?" he asked, his voice smooth, with a teasing lilt that sent an unsettling twist through my stomach.

I tightened my grip on the shopping bags, trying to suppress the flood of memories his presence stirred. Nights spent in his arms, feeling safe and cherished, were now tainted by the darker moments—when his charm turned icy, and his touch left me questioning my sanity. “No, thanks,” I said, forcing my gaze forward. I wouldn’t let myself be drawn in again. The pain of his departure had been unbearable, and I knew I couldn’t survive it a second time.

“Oh, come on. Those bags look heavy. Let me help,” he said, leaning casually on the window ledge. His tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of insistence that made it clear he wasn’t asking.

I knew Roman well enough to recognize this was a power play. He wouldn’t give up until I gave him the attention he craved. I turned to face him, struggling to keep my voice steady despite the rush of unease and anticipation building inside me. “What do you want, Roman?”

His smile didn’t waver, but the glint in his eyes sharpened, almost predatory. “Oh, come on. Is that really how you greet an old friend? I’m just trying to be nice here.”

The term “old friend” felt like a punch to the gut, dredging up feelings and memories I thought I’d buried. How many times had he played my feelings off to dismiss my concerns, to manipulate me into staying when I knew I should leave? His casual dismissal of my anger was typical. Now that we’re not together anymore, I realized how effortlessly he could twist my emotions, bending them to his will. And how stupid I’d been to let him control me like that.

I struggled to keep my emotions in check, stepping closer with a confidence I didn’t know I had. “Don’t waste your breath,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside. “Someone needs to say ‘no’ to you for once, and you need to accept it.”

A tense pause followed my response. Roman’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. It was clear he hadn’t anticipated such a cold rejection from me.

He finally spoke, breaking the silence with a smirk. “Attitude suits you,” he said. “But don’t pretend you’re not getting in this car.”

My eyes widened at his audacity, surprise and indignation flashing across my face. I let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. “Trust me, I’m not,” I said, shaking my head and turning away as I continued to walk, my heart pounding in my chest.

Roman’s voice trailed behind me, casual yet insistent. “Since when did you get so stubborn?” he chuckled, mockery lacing his words; he knew precisely how to push my buttons.

“Leave me alone, Roman! I don’t want to deal with you right now!” I waved him off, not looking back. The cool breeze made me shiver, but the warmth of the encounter lingered, unsettling me. How could he still have this effect on me after everything?

The limo caught up with me again, matching my pace with unnerving ease. “You really haven’t missed me?” Roman asked, his voice laced with genuine surprise, as if the idea was completely unfathomable to him.

“I haven’t,” I shot back, frustration rising. But even as I said it, I couldn’t shake the echo of old feelings stirring within me.

Roman seemed taken aback by my response. Despite all those times I’d come running when he called in the middle of the night, this time I was determined not to fall into old patterns. But the way he looked at me now, made it hard to remember why I’d left in the first place.

“Are you seeing someone new, baby?” he asked, trying to sound casual but with a possessive edge that made my skin crawl. It was clear that Roman didn’t want me for himself, but he couldn’t bear the thought of me with anyone else.

I felt a shiver down my spine when he called me baby, a term of endearment that had once made me feel cherished but now only reminded me of how he’d used it to manipulate me. Composing myself, I snapped, “Why do you care? It’s none of your business anymore.”

Roman’s eyes softened just a touch, though his tone remained cool and controlled. “Maybe I care because forgetting someone who was once significant isn’t easy,” he said, clearly calculating his words to his advantage. “Even if I’m not around, it’s natural for me to wonder how you’re doing.”

My gaze softened momentarily, doubt creeping in. Maybe he was being genuine this time? Maybe this was a rare moment of vulnerability? But as I considered his words, the realization hit: he was still playing his old games, still trying to weave me back into the web I’d worked so hard to escape.

With renewed confidence, I hardened my expression and stepped back into my guarded stance. “Nice try, but I’m still not getting in.” I said, my voice steady.

Roman propped his other arm on the window ledge, his posture relaxed but his eyes intense, as if he were dissecting me with his gaze. He shook his head with a hint of a grin. “You have your guard up,” he noted, almost admiringly. “I get it.”

He glanced around the empty streets with a casual shrug. “But these streets aren’t exactly welcoming at night. Why don’t you come inside? We can talk somewhere a bit more… secure. I’d hate for something to happen to you if I leave you here.”

The words hung in the air, a veiled threat wrapped in concern. I glanced at my bags, their weight suddenly overwhelming, as if they carried the burden of every bad decision I’d ever made. With no cabs in sight and my last change spent, I nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”

Roman’s eyes lit up with triumph as he signaled to his chauffeur. The driver took my bags and held the door open. As I stepped inside, the cool, luxurious interior enveloped me, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The door closed with a solid thud, sealing me in with him. After a few seconds, the limo glided away from the quiet streets.

Roman leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself. “Glad you decided to join me.”

I shot him a pointed look. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just wanted to avoid another argument.”

Roman’s smile stayed, but his eyes narrowed. “Avoiding confrontation? That’s a change.”

I stared out the window, struggling to keep my frustration in check. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white, I couldn’t help but think how far I’d come since leaving him and how being in this limo with him is a step back from all the progress I’d made. “Maybe it is, but I’m not interested in reliving old fights. I’ve moved on, and so should you.”

“Moved on, huh?” Roman’s eyebrows raised, his tone mocking. “That’s charming.”

I fought to suppress the flicker of vulnerability that threatened to surface. “Even if there’s something still here, it doesn’t change that it’s over between us. You’re not good for me.”

Roman’s smile softened just a fraction, but his gaze remained locked on mine. “Not good for you? That’s harsh. Things got messy, sure, but we had our moments. Some of them… unforgettable.” His voice dropped slightly on that last word, leaving no doubt he was talking about more than just casual memories.

I met his gaze, feeling the pull despite myself. The intensity of his stare was overwhelming, like he was drawing me in, making me question my resolve. “That doesn’t mean it was healthy. I’m not interested in falling back into old patterns.” I took a deep breath, willing the air to cleanse the memories crowding my mind. “I’m here because I had no other choice, not because I want to revisit the past.”

Roman tsked softly, his grin deepening. “You can tell yourself you had no choice, but deep down, you’re here because you wanted to be. Let’s stop pretending otherwise.”

He glanced downward, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nice shoes.”

I looked down and realized that I had on the shoes he’d given me as a gift a few months before we broke up. The recognition stung like a slap to the face. I shifted uncomfortably, crossing my arms over my chest as if to protect myself from the fact that this wasn’t helping my case of proving that I had moved on. “I don’t need you analyzing me,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I’m not here for your psychological games.”

Roman’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Games? I’m just trying to have a conversation. Why does everything have to be so complicated between us?”

“Well, who decided it had to be this way?” I retorted, frustration clear in my voice. His intense gaze made it hard to stay composed.

I looked away, trying to regain my composure, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Is this really the right time for a discussion?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly, betraying the control I so desperately tried to maintain.

“Maybe not ideal, but it’s the only time we have right now.”

His words, combined with his piercing gaze, made my resolve waver. I felt my defenses crumbling, the tension between us growing thicker, more suffocating. I stared out the window, trying to ignore the familiar pull of his presence, but the darkness outside only seemed to amplify the proximity of his body to mine.

Roman gently cupped my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He guided my face to meet his, the movement tender but insistent. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, finding myself looking into his piercing green ones. His gaze drifted to my lips, lingering there for what felt like an eternity. “I know you still love me,” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. The touch stirred emotions I’d worked hard to suppress, the ones that always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this to break free.

The word “love” made me cringe inwardly. I was worn out by its lingering presence in my life, of its power to stir emotions I thought I had under control. Deep down, I knew he was right. My feelings for him were always all-consuming, like an addiction I couldn’t kick. Roman is the kind of person who you never get over—he’s complex, captivating, and even with all his contradictions, he’s still irresistibly perfect.

His touch and words reached a vulnerable part of me I’d tried to bury. I felt my defenses weakening, caught between my feelings and the need to stay distant. His fingers traced my jaw, making it increasingly difficult to hold back.

Roman’s gaze locked onto mine, holding me in place. “You can’t deny it. It’s always been us, no matter how hard you try to fight it.”

He drew me closer, his eyes meeting mine before shifting to my lips. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed me. The touch was both familiar and electrifying.

The kiss deepened, and as I laid a hand on his chest, he wrapped an arm around me, drawing me onto his lap. The heat of his embrace and the intimacy only amplified the kiss, enveloping me in its fervent intensity.

Roman's hands roamed my back, his touch a mix of control and raw need. He pulled me closer, his lips teasing heated kisses along my neck. "You know," he murmured against my skin, "I've been with other women since we broke up, but none of them even come close to you."

His kisses traveled lower, each touch sparking a fierce desire. "No matter who I fuck, no one hits the spot like you do," he whispered, his voice loaded with lust. "You're the one I keep coming back to."

As his lips continued their descent, his hands explored every curve with a possessive grip. "I can't get enough of you," he said, his words dripping with desire. “Of your mouth, how you taste, how you feel when I’m inside of you, fuck— just everything about you drives me insane.”

His harsh confessions only heightened my arousal, the rawness of his words sending shivers through me. I found myself unconsciously rocking back and forth on him, trying to chase the intense pleasure his words and touch were provoking.

As his hands began to explore further, I felt him start to lift my dress. The unexpected touch made me gasp sharply, a jolt of pleasure shooting through me as he squeezed my ass.

"Lucky me," he said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he noted that I wasn't wearing pants under my dress.

“Roman, be gentle—” I started to protest, but before I could say more, I felt him grip my panties and tear them apart with ease. I noticed him quickly stow the torn pieces in his pocket, though he tried to be discreet about it. He swiftly smacked my ass, the sharp sting pulling a wince from me as I held on tight to him.

He chuckled softly at my reaction to his teasing smacks. Maintaining eye contact, he slid one of the straps of my dress down from my shoulder and drew me closer to press a kiss against my skin. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a tender whisper.

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks flush at his unexpected gentleness. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it while it lasted. But then, Roman’s hands grew rough again. With a decisive tug, he gripped the fabric of my dress and yanked it down violently, even as I sat on his lap. The fabric stretched and tore, the sound of ripping cloth filling the air. He pulled the dress off my shoulders with a fierce urgency, letting it fall in a heap around us. Each move was swift and commanding, his impatience palpable as he discarded the remains with a rough toss.

He surveyed my body as if seeing it for the first time, his gaze smoldering with a primal hunger. His hands slid to my waist, his touch commanding as he traced my skin. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his whisper brimming with desire.

I smiled shyly, unsure of what to say. He noticed and chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my skin, and the moment felt incredibly intimate, reminiscent of the times we used to share. I closed my eyes, savoring the connection.

When I opened my eyes, I met his green gaze and pulled him closer for a kiss.

The kiss quickly turned rough. I kept my hand around his neck, squeezing to draw out his groans, while his hands roamed to my ass, each squeeze making me gasp.

As we continued to kiss, he slid his hands down to unbuckle his belt. The metal buckle clanged to the floor of the limo, and he swiftly freed himself. I kissed his neck as he thrust into me, filling me completely. I adjusted to his length, moaning as I began to ride him, my body arching with each movement. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our lips crashing together. He broke the kiss suddenly, his eyes locked onto mine as I breathed heavily, my mouth open with each needy gasp.

“I missed you—so much,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire as he guided my hips with each movement. His grip was firm but tender, his fingers pressing into my skin. I watched as his eyes fluttered shut, lost in the intense pleasure.

"I-I missed you too-fuck!" I moaned, my voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. Breathing heavily, I rode him with mounting urgency, each movement driven by our shared desire.

The plush leather of the limo's seats offered a soft cushion as I straddled him, our bodies moving together in a fevered rhythm. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer for desperate, urgent kisses. The confined space of the limo intensified every sound-the rhythmic slap of our bodies, our breathy moans, and the occasional gasp echoing around us.

As I felt the pressure building inside me, I moved my hands to his shoulders, gripping them for stability as my pace increased. The tension in my core surged with each thrust, my breaths coming out in uneven gasps. His hands remained steady on my hips, guiding our rhythm as we both were near of climaxing.

His fingers dug deeper into my hips as he leaned in, his breath warm and heavy against my ear. "I can feel you tightening around me," he grunted, his voice edged with strained pleasure as I hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Let go. Finish all over me."

I let out a high-pitched squeal as I felt myself coming undone, the ecstasy overwhelming me to the point of tears.

My body trembled uncontrollably, each wave of pleasure crashing over me as I moaned his name, the sound escaping in desperate, breathless gasps. As I reached the peak, I felt him shudder beneath me, his release coinciding with mine. His grip on my hips tightened, his breath coming in ragged bursts as we both climaxed together.

I pressed my forehead against his, holding him tightly as we both caught our breath. After a moment, I carefully slid off him and settled beside him, panting softly. As I lay there, trying to regain my composure, a thought crossed my mind: If I ever wanted to get over Roman, I'd need a twelve-step program.

[whiskeyskin]

Easy

Premise: During their first night together, Astarion muses how disgustingly easy this seduction will be.. right? Right..? 👀😬

• Astarion x f!Tav • M rating •

Astarion!POV, dissociation, mutual handjobs, bloodplay, improper use of tadpoles, confused erections, guilt, loathing.

I'm unable to find the person responsible for this heartbreaking picture of our boy, please tag if you recognise it as yours 💜 Gatta credit the Artists!

•°•°•

This is almost too easy, Astarion thought to himself as he leaned in to kiss her.

His mind had automatically retreated into himself the moment he scented her presence, reversed into the well practised charade he'd played for tens of decades.

She was the perfect prey.

She was a bleeding heart. A filthy do-gooder. Thank the gods she couldn't see him rolling his eyes every time she stopped for a stranger.

Well, apart from when she'd stopped for him..

He picked her up and felt himself press her against the tree, continuing to kiss her. She wrapped her arms and thighs around him and squeezed him tightly, running her hands along his shoulders and the sides of his neck. He flinched when she grazed the marks from Cazador's bite but passed it off as a gasp from his desire.

He had to admit; she wasn't all bad but he couldn't be sure of her dedication to him and his cause. Not without devotion beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had to woo her, far beyond what he'd ever done before.

He had to be clever about this. Seduction was a sprint, whatever this was would be a marathon.

Tav smiled and traced her teeth over her bottom lip. She was very beautiful. It was less of a chore when they were attractive.

Her eyes were flitting over his face, Astarion kept his flirtatious smile ever present.

"Would you like to feed on me when we have sex? I assume you've never done that before?" She offered with a suggestive tilt of her head, exposing just enough of the taut flesh of her neck.

A jolt of something he didn't quite recognise zapped through his body like a Witch bolt and Astarion's flawless smile faultered. His flaccid cock twitched and began to ache, rapidly growing.

His body tensed at the reaction. This never happened. He could count on one hand how many times he'd naturally gotten hard - as natural as it was for a dead man to get hard, of course.

The surprise on his face must have been abundantly apparent, as Tav smiled brightly with a cheeky glint.

"I assume that's a yes, then?" She chuckled, her eyes dipping down between them to his rigid member, beginning to roll her hips against him, her wet folds lightly teased his swollen member as she undulated.

Astarion chest felt tight and his eyes rolled back unexpectedly at the delicious feeling.

Suddenly, he found himself falling backwards, as Tav pushed herself off the tree.

Now in ordinary circumstances, he would have been able to save himself and them and soften the blow. However, seeing as 1, he wasn't expecting to be falling and 2, was suddenly filled with a need he'd not experiened in quite some time; they both fell unceremoniously to the floor, reeling from the impact.

"Ahh, my fucking knees!" She cried, laughing and hissing in pain.

"Your knees? What about my back? You just threw us on the floor, you idiot!" He spat at them, a dull throb radiating.

Tav started to laugh, "I'm sorry! I thought it would be sexy. Ow, myfuckingknees." She covered her mouth, still chuckling and sat straight upwards, her warmth settling on top of his confused erection.

"Are you okay?" She giggled, placing her fingertips gently on where his heart was.. where it used to beat.

If he had breath to hitch, it would have.

"I'm alright." He shrugged off, "it's lucky the ground's soft around here." He swallowed, "Are you alright?" He asked, realising he should show concern.

"I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting smashed knees and tree branches up my arse is all." She smirked in faux pain.

Astarion let out a loud and unexpected "Ha!" at the comment and gave her a genuine smile.

"Just to preface, I wasn't expecting anything up my arse tonight. You don't get those goods out the gate, Mr. Vampire. No matter how pretty you are." She said plainly, with a hint of amusement.

"Spawn. Get it right, or don't get it at all." He countered.

"Ooh, I do apologise, Mister Vampire Spawn Saer. I prostrate before thee, how could seek thy forgiveness?" She flourished her hand in a mock bow.

He gripped her quickly, and flipped her with new found vigor. She gasped and giggled as they rolled.

Now encased below, he crawled up the length of her body, "Well, I can think of one way." He lilted playfully, as he braced his hands by her head.

She smiled again, relaxing into the position, before offering her neck to him.

For the second time that night a jolt of something he didn't quite understand coarsed through him, it settled low and hungry in his belly. His cock swelling back to size, laying like a snake wait on her soft stomach.

He couldn't figure it out. Figure her out. This wasn't how it normally went.

His usual feelings of disgust and loathing would sit in his throat, like bile. Would grip his haunches and made him recoil, make him feel like he was the lowest creature on the face of Faerûn.

Despicable. Foul. Vile.

But this new feeling, this desire, this.. need? Was completely foreign to him.

Tav pulled him from his thoughts with her gentle touch, which he flinched from unconsciously.

"Hey, you alright?" Concerned furrowed her brow as she gazed up at him, moon and starlight reflected in her gaze.

His veneer slide back into place, "Of course darling, just thinking of all the ways I can make you cum." He reached between them to pinch a nipple, she gasped, to which he silenced with a deep kiss.

It wasn't his fault. This is what he had to do. What he was good at. What he'd spent so many years doing. Perfecting. But this would be beyond that.

He needed to her to fall so deeply in love with him that she'd never betray him. That she'd die for him, sacrifice herself for him, so that he might survive Cazador's impending attempt to drag him back.

To do that he had to: seduce her, sleep with her numerous time, make her orgasm so hard she wouldn't be able to move. He'd have to use his most advanced moves to assure this mission's success.

He would manipulate her so convincingly, that she would willingly fight a Vampire Lord to protect him. That was a tall order. Depending on how long he had to work on her.

He made people fall in love with him in an evening. This shouldn't be that much harder. He'd have to-

"Bite me, Astarion." Tav breathed against his mouth, and his mind stilled.

It was like he'd walked into a solid brick wall. Something hot and eager flushed him.

He came back to his body with two fingers stuffed inside her tight cunt, her warm juices spilling on to his hand and his cock limply hanging between his legs.

Clearly he'd been busy while he'd stepped away from the reigns.

Her words echoed through him like a gong reverberated through a temple.

He pulled his lips back and bared his fangs to her, tightened every muscle in his body.

He knew how delicious she was, how rich and delectable she was. And now he knew how emotions flavoured the blood; her anticipation and nervousness the first time, the relaxation of the following times, the fear of the bandits he'd drained to death on the battlefield. All of them tasted different.

Gods, what would arousal taste like.. desire.. orgasm..

"You're a shit Vampire, Astarion, honestly. Oh, Vampire Spawn. Let's not forget semantics." She teased, biting her lip.

"Well, you're a-" He had nothing. He had blood on the brain, and his cock apparently wanted cunt.

Her muscles clenched down on his digits as she laughed, "Good one, Star."

"Oh, shut up." He snarked with a grin, that she replied with, as he finally pierced her skin and tasted her decatent blood.

She hissed and clenched around his fingers again, as he removed his teeth from the puncture points to release her blood.

It filled his mouth, rushing out of her in spurts. He drank deeply, tasting her excitement. It tasted citrusy, bright and sharp on the tongue, then it changed to deep berries, rich and warm. Her delicious blood coated his throat and nourished his body, as he swallowed her down.

He began pumping his dexterous fingers inside her again, his thumb flitting over her clit. She gasped again and brought her hands to grasp his neck and shoulder.

She moaned and twitched under him, "Ah, ah-starion. That feels.. ngh.. don't stop."

He hummed and shook his head in agreement against her neck. There wasn't a chance he was stopping. There wasn't a chance he could.

This felt fucking amazing. Tasted like pure heaven.

He was painfully hard. The blood he was draining from her filling his cock with sensations.. divine, eye-rolling sensations.

Limitless freedom, hedonistic pleasure. A heady high that had him groaning against her skin.

She writhed her hand between them, towards his thick member. It would be awkward but gods he needed her to touch him.

He'd never needed anyone's touch more than hers at this precise moment.

He pushed his hips up higher wantonly, to allow her more room. She grasped his cock within her grip and immediately started pumping.

He broke the seal of his lips against her flesh, gasping and panting. The cool air of the night a stark contrast to the warmth of her blood dripping down his chin.

"Oh gods, Astarion." She keened beneath him, digging her nails into the muscle of his bicep with the other hand.

He gasped against the overwhelming bombardment of sensation assailing him; the taste of her blood, the smell of arousal, the burn of desire, the delicious friction of her hand.

It was wrong, wasn't it? Feeling good during sex? It wasn't supposed to feel this way. It wasn't meant to be enjoyable. It never had been before..

But gods it was now. It was almost too much.

His hand moved of it's own accord, practised for years in the art of autopilot; finessing between curling his digits stuffed inside her tight pussy and his thumb fluttering over her clit. And thank that gods, because he was not present. For an entirely different reason this time.

He whimpered, mouth agape, thinking blood coating his tongue. He was in a state of total and unexpected euphoria. Nothing mattered except remaining forever, in this moment, in this clearing.

Feather light touches brushed against his mind, seeking connection.

Astarion flinched at the intrusion, "What are you.. doing?" His mind's voice irritated and desperate.

"Going to cum.. soon. Collective ecstasy.. remember?" She replied, her's tense and full of revelry.

Astarion swallowed, latent blood flavouring his tongue. His face tensed, unsure.

He looked down at her face. Gods, she was close. The throes of pleasure evident on her beautiful face, bathed in the moonlight. It hit low in his belly, tightening his testicles.

It would be fun to use these parasites for something as debauched as this.

Those tentacled freaks wouldn't expect that, would they?

He allowed her to enter his mind, just a little. Only to be blown backwards by the rush of orgasmic energy that blazed towards him like a Thunderwave.

The storm that was roiling inside her, the building crescendo, the sheer desperation to cum. It paralysed him. It tangled within him. It wrapped itself around his cock, his hips and thighs. It painfully pinched at his nipples. It delectably nibbled at his ears.

"Gods above!" He spluttered, knocked completely off his guard.

His own orgasm rushed to meet her at the precipice, his body straining at the surge of endorphins.

"I can.. hold on.." she muttered, weakly. He clasped his hand to hers, above her head, on the forest floor.

He could almost see her, stood at the edge of a great ravine that dropped into nothingness. She reached her hand for him. His fingertips touched hers.

Their hands entwined on the edge of the swirling void. She let out a deep exhale and willingly fell backwards into the abyss, and he was unable to - refused to - fight it.

"No.. cum.. cum.. with me.." No later than he'd uttered the last word, he felt her walls clench around him.

Free fall..

Silence..

Peace..

And for the first time in over 200 years, he actually looked into the eyes of the person with him. Her reverent gaze pierced through his sorry façade, his pain and his suffering.

It was like time had slowed.

He saw her in two realities. This one; where he loomed over her, fingers in her cunt and her hand wrapped round his cock. And the other; the leap of faith, the never-ending galaxy around them, their hands grasped so tightly.

Her pupils flashed and dilated, her face flushed and strained, as she came on his fingers.

Hers hit a moment before his. The bow string released, a spell's magic unleashed.. the storm overcame them both.

"Astarion." She whispered, smiling in absolute, unbridled euphoria.

She looked deep into his eyes, and never strayed her gaze, as her orgasm lashed through her.

Looking into her eyes, with a roar that died in his throat, hot, thick ropes of cum spurted from his pale, undead cock. It shot up her gorgeous, soft body and coated her fingers.

He felt her cunt flood with her juices, staining his palm, as she called out his name like a song.

She bucked and writhed, face contorted in ecstasy. His own pleasure causing him to thrust and jerk, veins in his neck tense and popping from the sheer force.

He collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

There they lay in stunned, post-orgasmic bliss for what seemed effortless hours, when it fact only moments had passed. The muscles in his legs twitched, as he came down from the high. His hearing returned to him, after the thumping of her rushing blood slowed inside him. Her hard breathing softened to laboured exhales. His eyes growing heavier as Reverie beckoned.

Still collapsed on top of her, she stroked her thumb across his shoulder.

"I would call that collective ecstasy." She whispered with smile against the sweat sodden hair stuck to his temple.

He huffed out an exhausted laugh, and she pressed a kiss, to which he reciprocated in his delirium.

"I would call that a miracle." He mused, lifting himself up and peeling his chest from theirs.

He cast his eyes down on the sacrilege between them. His cum glistened in splotched patches up their stomachs and chests, where he'd collapsed after orgasm.

"Oops." He said, without a morsel of regret.

"Eh, comes with the territory." She shrugged, waving their hand and muttering the somantics for Prestidigitation.

Astarion let out a groan and rolled off her, to the ground. He was utterly spent. It had been a very long time since sex had tired him this way. Well, it hadn't even been sex.

Tav rolled onto his chest, laying her head down and letting out a big sigh.

"That was interesting, huh? Using the tadpole's connection?" There was a tease of intrigue in her voice.

"I can imagine that's not what the Illithids had in mind when they implanted us with them." He said, flippantly amused, bringing his arms to hold them.

There was a pause.

"Were you there with me? On the edge of that terrifying expanse?" Their tone was cautious but curious.

Astarion's brows shot up his face, "You saw it too?"

"I thought it was my imagination but I felt you, felt your hand holding mine," she moved her fingers to finesse his hand into the correct position to hold hands like before, "I had to know if it was real."

A twang of guilt ricocheted through his chest.

There it was. That old familiar feeling.

"Of course it was, darling." His voice was thankfully more convincing than his expression.

She smiled against his skin, pressed a kiss and let out another contented sigh, as she settled back into his embrace.

Despicable. Foul. Vile. The lowest creature on the face of Faerûn.

He sighed through his nose, his body tense with undeniable self-hatred.

Yes, this would be easy.

•°•°•

D'ya like reading smut and sweetness? I've got a Masterlist 👀🤫

[librababe99]

Weathering the Storm

A/N: Hey Y’all! So I’ve always been someone who lurks, reblogs and enjoys the work that others put out on Tumblr. I have attempted to write things in the past but end up keeping it to myself or scrap the idea altogether— BUT after watching Deadpool and Wolverine my love for those two has hit me hard!  Anyways, here’s a little angsty blurb I wrote for Logan. 

Please let me know what you think! I'm open to suggestions and comments!

- Libra ✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*

Warnings: None.  Word Count: 620

The rain pounds against the window, a relentless downpour that mirrors the storm brewing inside you. You sit on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold it together. But it’s hard. It’s so damn hard when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

Logan is pacing the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You can see the tension in his muscles, the barely contained fury that radiates off him in waves. He hasn’t looked at you since the argument started—since the words that neither of you can take back were thrown like daggers.

“Logan,” you finally say, your voice breaking the heavy silence. He stops but doesn’t turn to face you. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even listening.

But then he speaks, his voice rough and edged with pain. “I can’t keep doin’ this,” he mutters, the words barely audible over the rain. “Every time… it’s like I’m losing you a little more.”

Your heart clenches at the raw emotion in his tone, and you stand, taking a hesitant step toward him. “You’re not losing me,” you say, though the crack in your voice betrays your own doubt. “I’m right here.”

He finally turns to look at you, his eyes shadowed with something that makes your breath catch. There’s anger there, yes, but beneath it, there’s something deeper—something broken. “But for how long?” he asks, his voice rough with a vulnerability he rarely shows. “How long before you walk away? Before you decide you can’t handle bein’ with a guy like me?”

The accusation stings because it’s not entirely unfounded. You’ve both been through hell, and sometimes the weight of it all feels like too much. But the thought of leaving him? Of walking away from the only person who truly understands you? That’s a pain you can’t bear to even consider.

“I’m not leaving you, Logan,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I—” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “I’m scared, okay? Scared that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. That something will happen, and I won’t be able to stop it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I just… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze piercing as he studies you. Then, with a heavy sigh, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches up, his rough fingers brushing your cheek. “You’re not gonna lose me, darlin’,” he murmurs, the anger in his voice replaced by something softer, something laced with the same fear you feel. “But I can’t keep fightin’ this battle alone. We’re in this together, or we’re not in it at all.”

His words hang in the air, a challenge and a plea all at once. You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of the decision before you. It would be easy to walk away, to let the fear and doubt win. But as you look into Logan’s eyes, you realize that leaving him would hurt more than anything else ever could.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hand over his. “We’re in this together,” you whisper, the resolve in your voice stronger now. “No matter what.”

For a moment, the tension between you lingers, but then Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tight as if afraid you might slip away. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. The storm outside rages on, but in Logan’s embrace, you find a sliver of peace—a promise that, despite the darkness, you’ll face whatever comes together.

[a-boca-do-inferno]

medicine (caesar x human!reader)

summary: The ape colony is short on painkillers for humans, except Caesar learned a lot in his time living with them. Lucky for you.

warnings: period mention, interspecies (mild)smut

words: 1.9k

notes: lol yeah another one... im just enjoying it while i can ok. my vacation ends next month 💀 boa leitura!

It couldn’t be later than midnight. You hissed as your cramps only got harsher and harsher. In the cold everything became much worse, and this time was no different. You curled up towards Maurice to try and borrow some warmth from his fur, yet it felt helpless; your body shook like a leaf, and the pain in your womb was ridiculous.

Noticing your distress, Maurice wakes up from his sleep and signs with a worried expression, “I call Caesar?”

You shake your head even before he can say his name. The ape king had more important matters to attend to than your stupid human cramps. On top of it all, it was his resting moment now. You wouldn’t bother him with this. “No. Let him sleep.”

“Herbs?”

“Doesn’t work.” You grunt in frustration, signing with a frown. “I’m fine. By morning it will get better. It’s just the cold.”

“Winter start now.” Maurice argues, still with his gentleness in every word. You only nod in response and he insists, pointing towards Caesar’s tent. “Talk tomorrow. He can help. Lived with humans… before.”

Your eyes fell on the king sleeping a few feet away from you. Could Maurice really have a point? Perhaps Caesar indeed knew some trick to help with period cramps. You did hear he was brought up with human parents, which meant he must’ve had a woman around—you never touched on the subject out of respect, since you two weren’t close. Exchanging a last look with the orangutan, you displayed another short nod. A wave of pain reached your abdomen again and you sighed quietly, burying yourself in ginger fur, despite it being fruitless at that point.

The next day, the colony was awake as soon as the sun was out. It was a rare morning with sunlight and you thanked heavens mentally, appreciating the heat, even if mild, radiating from the star above. The pain had subdued considerably and you took the opportunity to help with supper. Sometimes you helped Maurice in school, but being on your feet proved to make matters worse those days.

You settled around the fire with the girls who tended to cooking. As you were in the middle of grilling fish, a hand touched your shoulder and you turned to face Caesar beating a tight expression. You stood up immediately to greet him, showing your respect for the king. You tried your best to look obedient to his power, as you were well aware of their history with humans, and his reaction was always the same—a dismissive hand gesture, green eyes softening gradually. However, his gaze remained serious now, and you gulped in anticipation.

“Cramps?” Caesar points to your stomach, his gravelly voice a low sound.

Your cheeks heat up and you want to roll your eyes, but refrain from doing so. Maurice and his gigantic mouth. You had hoped he’d forgotten about last night’s talk. Gesturing sheepishly, you stare at the floor. “It’s fine. The sun helps.” You motion upwards to prove your point.

Caesar glances at the pink sky and notices the big star almost fading in the horizon, then back at you. Your inability to keep eye contact with him didn’t go unnoticed, either, making him narrow his green orbs. The muscles in his jaw jump, and he grumbles, his face unimpressed, “sun not here at night.”

“I know, but...”

“But?” He challenges, raising a brow. The king crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that made him even more menacing. You were used to his imposing presence—the tall and muscular build, the scars on his body, the permanent look of seriousness—yet there were few things more intimidating than seeing Caesar like this, with his displeasure directed at you.

You take a deep breath, trying your best to sound convincing even though you felt like a child being reprimanded. “But I have Maurice to…”

“Maurice... ratted you out. Like humans… say.” Caesar cuts you off with a hint of amusement, in contrast with his dry voice. Carefully, he takes your shirt in his large hands, lifting the fabric to expose your belly without so much as a request for permission; not that he needed it, anyway. His calloused fingers made goose bumps on your skin while navigating your soft form. He lets go of you and signs sharply. “Need medicine. Can’t stay like this.”

You furrow your brows. “They don’t work, Caesar, but it’s okay. It’s just a couple of days. It’ll go away.”

He stops for a moment, contemplating your protests. His gaze flicks to your eyes, acute and intense, making you shrink under his scrutiny. “Not okay. Pain… too much.” Surely the ape would never let you be writhing in pain every night, no matter if it was but a week. With a final huff, Caesar then orders, “you stay with me tonight.”

“But I...” At the look he shoots you, you know there’s no more arguing. The king has spoken. With a defeated sigh, you nod and watch him step away on his hind legs, towering over the others. You mutter under your breath, “God, I miss democracy.” 

As the day went on, you did your best to ignore the annoying throb in your abdomen, knowing you'd be glared at by Caesar if he caught you grimacing again. A low hum of crickets began to fill the night air as the apes settled down around the fire. The hour grew late and the campsite gradually became quiet, the crackling bonfire the only source of light and life. 

You were eating fish alongside Maurice and Rocket, laughing at something the ginger spoke about the kids in school today. On the other side of the circle, green eyes kept vigilant over you with no subtlety at all. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks burning at the attention. Caesar finished his meal, glancing towards you through the darkness as you remained by the fire after everyone was gone. He slowly made his way over, his massive figure casting a shadow as he approached you. 

With some lightheartedness he signs, extending a hand, “time to rest.” Your eyes follow his gestures and you take his palm. He guides you toward his tent in considerable silence before closing the curtain-like branches draped over the entrance, hooting faintly as he points to his nest. “Lie down.”

You obey him, your breathing slowly increasing its pace. You clasp your hands over your stomach anxiously, intertwining your fingers. “What are you gonna do?”

Caesar scans over you for a moment, noting the tension in your demeanour. “Massage.” He grunts, moving to sit next to you, his muscles rippling with his every movement. The ape pries apart your hands, replacing them with his own much larger ones, his palms settling on your abdomen similar to how he did earlier. He eyes your reactions closely. “May… I?”

You didn’t respond with words, silently granting Caesar permission to go on with his idea. Hooting again, a sound that almost felt like he was trying to soothe your nerves, his rough skin made contact with your tender one, brushing and squeezing it in fairly skilful ways. In spite of the awkwardness of the situation, you found yourself relaxing under his ministrations, your eyelids fluttering shut from time to time. The ape didn’t say much as he worked, green orbs fixated on your expressions while continuing to move his hands in small circles over your womb area. His face was nearly unreadable, the usual stoic frown now replaced by a look of concentration.   

The ape kept going, a low grumble escaping him every now and then as he tried to maintain the pressure at a certain point to make the pain dissipate. You had no idea when it shifted in nature, yet all of a sudden, his movements seemed a lot more sensual than anything. Your interior was only getting hotter by the minute, accompanied by the clear flush on your face. It’s the hormones. It’s the hormones. It’s the hormones. Your attempts at making yourself believe in those affirmations were unsuccessful, pathetic at best; and it all came down crumbling when the quietest moan left your throat, causing Caesar to freeze and stop with the massage.

You stare at him with widened eyes, embarrassment and fear encapsulated in your features, and you immediately sit up and sign in desperation, your tone just as urgent, “I’m… I’m sorry, Caesar, please. It was just…”

A dark look passed over Caesar’s face as he watched you stumble on yourself with apologies. Without a word, his stare dropped to your body once more, the fingers in your abdomen applying more pressure against the flesh, feeling the heat as you reacted to his touch. He could smell your scent changing and a guttural sound escaped his lips as his green eyes glanced at you unblinking, his hand slowly drifting down your womb and stopping on your pelvis deliberately. 

You inhaled sharply, in surprise and excitement, the realisation hitting you like a brick. The ape curled his digits and resumed the massage, his nostrils flaring as he huffed, clearly aroused. Your faces stood inches apart, his hot, heavy breath against you blowing your hair lightly. You put your arm around his neck and he grunted in appreciation, his expression softening at the way you whimpered in pleasure, begging for more. His fingers rubbed circles on your clit through your clothes in a steady rhythm, causing you to bury your face in his furry neck, gasping.

“I’m gonna…”

Caesar heaved in your ear encouragingly and it was the final straw. You came against his hand, squeezing your thighs in reflex whilst he kept massaging your heat through your orgasm. The ape king continued to look at you eagerly and you tried to get out of his grasp, ashamed of what just transpired. He swallowed thickly, holding onto your forearm to prevent you from scooting away, and pressed your foreheads together.

He hooted, grabbing your palm and taking it to his leg. Your gaze followed his movement and you noticed how excited he was, too. Your mind was hazy from your high just a few seconds ago, then it dawned on you that he felt as aroused as you by what happened. It wasn’t just you and your period hormones. It never even crossed your mind that it was possible for him to desire you this way. You cupped his cheeks as your heads stayed pressed to one another, closing your eyes, his scent intoxicating your system.

Caesar nuzzled your cheek, inhaling the sweet smell of you in as much as he could, making sure to memorise each and every inch of your scent under his touch. He ran his hand to place it on the nape of your neck, guiding your body towards his, until you were sitting on his lap, straddling his massive frame. The action brought your chest flush with his, a low rumble escaping him when your curves brushed his bare skin. He found the crook of your shoulder, his tongue trailing a path over the sensitive area, making you shiver. The king huffed again, his free hand sliding up your leg to grip a handful of your flesh, pulling you closer—his grip kept you in place, letting him claim you in any way he wanted.

“Cold?” He hums, still nuzzling you.

The sensation causes you to blush deeper, caressing his chin. “Not anymore.”

“Cramp?” Caesar rasps inquisitively, placing a warm palm on your belly again.

You snort and shake your head. “No. Your medicine worked... Thanks.”

You can swear there’s a smirk on his lips as he nods once, holding your hips protectively. “Good.” He presses you closer to him and huffs, and you understand it right away. Your doctor’s appointment wasn’t over yet, it seemed.

[prolix-yuy]

Ah, but it's cold outside

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Summary: If you could throw Pero Tovar out of your bed and breakfast you would, but something more than your constant bickering keeps him darkening your door.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering, PiV sex, consenting unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming inside, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), Pero Tovar is Uncircumcised, pain kink, exhibitionism, slight degradation kink, enemies to lovers as self-actualization? We love to see it.

Notes: Happy Holidays @221bshrlocked! I am your not-so-Secret Santa for @pedrostories Secret Santa event! I love love LOVED your prompts and had to give you as many as I could possibly jam into one fic. Plus it's been a while since I've written Pero and I need that grumpy man to get his ass handed to him every now and then. I hope you enjoy!

With the wind howling outside and the lights flickering dangerously, the last person you want to see on your front steps is Pero Tovar. But you barely have time to register the dark-haired pain in your ass before he’s pushing past you and into the warm haven of your bed and breakfast.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” you call over your shoulder, closing the door against the freezing air. Even when the latch clicks the force of the gusts still rattles the door. 

“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome,” he huffs, swatting snow off his wool jacket to puddle on the floor. Rolling your eyes, you stalk into the kitchen for towels. 

“It’s late, what do you want?” you call from the other room, unable to stop yourself from twisting your mouth into a pretty fair imitation of Pero’s scowl. You’d just turned off all the lights, only the twinkling glows of Christmas decorations still lighting the main floor. 

“The road’s snowed out, I can’t see shit. I debated on whether it would be easier on my nerves to keep going or stop here.” He waves at your exasperated face when he catches the towel you toss. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The telltale frustration rises in your throat, and you swallow it down. “I don’t have any rooms, everyone’s hiding out from the storm.” Busying yourself with the late-night tasks you know by heart, Pero thumps along behind you.

“Believe me, I would rather be in my own bed than your ‘charming’ ones, but I am out of options. Anything. A couch. It’s too cold to sleep in the truck.”

There it is again, that seething annoyance climbing up your spine. You take in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before gesturing at the common room.

“The couch is the best I can do.”

Before you’re done speaking he’s striding in, shucking off his jacket to drape over a chair before kneeling by the dying fire. You’re about to scold him for kicking it back to life but if the power does fail the heat will be welcome. 

“I have to finish closing up, yell if you need something,” you add, his dismissive wave meeting your mocking wave back. The scrunch in your shoulders eases partway through the mess of dishes you’re washing, thankful that the silence of late nights is still yours even with the eerie howls and creaks of the storm surrounding you.

Yours and Pero’s relationship was barely that, if anyone asked. When he first came to town you were elated that a carpenter-handyman type was finally local. You had so many projects half-finished or begging to start in your bed and breakfast, a cozy Tudor-style house you bought at the peak of another career crisis. Thankfully this choice was a revelation, even with the tremendous undertaking. The pipes were of indeterminate age and prone to cracks, the noise of the radiators a heart-pounding alarm clock. The unpleasant odors of past smokers and bad cooks hung heavy everywhere you turned, but paint and YouTube videos and determination brought it up to a standard you were proud of. However, you didn’t want to know what electrocution feels like, or be chummy with the scent of carbon monoxide, so after a proper number of niceties and crossed paths you invited Pero over. 

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. You had to focus on showing him the finicky electrical box and the concerning gas hookup in the kitchen to stop your mind from wandering to steamy romance novel plots. 

Then he started speaking, and it all went to hell. 

“You should take down the curtains too,” he hummed, the cadence almost masking the disdain before your brain snapped to attention.

“The…curtains? Are they a fire hazard?”

“No, they are ugly.”

Heat flooded your face, your teeth clacking together as you whipped to look at Pero. His face is the picture of disgust, and when he meets your eyes there isn’t a hint of embarrassment in them. “Did they come with the place?”

“No, they fit the aesthetic.”

“This is an aesthetic?”

You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips but he didn’t back down one bit. He kept talking.

“I thought the furniture was from the previous owner. Cheaper, you know. You like it?” He looks around as if someone would back him up, but you just fold your arms.

“People don’t come to a bed and breakfast because it’s modern, they come because it’s quaint and charming and…”

“...cheaper than the Marriott…”

“And how would you do it then? Design the space for me, oh wise one.”

“Not how my grandmother would do it.”

Pero did not get your business that day.

Embarrassingly enough, he did get it three weeks later when your gas line started leaking. He critiqued how many mouse droppings were behind the stove and recommended an exterminator. You almost threw him out.

So if anyone asks, you and Pero do not have a relationship. You have a business agreement, at best. A begrudging one. He comes when you call - not quickly, of course, and it feels like a personal slight even when he insists he has many clients - and you pay him after haggling over the cost of the pipe or how long he actually worked for (he has a tendency to charge for his hour-long lunch breaks). He makes his snide little comments and you spit a retort back, and sometimes you swear you catch him smirking to himself after you deliver something especially sharp. 

As you dry your hands, you dwell maybe a few minutes too long on this. You’d never admit it in earshot of his big head, but there’s something incredibly freeing about talking to Pero. Sure, he criticizes and complains about anything he comes within five feet of, but he’s never cruel to you. He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. Most try to talk over your or around the topic, and you have to smile and gently redirect them to understand that yes, you are aware of what an impact driver is and no, you think drywall screws would be overkill to reattach that molding. You’d rather snark at Pero all day then have one of those pillow-scream-worthy conversations again.

Shaking off the retrospection, you take a plate of leftover roast chicken and potatoes into the common room. Pero, as you expected, has stoked the fire into an almost concerning blaze but the warmth is welcome. He’s settling back into the well-worn couch and scrolling on his phone as you plop the plate on his lap. Your knuckles graze the top of his thigh when you withdraw, a nervous tingle dancing through your stomach.

What the hell was that about? It’s Pero, for fuck’s sake.

“Eat,” you order, rounding the couch to drop into the open space. If there’s one order Pero will never argue about it’s to eat, which he does with gusto and a nod in your direction. The crackle of the fire covers the ravenous chewing - even barely hungry he eats like a man starved - as you let your body relax into the cushions. All the guests are tucked away, breakfast is prepped and ready, and the silence is welcome. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

“I did not think you would be fully booked. I wouldn’t have bothered stopping by.”

It’s too late and you’re too tired to deal with this bullshit right now. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“And why would you think that Pero? Because somehow I could never run a business this well?”

“That’s not…”

“Or am I not paying you enough? Are we about to have a heart to heart over hourly rates?”

“I am not…”

“Then fucking out with it then! If you hate being here, being around me so much, then just tell me why so I can stop trying to give a shit about it.”

The silence that follows pulls your hands from your eyes, and where you thought Pero would be glaring at you he’s…confused. Which is…also confusing.

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle. “Most people defer to me because I’m…” Gesturing at himself, what could be a brag instead is dripping with annoyance. “The men pretend to be in league with me, and the women laugh at everything I say. It’s so…boring.”

You’re frozen in place, brows knit as you let him speak, a tingle rising up the back of your neck and flooding your fingertips.

“Any bullshit that entertains me, I can do with them. But not with you.” He can’t meet your eyes, instead staring into the fire that paints the planes of his face in luscious amber. “You never let me get away with shit. I like that. I thought you liked that too. You always seemed to get…brighter when we were…” His hands come up and make little quibbling mouths, finally looking at you. 

Have you ever seen his gaze so bare before?

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Inside your body, a mounting wave of understanding and excitement fills your limbs. No one has ever praised your fire, your brightness, only wanting to tamp it down into something manageable and palatable. Now before you is a man who not only revels in it, but encourages it? You’ve never felt this thrum of excitement before, like holding a tuning fork against your sternum. 

“You did,” you say, the strength of your voice surprising. Rising to stand, Pero’s chin tilts, a supplicant before you. “Because if you had given me even an inkling of an idea that this was foreplay, I wouldn’t have held back.”

Much like your own revelation, you can see your words change Pero. His brow smooths before arching in tandem with his growing smirk. Hands coming down to grasp the seat cushion, his veins bulge against the creak of upholstery. He tilts his chin to you with shrinking obedience. 

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

The words drive you to clench. This is dangerous new territory, but nothing could hold you back from striding headfirst into it. Two swaying steps place you in front of Pero, his knees widening to stand between. The new angle makes him lean back, exposing the tantalizing length of his neck dotted with delicate freckles. 

“I don’t know, Pero, you may not deserve that honor.” A giggle rises in your throat, letting yourself enjoy your new-found freedom. Saying exactly what’s on your mind without the nagging fear of being too much. By Pero’s expression, he’s enjoying it too. You wind up another retort, but his next words steal your breath. 

“Are you wet right now?” he says, tongue slipping out to lick at his lower lip. The crude statement slams heat into your face, and suddenly your hand is in the air and headed for Pero’s stubbly cheek. 

“Ah!” he scolds, catching your wrist firmly before you make contact. Your brain barely has time to register you were going to smack him! when he yanks you closer, catching yourself on the back of the couch.

“I knew you were sharp in many more ways,” he gloats, and you can’t decide if you want to try wiping that smirk off his face with your palm or your mouth. “I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

This is the precipice of desire and level thinking, your toes on the edge. Strong voices shout that this is crazy, foolish, ill-advised. You feel too good to pay them mind.

“Why don’t you find out?”

Hunger roars in Pero’s eyes but his movements are slow, steady as he helps you straighten to standing. The fire licks at your back, but his hands finding the waist of your jeans are scorching. Eyes flick up to you as he pops the button loose, thick fingers grasping the small zip to open it tooth by tooth. The challenge is to let him take his time, and you’re up for it. By the generous tenting in his pants he’s affected too. 

“What will I find if I take these off? Pretty little panties? Something lace? Nothing at all?” he husks, toying with the plaquet as he purposefully doesn’t look. 

“I think my previous answer still stands,” you retort, and your boldness earns you a rakish smile while Pero rolls your jeans down. The darkness of night shrouds your form, but anyone stumbling in could find you like this. Something tells you Pero likes it better that way.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and his hot breath ghosting over your mound raises goosebumps. 

“At this rate it’ll be morning before…” you tease, lips forming around a smile, but that morphs into a choked exhale when Pero deftly pulls aside your panties and slides his thumb over your clit. Your hands come to his shoulders, digging in as he traces an experimental circle. 

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Staccato laughter punctuates your “yes” before he presses in, those hands you’d marveled at fitting into the hot clutch of your cunt just shy of painful. Then he curls them and you can’t stop the high-pitched whine that whistles out. 

“Just needed something to scratch that itch, hm? Needed a little finger fucking to relax?” he says, and even with your body responding beautifully to his slick rhythm you can’t let that go. One hand twists into his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers before squeezing. 

Like an electric shock Pero’s body locks up, mouth falling open and his hips undulating more than you expected. You tut at him, superiority flooding your brain even as your pussy drenches his hand.

“Tattling on yourself, Pero. Let your mouth run just a little and I’ll learn all your secrets.” His fingers redouble their efforts, thumb sliding over your clit as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface, but now his head is in your hands, nails digging into his scalp as he fights against succumbing to the pricks of pain.

“Devil woman,” he hisses with no fire. “Tell me what you want - fuck, you’re so fucking wet - tell me what you want to make you cum.”

Your mind races with possibilities - your slick smeared on Pero’s beard, his hands wrapped around your headboard, what his lips would feel like - but the mounting need in your chest is to be filled. 

“I want to fuck you. Right here.”

Pero curses colorfully, fumbling at his belt. You ease his hand from your pussy, the ache of the loss a yawning chasm but he needs both to yank off his jeans and boxers. Pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, you’re nude and silhouetted by the dying fire. Pero is struggling with his shirt when he glances up at you, stunned into stillness. 

“Mierda,” he whispers. It’s said like a prayer, and at this moment you know why worship is addictive. Pero’s reverent gaze is a stronger aphrodisiac than any oyster could hope to be. He comes back to himself enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing dark chest hair leading down to a healthy mess of curls surrounding his flushing cock. He fists it, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the deep purpling head slick with precum. Cocking your hip, you fake a loud sigh.

“Fine, I guess you have a big enough dick to act the way you do,” you observe, diffusing the weighty moment enough for Pero to scoff and smile. It’s new on his face, his scowl so everpresent, that you bask in it briefly. 

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

“What are you, Santa?” you ask, straddling him and settling on his thighs as he rolls his eyes.

“Are you trying to make me lose this? Is it a little too intimidating for all your big talk?” Pero teases, stroking his definitely still very hard cock before tapping the head against your mound. 

“Don’t worry, I know how to get it back if you do,” you quip, dragging your fingernails lightly down his chest before he can retort. He reacts exactly how you’d hoped, muscles clenching and a bead of precum dribbling from his tip. “Do you like it when I make it hurt just a little bit?”

“Yes,” he groans, unashamed, unselfconscious, and your cunt throbs. “You can make it hurt more,” he says, eyes widening suddenly as you see him realize he said that out loud. Sliding closer to hover over his proud cock, you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can blame it on the storm in the morning. 

“I’ll let you have anything you want if you’re a good boy for me.”

The whine he’s clearly embarrassed to have let out is cut off by a sudden inhale.

“Wait,” he gasps, hands digging into your hips to hold you above his cock. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control,” you interject, “and I haven’t slept with anyone in…like, eight months.”

Pero’s hands knead into your flesh, eyes searching your face.

“I’ll pull out.”

You don’t even think about it.

“Don’t you dare.”

If what you saw was hunger before, what’s in Pero’s expression now is ravenous. His lips curl back into a snarl, eyes deep and dark. Suddenly his fingers are inside you, scissoring you open roughly as you pant into his ear. 

“Tell me to slow down,” he growls, but you shake your head. “Tell me…when I need to.”

“I need you, Pero, please, now.”

No longer holding you still, Pero’s hands guide you down onto his cock. The moment his head breaches a whole body shiver races through.

“Are you…”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He fills you until he’s in your guts, your lungs, surrounding you with his arms and his thighs below. The splay of his hands on your back makes you dizzy, head buzzy with hormones and his musk and every place he’s touching you in a symphony of pleasure. Faintly you realize he’s saying something, lips moving against your shoulder.

“Pero?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A few drops of clarity sharpen the mush in your brain.

“You’re inside of me and we forgot to kiss.”

Pero’s chest hitches once, then again, then the both of you are moving out of sync as hiccupy laughter overtakes you. He pants when you clench around him, trying to catch his breath until you both come back to your senses. 

“I was enjoying what you were saying too much,” he admits, leaning back against the couch. His face is shadowed but you catch the glint of his eyes, the wetness of his plush lips. How had you resisted them this long?

Pero beats you to initiate, pulling you down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and chaste, his hands cupping your head as you part. But you beat him to return the kiss, pressing him into the couch with a deeper kiss, barely waiting for him to react before urging his lips open. He hums greedily into your mouth, letting you explore with your tongue before he fills you with his. It’s not long before his mouth is frantic, gripping your hips as he makes an experimental thrust into your cunt that breaks your lips apart.

“Pero, fuck,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as he thrusts up deep and smooth. You meet his pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit against him. Fighting for dominance, you finally push him back and ride him in earnest, lifting up over and over again to slam his cock into your cunt. He’s mesmerized by how your tits bounce, taking one in his palm to knead to tease your nipple as your orgasm creeps up your spine. 

“Fuck, Pero, you feel so good,” you moan, slowing to grind down, the friction of his pubic hair on your clit giving you the edge to pull your climax close. 

“You feel amazing on my cock. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you pant, using every inch of Pero to find that moment of bliss. “Fuck, yes Pero, I want to cum on you. Want to feel you inside.” It’s right there, you’re at the brink of tipping over.

“Fuck, yes, oh fuck, say my name like that. Say it when you’re cumming.”

Your nerves sing and your body pulses to the beat of Pero, Pero, Pero rasping from your lips. He’s growling something you wish you could understand but the blood is pumping too loudly in your ears. The only thing you register is the couch against your back as Pero flips you. He’s pressed long against your body, hips snapping into your cunt even as you’re so tight around him. 

“...beautiful, you’re so beautiful, can’t stop…” you faintly hear as the sensations of Pero’s hands roaming your body, his humid mouth at your neck, and the wet slap of his cock bring you back to your body. His thrusts are becoming erratic, right on the cusp of his own orgasm, when you dig your nails into his back and rake them down his spine. 

Pero’s orgasmic bellow is muffled in your neck as the throb of his cock empties inside you. You offer little scratches up and down his arms and shoulders as he comes down, hips pressing in deeper as he lets out satisfied groans. Finally he slumps, head resting on your chest as he catches his breath. 

The silence is back, the dimming fire combating the dark. This was by far the best fuck you’d had in ages, and in no small part due to the freedom to just be. But when the sun rises - hell, when the post-orgasmic haze lifts - what will this even look like?

Pero sighs and lifts up on his hands, easing his cock out before softly swearing and grabbing his shirt to wipe away the cum dripping out of you. 

“I might recommend getting this couch cleaned,” he muses, sitting up on his knees to look down at your loose-limbed body with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think we’re the first ones to do that on this particular piece of furniture,” you joke, enjoying the wrinkle of disgust on Pero’s face. 

“Then I definitely recommend a shower. And request a bedsheet.”

The statement is unassuming in a way that you needed. Yes, this is new and strange, but you’ve always embraced both. 

“You know, there is still one bed left in this bed and breakfast.”

Pero’s head perks up.

“The only problem is that it’s mine.”

A roguish smile dimples Pero’s cheek as he hovers over you.

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

END

"I ought to say, "No, no, no sir" Mind if I move in closer? At least I'm gonna say that I tried What's the sense in hurting my pride? I really can't stay Baby, don't hold out Baby, it's cold outside."