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mv1simp · 6 months ago

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Cuffing Szn ♥️

Max Verstappen x MidSize!Reader

it's cuffing season and all the girls are leaving to get a big boy (I need a big boy, give me a big boy)

As Max Verstappen's new girlfriend, you're one of the few WAGs on the grid who isn't a model and the only one, you think self consciously, who doesn't look like a model either. Good thing your big, strong boyfriend is here to set the record straight about how much he disagrees with you.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, trigger warning: explicit discussion about eating disorder and body dysmorphia, dom!max, sub!reader, size kink, this is just a shameless excuse for me to write smut about max's thighs, 3.3k WC

When you'd delivered one of your favourite patient's 3rd baby, handing over the healthy, crying pale blob (after thoroughly wiping it down because, you know) with a congratulations, Victoria, its a boy! you hadn't expected to catch the eye of the patient's very attractive, tall older brother at her side.

But as you walked off down the hallway once the baby checks were done, you were surprised to find Max stopping you with a large but gentle hand on your shoulder. You'd seen him a couple of times in Victoria's pregnancy, accompanying her and her husband at the ultrasound checks leading upto the delivery. You'd secretly thought he was so adorable with the way he handled his nieces and nephews patiently while his sister got scanned.

You'd also thought he looked positively delectable in his white linen shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders, and skinny jeans that clung to some of the thickest thighs you'd seen a man be blessed with. But making bedroom eyes at patient's hot family members was generally frowned upon (although not explicitly prohibited in the Hippocratic Oath, one could argue) so you promptly forgot about the handsome blonde 5 minutes later when the emergency bell went off.

But he stood before you that day, looking every bit as attractive as you remembered, even more so with a pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked if this was the last time you'd be looking after Victoria?

You tilted your head quizzically at him, your neck a little strained from looking up at his 6 foot frame from your 5"1 one. Yes it is, you informed him, and because new families often got anxious, you sweetly added that it was a good thing, to not see you again, because it meant darling Victoria and her baby are both healthy.

He confuses you again by saying that he was hoping to see you again. Oh! You smile excitedly, are you and your wife expecting? You pull out your clinic card and tell him that you're actually all booked out for the year but you'll make an exception for Victoria's brother.

His blush deepens. (Somewhere in a hospital broom cupboard, Lando Norris was filming this scene unfold and cackling.) Max rapidly explained that he's not expecting. Oh, and he's not married. And also he doesn't have a girlfriend. Basically, I'm single - he finally stammers out. (Rizzless and bitchless, Lando texts him). Thankfully, at this point you had caught on that Max was trying to ask you out, and after a quick phone call to the legal team to confirm you were clear, you turn back around to inform him cheekily that he could pick you up at 8pm Friday night for dinner. (Wait, this actually worked? a flabbergasted Lando now texts.) The emergency pager then goes off so you gently tug on Max's shirt to hint that you want him to bring his face down, give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and sprint off to Ward 6.

The dinner goes perfectly, with Max's charm returning in full force after a G&T - Sorry about earlier, schat, you're such a gorgeous woman and a very smart doctor, it makes me nervous - leading to a 2nd date and then a 3rd and then to a weekend trip in a romantic Nice winery, where you can't resist jumping into his muscly arms after a glass of wine and demanding he have his way with you. (He does. Very thoroughly. Multiple times that night, and the morning after. Thinking about it still has you blushing.)

6 months later, you two are officially going out and you're making your first appearance as his girlfriend at the races. You had carefully dressed in a classy Mirror Palais dress, complete with matching heels to save your poor boyfriend having to bend down too much. You'd also become rather turned on at seeing your normally soft, gentle cat dad of a boyfriend turn into an absolute menace once the Redbull suit is zipped up, terrorising his way all the way to P1 and living up to his nickname of the Dutch lion. As his assistant guides you to the podium ceremony, you're stopped by various fans who compliment your outfit and ask for pictures. The media attention is very new to you, as Max had been very insistent on protecting your privacy as you two established yourselves as a couple. But everyone had been so nice today - until you started noticing the dirty looks thrown your way, glaring up and down your form. And then, a couple of snide comments from passing fans about how you were very confident to wear such a body hugging dress, especially with your curvy figure.

You roll your eyes at their clearly jealous tones, and walk over to the podium ceremony to greet your boyfriend. He breaks into an adorable grin when he sees you, his whole face lighting up as he easily scoops you up for a deep kiss. The cameras around you two go crazy, but don't pick up his whispers when he sets you down and leans in, telling you that you looked so pretty today, schat, he'd been staring at you so much GP had to tell him to focus, and how was your first race? nobody gave you a hard time, did they? You don't miss the way his eyes are attentively focused on your face, clearly still worried about the damage he had warned you about before you agreed to go public.

You aren't going to spoil his win over a couple of snide comments. Not at all, baby you reassure, before whispering back that he looked really hot in his tight fireproofs, could he pretty please bring them home later when you give him his reward for such a good performance on the track? The tip of Max's ears go pink as he struggles to maintain a straight face for the cameras. Giggling, you press a kiss to his cheek and murmur you'll see him after his interviews.

Later though, when Max is in his interview across the paddock and you're being introduced to the other WAGs, you can't help but notice how different they all look in their body hugging dresses compared to you. Although you wouldn't be called fat, you aren't slim either, and you're nowhere near the tiny, trim figures the other girls maintain. Once the seed of insecurity is planted, it's very hard to stop it growing out of control - and at each race or public event or launch party you attend at Max's side, you start to pick apart more and more insecurities about yourself. How you're so much shorter than the numerous models on the grid, making you feel childish and round compared to their lithe gracefulness. How their delicate collarbones and ribs can clearly be seen at all times, but yours only if you twisted your neck a certain way. And they're all so lovely, chatting eagerly with you and interested to hear about your work, asking if you'd take so-and-so on as a patient, you had a great reputation already even though you were a new doctor in Monaco! The conversations distract you from your worries for a bit.

But afterwards, when you'd be laughing at cat memes online and sending them to your boyfriend, you'd come across the paparazzi pics of you speaking to the WAGs and felt sick to your stomach at how huge you thought you looked compared to everyone else, clearly standing out as the plainest one amongst their flawless faces. Some of the comments agreed, saying that it was just sad that the best driver on the grid had the ugliest girlfriend, and couldn't Max buy his gf some ozempic with all his tax evasion money? Comments that would have made you laugh at the originality now suddenly had you sobbing, and you're glad you hadn't stayed at Max's tonight and had to explain the state you were in.

When you'd been younger, in college, you'd started struggling with managing your stress levels given you were a perfectionist working towards a very difficult medical degree. Having always been a stress eater, you frequently binged on junk food, and obviously ended up gaining quite a bit of weight. Your family and ex boyfriend had ridiculed you endlessly, and so the year after you had to work hard and lose it all, which you had managed to do. You'd mentioned this to Max in passing, a couple months into dating when he'd spotted an old college picture of you and muttered so fucking cute, pocketing it.

You didn't tell Max about how you'd lost the weight though - with a vicious binging and purging cycle for the better chunk of a year. You'd grown out of that "phase" once you'd left college, or so you thought - because it was almost too easy to slip back into it now, to enjoy the sick pleasure at barely eating all day and seeing the weight drop on the scale, then bingeing on whatever you wanted because it didn't count, you'd throw it up anyways. You had to be very careful with it this time round, because your boyfriend's attentive gaze had been fixed on you even more so than usual - noting how you've been wearing higher heels, how your dresses are still as gorgeous as ever but never body hugging anymore, how you spend hours before a race now perfecting your makeup instead of joining him in the garage and don't spend the nights at his anymore. You weasel your way out of his questions when he asks you repeatedly if everything was okay, schat?

But you weren't able to fool him any longer after attending a charity gala for one of his sponsors. You'd actually been happy with your appearance for once, pleased with your slimmer waist this month, but as the night went on you started to feel the fatigue of starving yourself catching up, leaning more and more into Max's side as he glanced at you with concern. Rubbing your back soothingly, he asked if you wanted to leave early, but you shook your head, murmuring you were okay, your feet just hurt a little is all. He frowned then, hating to see you in pain just to be dressed up for some stupid event he couldn't care less about. Bringing you to the empty lobby, he told you he was going to grab your coats and have the car brought round, end of discussion, you need to rest, okay liefje? You didn't have it in you to protest any longer so just nodded. You hadn't realised just how much you'd been leaning on him until he left, and as stars started entering your vision, Max returned just in time to catch you before you stumbled.

You felt him firmly grab your waist, fully supporting your weight as he led you out to the car, lowering you gently into the seat and even buckling you in. You started feeling a bit better inside his Aston Martin with the aircon on, nibbling on a high protein low calorie bar you'd stashed in your clutch. Regaining your alertness, you notice the tense atmosphere, with a stormy expression on Max's face as he drove rather furiously through the Monaco streets, his hand not even resting on your thigh like it usually did but gripping the wheel tightly. Maxie - you begin uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension and ask why he was upset, but he cuts you off with a terse Don't. Let's wait till we're home.

So you wait, until you're both walking in through the front door. Max rips off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves, but he still doesn't talk and instead heads to the kitchen. You follow him, sitting on a barstool to admire how he still looked so handsome in the fitted sky blue shirt and tight navy pants, even when he was clearly mad. As Max starts cooking, his back to you, he tells you about how growing up his sister Victoria had to go to therapy for a long time because she wouldn't stop throwing up every time she ate because their father told her she was too fat (despite looking like a buffalo himself, Max snorts as he sets down a simple but delicious plate of chicken pesto pasta with salad in front of you), about how Max has seen countless girlfriends on the paddock purposely avoid eating all day, including his already stick thin model exes, and how Max himself would be called fat every month or the other by some trashy gossip magazine, because the media is just fucking toxic, he hisses. This is why I wanted to keep us hidden away from the cameras. He glances pointedly at your plate, where you've eaten the salad and chicken and not touched your pasta. You sigh and pick up your fork, slowly working your way through the food as you tell him that you suppose your diet had somewhat...spiralled out of control, but honestly, Max, I'm completely fine, and you two can't avoid the cameras forever given how he's the frickin F1 winner at all-

Don't tell me that you're fine. Do you really think I don't know what's going on? Max demands tersely with crossed arms. Finally finished with your meal, you hop off the stool to neatly place your plate in the sink, ignoring his question. Standing behind you, he watches you wash the dishes, still not even reaching his chin, even in those damn 6 inch heels you're still wearing. You do respond when he asks you just why you're putting your body through such torture.

C'mon, Max you say with an eyeroll, You know why, I need to lose some weight, I'm so much heavier compared to all the other girls and all your exes, and you deserve to have a girlfriend who looks-

Don't tell me what I do or don't deserve, schat. I always want the best and that's why I picked you. You're really gonna question the choice of a world champion, hmm? Max's deep voice is now right by your ears as he leans down behind you. You feel a shiver run up the back on your spine as he curls his huge arms possessively around your waist and thighs. He continues his whispers, his hands roaming up to your plush tits and another squeezing your ass, telling you You're so goddamn pretty. Every single part of you, just for me, making you bite your lip and breathily moan from his affections - it'd been a while since he'd had his way with you with all your avoidance, after all.

You feel him slowly unzip your dress, and the silk easily falls to the ground, leaving you only in your stiletto heels and a deep red lingerie set he’d gifted you for your 3 month anniversary. You tense, already feeling self conscious, but before you can say anything Max has wrapped a large hand around your waist and easily flipped you around to sit on the kitchen counter. You gasp from the action, hands automatically going to rest on his broad shoulders as your face comes level with his.

I haven’t made it clear just how lucky I am to have such a beautiful girl all to myself, schat, Max says huskily, before pulling away to unbutton his shirt, his blue eyes darkening as they roam over your pretty tits spilling over in the lacey bra, over your cute plush tummy, and over those deliciously soft thighs he adores. His hungry stare is really starting to drive you wild now, and you beg at him to hurry up and finish undressing. Chuckling, he throws his pants to the side as well, now only wearing his tight boxers. He pulls you forward on the counter so you're flush against him. See what you do to me, sweet girl? Hmm? he grinds the very prominent bulge in his boxers against your own damp core, making you gasp. You get me so hard and you haven't even touched me yet, that's the kind of power you have over me.

At his words, you don’t hold back from running your hand all along Max’s well defined chest. Your boyfriend is so much bigger than you and it's incredibly sexy. He towers over you easily with his 6 foot frame, all wide shoulders and swollen biceps and muscled thighs, and you don't hide the hypnotised look in your eyes as you trace from his thick neck down to his slutty waist, desire and desperation coursing through you, replacing any inhibitions you'd had earlier.

He grasps one of your wandering hands in his own, his larger palm easily dwarfing your tiny one and making you bite your lip at the difference in size. His attentive gaze doesn't miss this either, and with a low hmm he brazenly asks if you found it as hot as he did, the fact that you were the perfect size for him to snap into half if he wanted? He knows he's got you right where he wants as your pupils go wide with desire, breath hitching at the thought of your big boyfriend using his strength against you for once.

Then he's pulling apart your pretty little set, lace ripping and a large hand easily wraps around your entire throat, pulling you into a breathless kiss that has you moaning at his skilled tongue. You barely have time to collect yourself when he suddenly lifts you up by the waist, biceps flexing, and your eyes widen as you're lifted impossibly high in the air and find yourself straddling his thick shoulders, his face now at the perfect height to bury his tongue into your dripping pussy right in front of him. Max! you squeal, utterly ruined by his impressive display of strength. You're desperately scrambling for purchase at the cabinets behind you, head banging back against the wall as he relentlessly thrusts his wicked tongue into your puffy folds.

And he only sets you down after you cum obediently all over greedy lips like he demands you to do, then gently carries your shaky form to the bedroom to show you multiple more examples of how you were just made to take him, truly the perfect girl for him, weren't you? You'd been too blissfully fucked out by that point to form a coherent response.

Needless to say, you find yourself caring very little next time strangers had anything to say about the way you looked, thanks to Max's hands on affections (he'd also taken you to therapy like the supportive boyfriend he was, bless him.) He'd quickly formed a personal favourite method to prove to you just how desperate he was for you and how you had the world champion in the palm of your hand, whenever he saw that look flicker into your eyes from time to time. He'd take you back home, make you undress yourself for his hungry gaze, then lift you up into his arms, folding your thighs up against your waist from where he held them. You’d moan as he slid into you, bouncing your whole body onto his hard cock like you were a ragdoll, making you scream his name endlessly as he fucked you mid-air.

And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly possessive, he'd flip you around, pressing your back to his toned chest, as he made you watch with him in the mirror how he obscenely slid in and out of your dripping pussy. Whispering in your ear that see, like he had told you, he had such good taste, don't I, schat? And as you met his heated gaze through the reflective surface, clenching around him when you saw the pure love and raw desire in his eyes, you couldn't help but agree.

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A/N: guys can you guess I have a thing for boys who are big. Big boys, if you will. Someone just let me sit on Max’s lap goddamn 💸💸 as always lmk what you think and if u have any requests!!

#tw eating issues #tw ed disorder #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #chubby!reader #midsize!reader #plus size!reader

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chuulyssa · 2 months ago

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──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely.

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

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reignpage · 3 months ago

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Physics Tutor!Nanami

conservation of angular momentum: his torque

Warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked, masturbation, cursing, pathetic men, mentions of overstimulation, edging, and orgasm denial Guide

physics tutor!nanami should really be sleeping. He never stays up this late, and yet there he is, wide awake, padding through the apartment he shares with his childhood friend, Haibara. He’s wearing only his pyjama bottoms, a blue and green plaid number he had gotten for Christmas, and nothing on top. His pale skin is rippling with tension as he rolls his shoulders, feeling restless for reasons he cannot grasp.

physics tutor!nanami spots a neatly stacked pile of papers on the coffee table. It’s the notes he had printed and scrawled comments on, highlighting key pieces of information and scribbling on the side rewordings of convoluted phrases, for you. He knows how frustrated you get with the academically elitist manner in which these researchers write so he went through the trouble of helping you out.

Because he’s a dedicated tutor, that’s why.

Not because he’s been in love with you since ‘like forever’ as Haibara often teased him.

physics tutor!nanami sighs as he leans against the marble countertop, rubbing a hand down his face. He hopes you have time to read the textbook chapters he assigned you; there’s always a party and there’s always drama that demands your attention, and he hopes you’re getting enough rest.

So you can do your work, of course.

But physics tutor!nanami has to make sure. He doesn’t want to waste his time going over information you should already know very well in the next session. That’s the only reason why he’s picking up his phone and sending a message to you, ignoring that weird feeling in his stomach at the sight of your contact picture.

You had grabbed his phone one Tuesday evening, gasping melodramatically when you saw he had you saved as ’Tuesday Session’ with the default T pic in lieu of your face.

That had apparently been the most monstrous things anyone could do, so when you typed in ‘fave student’ with a peach and fire emoji, he didn’t argue. And he could only roll his eyes when you snapped an impromptu selfie with your lips puckered and your cleavage in clear view.

physics tutor!nanami hadn’t bothered to change either.

Your replies come quickly and they make him purse his lips so he won’t smile. The conversation is going as he expected, your usual flirtations even more irritating in the cold of the night. He wonders why you’re awake. Are you out? Or maybe you’re with someone.

That thought has his jaw flexing without his realisation.

And then you send a selfie and it has his ears burning.

You’re in a thin, pink tank top. No, a camisole with a lacy hem. One strap is falling down your shoulder and the camera was angled enough to tease the curves of your breasts but not low enough to know if you’re as cold as he is. Right in the centre is your face, bare and flawless, glowing like a star.

physics tutor!nanami rushes to his room, hastily locking the door and showing his pants under his solid cock. How is he already so hard?

He curses under his breath, reminding himself it’s the middle of the night and Haibara gets cranky when he doesn��t get his full eight hours. So he bites his lip, right hand wrapping itself around his blushing cock and the left clutching his phone as he turns up the brightness all the way up.

physics tutor!nanami is working himself up to a rhythm, pumping at a furious pace as if punishing himself for masturbating to an objectively, barely stimulating picture, like a teenager. He’s throbbing so hard. And when his thumb grazes his leaking tip he shudders.

Relentless rubbing and low hissing are echoing in his room, the temperature going higher and higher as he presses his forehead to the cool wall, needing to steady himself.

God, you look breathtaking.

How many men have you seen you like that? Have had the pleasure of waking up to your bleary eyes and wandering hands? Have seen you in the throes of passion, eyes rolled back and hands desperately clutching at the sheets or leaving trails of claw marks on their back?

physics tutor!nanami narrows his eyes at the glossy sheen of your grin, it’s mocking him, he knows it. You knew this would happen, you wanted this to happen, wanted to fall asleep knowing he’s wrapped around your fingers.

He groans as his grip tightens.

Your hands are probably softer than his. Would you hold him softly, tease him with a slow pace and keep him teetering at the edge just because you can? Or are you mean? Would you stroke up and down even faster than he is, intent on humiliating him by making him cum early? Or maybe you’re merciful, giving just what he needs to keep him hooked and his pride intact.

He wonders what you taste like.

Perhaps you taste how you smell; bright, scandalous and all-consuming. Maybe your lips tastes like whatever lipgloss you have that day, and maybe, just maybe, one day he could play a guessing game with you, finding out by tasting from the source.

Does he mean from your lips or from between your legs?

Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore, his thoughts are running a hundred miles per hour, and they’re all of you.

You calling him ‘nanamin’, you running your fingers down his arm, pressing close to ask questions about something on a research paper, and you on your knees with those glossy lips parted as you wait for his cum to coat your tongue.

physics tutor!nanami cums to the image and he’s breathless, cock head twitching as spurts of his seed paint the wall, his phone is precariously held by a shaking hand, conscious not to drop you.

Eventually, he sobers up, eyes blinking hard.

He hopes he’s tired himself enough to fall asleep and pretend this never happened, and he almost makes it to his bed, but then he’s bringing his phone up to his face and gulping at the picture of you like he’s seeing it for the first time.

And physics tutor!nanamithrows his head back, cursing hormones and whatever else he can come up with to explain the growing desire to do it all over again.

physics tutor!nanami says what he has said many times before and many times after.

‘one last time .’

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk drabble #jjk oneshot #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami drabble

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

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I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar.

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink.

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?”

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!”

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison.

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up.

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice.

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!”

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.”

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out,

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,” grind—and you whimper in his ear, “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked.

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed.

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand, goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.”

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him. With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank.

“You have a condom?”

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it.

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.”

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise.

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.”

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock.

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back, stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length.

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it.

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.”

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x you #ghost cod #cod mwii #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #call of duty smut

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ailesswhumptober · 8 months ago

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Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober #ailesswhumptober2024 #whump prompt #whump event

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sinning-23 · 10 months ago

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Bikinis On Top (OPLA Bikini Headcannons)

Seeing their bbygrl in a bikini opla headcannons

THis gets a lil RISQUE soooo 18+

Hey youguys i know its been a while lol I've been s swamped with work and Enjoy this in honor of hot girl summer approaching lmao I promise I'm getting back into eh groove of writing!

alos pls excuse spelling errors yall know me lmao

Luffy

-It’s hot and his shirts are open 9 times out of 10 so

-He was a bit stunned to see you with one of Nami's bikini tops adorning your chest with a nice pair of jean shorts.

-Boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs

-He's really trying to act normal but you can always tell when those big brown eyes start shifting from your face to your chest. And he always has that goofy grin on his face

-Strongly believe he's the type to impulsively bite them. lmao like literally grab two handfuls and CHOMP.

-He always was more of a boobs guy.

Zoro

-"Where's the rest of your shirt."

-He’s got his eyes skillfully flickering from your chest to your eyes then to you collar bone and again.

-“You don’t like me showing them off?” You question, slipping past him with a smile

-the funny thing is, you’re not talking about your boobs. You’re talking about the bites and hickeys he skillfully placed along them

-crazy how near the end of the day, the only thing the crew can seem to find as a trace of you is the discarded bikini top

Sanji

-He helped you tie it this morning when the sun had first been shining to brightly into your room, heating both of you up.

-personally, Sanji likes it when you wear the full piece, the straps of your bottoms just barely peaking out from the low-rise jeans you've got on.

-He also is one to pull your strings when you're also so the top just falls down to reveal the girls

-Is the type to lift you up out of the pool and set you up to sit on the steps like the goddess you are and just admire.

Usopp

-matching swimsuit set matching swimsuit set matching swimsuit set

-He always likes seeing you in a nice brown or sage green two-piece.

-won't say anything but wow when he sees you and smiles.

-Keep it polite but just know his hugs from behind will always end with him pulling at your bottom straps and letting them snap against your skin.

"USOPP!" You yelp, narrowing your brows at him while you massage the spot.

"Ok ok, i'm sorry mommas" He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the affected area, his large hands massaging the flesh of your thighs.

Nami

-Strictly a bikini gf and wifebeater+swim trunks gf duo lmao

-This can go either way actually. If she feels like a bikini kinda day it's gonna be a bright orange or a pure white with a sunhat and a nice flowy cover-up

-A she can't and won't make it easy for you to keep your hands off her,

-If YOU are in the bikini and she's in the swim trunks she REFUSES to keep her hands off you. She knows her girl looks good asf.

-Expect to have your ass smacked.

Shanks

-Is definitely keeping you on his lap while everyone else is splashing around. It was a pretty chill day and everyone decided hey why not go for a swim

"Can I please get in the water Shanks?" You sigh, pulling the strings of his swim trunks as he smiles and gives a quick "Nuh-uh"

-"Your ass looks too good. Just stay here a little longer hm?" he asks, squeezing your thighs, pressing kisses to your shoulder.

-He doesn't waste time taking you somewhere secluded to pull those bottoms to the side, somehow loving the way your ass looks in those bottoms every time he thrusts

Mihawk

-He personally likes it when you wear one of that cute pinup like 50's monokinis? And some wedges with a bandana. UGH he's gonna be right there with you avoiding the sun under the umbrella (that pale ass skin lmao)

-Will 100% lather you in sunscreen and just paper your shoulder with kisses.

-He's not taking you to eh pool he's taking you to the beach and you're just sitting together, enjoying one another company

-"I'm fucking you within an inch of your life after this." H admits in monotone, skin already starting to darken in a tan

-"Yes splendid." You reply still resting, enjoying the faint heat of the sun.

Buggy

-HAHAAAAAA this man will tear it off and then feel bad and get you another one...just to tear that off too

-is a sucker for the bikinis with anything on the boobs lmao he thinks they look like targets

-I like to think that ocean water is the only thing like that is an issue lmao so it is safe to say he's in the pool every summer, roughhousing with you and the rest of his crew

-I mean just a bunch of fucking kids lmao, macro polo, chicken fight, pretending to be a shark, you name it

-accidentally caused a nip slip tho and yelled for everyone to look away while shielding his girl.

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paleroze · 1 year ago

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Jing Yuan imagines

Lion Hybrid Jing Yuan

๋. ࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭ ⭑⚝๋๋࣭࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭

Being in the most powerful pride, Jing Yuan had to make sure all the other lion hybrids has a shelter, a food, and well protected, and that includes you. Even if you, yourself is not a lion.

But, who's to say that you can't be part of Jing Yuan's territory? That man, he is one of the Arbiter-Generals.. He is wise and brave when it comes to battle, but once he is back in the seat of Divine Foresight, even in office he dozes off most of the time!

Fortunately for everyone, today Jing Yuan is wide awake and doing.. whatever a general has to do. To be his lover and assistant, it has been nice to look after him. You proceed with his meetings, arrange his schedule, the paperworks Jing Yuan had to assist and look after, and then somehow, a time to play Xianzhou Starchess.. Jing Yuan and his requests..

You look over to glance at the general to see him with a bored look on his face and cheek resting on his fist, staring down at the documents as his tail sway languidly. Somehow you can see a small pout on his lips indicating his displeasure yet are forced to work as it is his duty.

You can't help but chuckle, which causes him to look up when he heard you, but the moment his eyes met your figure, you are already looking back at your clipboard and walking away from his table to talk with the other people inside the seat of Divine Foresight. Even you get bored sometimes.

Abandoning his paperworks you gave him this morning, Jing Yuan decided to watch you from his seat instead, his eyes following your every move with interest, how you talk to that other Lion hybrid longer than intended, and another approaching you in need of help, then another to chat with. A thought crosses his mind as he realized that those fellow hybrid of his talked to you more than he can chat with you, and you are his lover, how unfair!

Clearly you must've know too, right? When both of you gets to rest in your chambers, you turn to be cuddly and would spoil him rotten with attention until you fall asleep.

Jing Yuan had a glare on his face when you noticed him on the corner of your eye, you can see that it was direct towards the group of people you are talking to, which causes you to excuse yourself and goes back to him.

"General, get back on reading those papers, I need to submit it to the six commissions." You spoke to him with a smile, leaning down that got his attention.

"You'll be coming home late again?" He asks instead, looking up at you.

He looks cute, his ears are drooped and the tail that sways moments ago stops and lowers. You nod, "Mn, you know how it is, and if you don't finish that I might not make it home till midnight." You sound like you're speaking to a child, but the way you talk to Jing Yuan, calm and in a soft voice, that man would always turn soft over your behavior.

It barely shows that you are in a relationship with Jing Yuan, when inside the seat of Divine Foresight, your mind is only focused on work, and you're strict when needed. Due to this, the people inside would always wonder if the both of you are in love, or just that the General likes to flirt with his assistant. He often does, but you turn it away most of the time and instead drives his attention on the work in front of him that makes him look like a hurt kitten after being turned down.

The door suddenly opens and all the eyes turn on the sudden burst, you recognize a lady walking in in a hurry and when she sees you, the unnamed woman rush towards you.

The Ten-Lords commission requests for your presence immediately that they send an assistant personally. Worried, you can't help but drop the conversation with Jing Yuan and go with the lady, leaving Jing Yuan alone.

Jing Yuan was displeased as another person took you away, that woman that suddenly bursts inside just to take you? What are the cloud knights doing at the entrance?

The people inside could feel the growing tension and the Lion Hybrids cower that made them look down at their work, unable to lift their head.

Also, how come you went with her willingly? What if you get in danger? Xianzhou Luofu is safe, but at the place the Ten-Lords commission residing is quite dangerous.

Jing Yuan couldn't help but finish the paperworks immediately, calling another assistant for them to deliver it to the six commissions.

Instead of following you due to his worries, Jing Yuan disregards all the schedules he had for today, pouring it to the others that worked for him since it was all meeting they can cover the General for. He went to your shared chambers and locked himself for today, Jing Yuan plans on waiting for you, even if he knew that you would scold him for passing his work to someone else, even if it was just a meeting they can handle. Yet he fell asleep as soon as his lays on the bed. He embraces the title Dozing General at this point...

The sun was setting when you arrived back at the seat of Divine Foresight, your hair quite disheveled from running back and forth to the place and now another document on hand for Jing Yuan to sign. Yet as you stood in front, the General was nowhere to be seen, you checked his schedule and the time, the meeting with the Divination Commission should be done by now..

A foxian called for your attention when you stood in the middle of the room. "The general sent someone else to attend the meetings, he's back inside his chambers right now. "

That...! You sighed and thanked the man before heading to your shared chambers where often the both of you reside when too tired to come home.

But right when you step inside, you immediately see his large figure and see him sleeping on the bed. Before you can even scold him, your furrowed eyebrows dissipates and instead you calmly walk up to him. You sat on the corner of the bed and stared at his sleeping face, he looks peaceful that you did not bother to wake him up any longer. Somehow Jing Yuan never fails to swoon you even just by doing nothing, it is why you keep falling in love with him.

As you ruffled his white hair, his ears flinched and you heard a low purr from him, yet Jing Yuan remains asleep. You began to change into your nightgown he specifically gifted you and lays next to him, lifting the covers and cuddles to the lion hybrid.

Smelling your familiar scent, Jing Yuan's eyes opened and he met yours. He was expecting a scold the moment he woke up yet none came, you instead smiled at him and pet his hair which he always leans to. He almost forgot that he was sulking.

He pulls away when he remembered, turning his back that made you surprise, Jing Yuan never turn his back at you at sleep.

'ah.. is it this time.'

Smiling mischievously, you didn't dare to get close to him to hug him from the back and instead turn to your side that made the bed creak, indicating your movements. You get comfortable to your side and closes your eyes and waits for sleep to consume you.

But before you could drift off to sleep, Jing Yuan was on top of you and forces you to lay on your back. You open your eyes and look at him, raising an eyebrow.

His ears, it's dropped and a frown plastered on his face. His gold eyes looking at you and you tilt your head. "What's wrong?"

Jing Yuan glared at you and suddenly puts his weight into you which made you huff.

"Jing Yuan! Get off, you're heavy!"

"No." He answers, trapping you beneath him. You could feel his breath on your ear as he smells you, inhaling your scent he openly claimed to be good.

You sigh and gave up, you instead began to play with his soft hair and massages his scalp you know would make him sleepy. But making him fall asleep knows more weight would be put more on you, so you force him to look up, stopping him from breathing on your neck.

"What does my grumpy cat want?" You teased, the glare on Jing Yuan face deepens.

" 'not a cat." He shortly answered.

"You are though," You laugh, pulling him down for a kiss. "There, feel better?"

"That's not my lips." Yes, you knew. But to tease him longer you kissed the tip of his nose, then your lips met his cheeks and you heard him groan as he called your name to warn you.

Finally, your lips met his and you last it longer.

"Feel better now, my lion?"

"..Yeah."

Ah, you really do love him.

#pale writes 18 #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #hsr x reader #honkai star rail

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ranhaitanisbitch · 12 days ago

Text

choso jerks off for the first time

mdni 18+

-choso x gn!reader

syn: choso jorks it for the first time

cw: choso is a bit of a perv, masturbation, reader wears a skirt in choso's fantasy, choso feels guilty

word count: 1.5k

a/n: first time writing smut. hope you like it! ^_^

Choso is lying in his bed wide awake. No matter how hard he tries to fall asleep he just can't.

This has been going on for the past few weeks. His mind is always occupied by something else. Or rather someone else.

You two are friends. He knows it’s normal to have people he cares about on his mind. He thinks about his brothers a lot when they’re not around... but not to the extent he thinks about you. And certainly not the same way he thinks about you.

While his thoughts were pretty innocent at the beginning, ranging from stuff like wondering if you already ate to imagining full on conversations with you, they had turned less and less innocent over time.

It all started when Yuji had made a joke about Choso having a crush on you. Clearly Yuji had only meant to tease his brother, but that joke had Choso thinking for a long time when he sat alone in his bedroom that night. He did find you attractive and he got flustered a lot in your presence, but he had never actually thought about what he felt for you beyond friendship. Were you not just a friend to him? Or was there something else that had creeped up subconsciously? Did he actually have a crush on you and just never noticed it?

The half curse was new to living life as a human, so he had never experienced those kinds of feelings before. Was this what it felt like?

He had seen it in movies, had heard people talk about it, but he had never even considered that he could feel this way too.

He knew people who were in love kissed each other, so he tried that. In his imagination of course.

Choso imagined what it would be like to kiss you, have your lips on his. He imagined them to be soft and gentle. He imagined you would take the lead since this would be his first kiss. You would maybe put your soft hands on his hard chest… or maybe around his neck and play with his hair too.

Choso let his thoughts wander a bit more. Did he like the thought of kissing you? Yes. He loved the thought. He could not get it out of his mind. Oh, he was sure now. Choso definitely had a crush on you.

Ever since that day Choso’s eyes would practically be glued to your lips whenever you talked. He hoped you wouldn’t notice him staring and think of him as a creep, but his fantasy of kissing you would not stop plaguing his mind.

Over time though, his gaze would occasionally wander a little more south. Sometimes resting on your chest when you were wearing a low cut shirt. Sometimes glancing at your stomach when you raised your arms and a sliver of skin would show. Sometimes his gaze would settle on your thighs when you were sitting down and they would do the thing where they seemed to get bigger.

While he still thought about kissing you a lot, his thoughts would become dirtier with each passing day.

That’s how he ended up in this position. Middle of the night. Eyes closed, but wide awake as he thinks about you and how beautiful you had looked today.

Today had been by far the hottest day of summer, so you had decided to get some ice cream with Choso.

Oh, how much he loves summer. Long days. Great weather. You in skimpy outfits.

Choso tries to remember the scene with as many details as possible. Which turns out to be a relatively easy task since it's practically burned into his brain.

You offered Choso to try your ice cream. You had chosen pistachio. He hated pistachio. Of course that didn’t stop him from taking a lick from your cone.

He was careful to taste the part you had already licked. The thought of sharing an indirect kiss with you excited him.

His pale cheeks took on a deep red color which he blamed on the hot weather. The pistachio flavor would’ve usually made him gag, but the mere thought of also having tasted your saliva made him want to have another lick.

Choso feels his pajama pants tighten. This happens a lot when he thinks about you. Usually when this happens he just tries to ignore it and waits for it to go away on its own. But something about today is different.

An urge to do something about his little problem comes up. He lets his hand wander to the front of his pants, right where he has that aching feeling.

Choso doesn’t even really know what he’s doing. His hand seems to be moving on instinct.

He is surprised at how good this feels and even more surprised at the small gasping sound that leaves his mouth. Had he known this would feel so good he would’ve definitely done this earlier.

His thoughts go back to you. The way you had licked the ice cream replaying in his mind and his hand automatically applies more pressure. He imagines what it would feel like to have your warm tongue leave wet trails on his white skin. A small moan escapes Choso’s throat.

Choso feels dirty for thinking about you in a situation like this, but he can’t seem to stop his brain, nor does he want to.

He looks down at the tent in his pants. What would you think if you saw him right now? Would you scold him?

No. You'd never do that. You’re always so sweet and helpful. Maybe you’d help him relieve his urges?

Right now Choso wants nothing more than to have you straddle his hips and grind down on his cock. He imagines how your pretty skirt would ride up giving him access to your butt. He would put his big hands on your ass and squeeze hard enough to have the fat spill out between his fingers.

Choso lets out a small whimper. His hand is not enough. It just doesn’t really feel like you.

Choso’s pigtails whip around as he turns his head from left to right scanning his room for something.

Something that’ll feel more like you.

His gaze settles on a pillow. His hand reaches for it and places it on his clothed dick. He aggressively rubs the pillow up and down his cock just like he imagines you would move on top of him.

Choso feels so desperate. It still doesn’t feel like you, but it’s better than his hand.

His hips start to thrust upwards as he moves the pillow. There’s no rhythm in his movements at all. Everything is so messy.

Choso feels his abdomen become sticky. Whimpers and moans leave his lips and he isn’t even trying to hide them anymore. He doesn’t care about being loud. He only cares about chasing his release.

His left hand yanks down his pants along with his boxers. The cold air makes his leaking cock twitch.

His right hand grabs the pillow tightly as he turns around trapping the pillow underneath him.

Choso thinks he must look like some kind of wild animal right now, desperately humping a pillow. He feels sweaty and dirty, but somehow that turns him on even more.

It’s pathetic really. But Choso has never felt this kind of pleasure in his life before.

His breath becomes more laboured and his thrusts turn even more erratic.

Choso is close to his climax. He knows it. He doesn’t want it to end, but he can’t stop the movement of his hips. It’s like he’s lost control of his own body.

His hips stutter and the muscles in his abdomen tense. A loud groan escapes Choso’s throat as thick spurts of cum hit the fabric of the pillow.

Slowly his breath starts to even out and he leans back kneeling on the bed looking at the now dirty pillow.

As Choso looks at the white fluid he is hit with an odd fascination. His long fingers reach out to feel the texture. It’s thick and slimy.

He sighs. This would be a pain to clean up.

Once again choso’s thoughts drift back to you. Realization of what he’s done sinks in and Choso feels a wave of guilt flood his mind.

He’s glad you weren’t able to witness what just happened. He knows there’s no way you would ever find out about that. Still, he looks down in shame and whispers a small, "sorry".

#choso x reader #choso smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso imagine #jjk imagines

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

Note

Hii hope you’re doing well, I was wondering if I could request a criminal minds blurb where reader is Penelope’s best friend and they’ve met for lunch in a cafe near Quantico, and reader is telling Penny about this new guy she hooked up with a few nights ago, reader tells Penny how big the guy was and then a few minutes later Spencer walks in and reader is like “P omg that’s the guy!!” And gestures towards Spencer who’s the only person ordering at the counter? I just feel like Penny would be equal parts both shocked and horrified that her sweet innocent boy Spence has a sex life but also that he’s HUNG?? I literally love you and all your Spencer works and I feel like you’d write this perfectly 🫶🫶

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Penelope is absolutely enraptured by the play-by-play you're murmuring to her over the low din of the cafe's patronage. The whirring and grinding of the machines behind the counter only further aid in your attempt to keep your conversation private, and you can smell sweet strawberries on the bubbly blonde when you lean in to give her details.

"And he reached for his fly- ooh, Penny, the way his arms looked," You gush, remembering the thick veins that had corded his bone while he'd wrestled with his belt, "He whipped his belt out of the way, and- stop!" You urge her when she wriggles her brows at you, "He took his pants off, Penny, and I swear to god I've seen thighs thinner than that dick."

Her resulting squeal is much less hushed than you'd managed to keep the rest of your conversation, and you swat at the arm that's not holding her coffee. She gets the message but resorts to stamping her feet beneath the table instead, a repeated clicking that blends in much better with the mechanical whirring of the baristas' handiwork.

"He was so thick, and Jesus- Penny, he was long, too, just big all around," You recall, insides throbbing with a phantom ache at the memory of what you'd taken last night, "I swear he had me seeing stars," You sigh, glancing down at the pale pink ring of lip gloss around the mouth of your cup, "I'd beg him to come over again tonight, but I think I need a week to recover."

"A week," She breathes dreamily, "I could barely feel the last guy I had."

"Oh, I could feel him," You laugh, "It's like I still can, I'm pretty sure he bruised- oh fuck!"

"What?" Penelope's brow dips instantly, concern etched into her pretty features, "What's wrong?"

"It's him," You grip her hand, nails digging into her skin, "It's the guy from last night!"

"Big dick dude?" She asks, and your frantic nod confirms her theory.

She tries to be subtle, bless her, when she turns to see him, but when the only person that she sees standing in line for a drink is her coworker, her brain chugs along slower than normal.

Where's big dick dude?

Oh, Spencer's here!

I don't see big dick dude.

Spencer is-

You're not sure even the most talented actor could ever recreate the sheer horror swimming in her gaze when she turns to face you again. Her eyes are blown wide and her mouth, lined in a pretty fuchsia paste, is downturned in a grimace.

"Please tell me you're not talking about the skinny mess in the sweater vest."

"That's exactly who I'm talking about!" You gush, trying to avoid his gaze lest he thinks you're trying to follow him around, "Penny, isn't he dreamy?"

"That's- oh my god," She recalls your descriptions, thicker than thighs, longer than you've ever seen, "I have to resign."

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scorpioriesling · 5 months ago

Note

Hiya! If like to order a Ridoc, Bodhi, and Liam, with a side of 10 and if it is in-stock, a 73? Cheers friend!

Good Things Come in Groups of Three

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x Bodhi x Ridoc x reader

Warnings: mdni, 18+, heavy smut, p in v, oral, threesome… this is quite graphic lol

Summary: After a long day with your trainer, the last thing you need is his friend mouthing off to you -- especially when it's a topic he has no business "educating" you about. Ready to rinse off the day and finally catch a few hours of sleep, you're not expecting company; but, you come to realize maybe it's not all that unwelcome.

SR’s Note: So... this is my first time? Writing? Smut involving more than just two consenting parties? So like... please don't tear me to shreds. <3 I really, really tried, and I apologize for the wait time, I have so many WIPs and I wanted to do my best on this for you; I appreciate your patience! This uses prompts #10 and #73 from my Prompt Request Masterlist. Enjoy (:

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Come on Y/L/N -- harder!"

Sweat runs down the back of your neck as you draw back, raising your gloved fists in defense for what felt like the hudredth time that evening. Bodhi stood before you, his left brow raised tauntingly as he motioned for you to move with a curl of his fingers.

"Do it again, but do it harder this time," he instructs, repeating the forward motion with his fingers. You huff in frustration, awareness creeping in of how late it had gotten. The moon was now hanging above the clouds, barely anyone was left in the gym... and you had Bodhi, your trainer, keeping you here late.

You lunged forward, throwing your weight into him. He stumbled, back, but you weren't strong enough to knock him off of his feet. You thrust your clenched fist out, aiming to at least leave him doubled over -- again, you were too slow. He caught your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you to the ground. Your hipbone connected roughly with the mat, surely to leave a bruise; but that paled in comparison to your strangled breaths as the wind was completely knocked from your lungs.

"B...Bod...hi.." You writhed beneath him as he pinned you, his form pressed completely atop you to keep you from rising. A pleading cough was all you could get out before his warm breath ticked against the shell of your ear.

"Tapping out?" He rasped, the rough patches on his worn leather gloves rubbing your wrists raw. You nodded frantically, and he sighed, smacking the mat before releasing you. The air was a welcome relief as it flodded your lungs, each breath drawn in greedily as you rolled onto your back against the mat.

Bodhi leaned back on his heels, the slight shake of his head sending a soft ruffle through his dampened curls. He peered down at you with a disappointed look.

"Y/N, you know when you tap out during the real thing-"

"Bodhi, you were practically fuckin' killing me on that last one!" You squeaked, your head resting pathetically against the worn training mat. He tsks at you, cracking his knuckles and continuing to stare.

"You need to know how to hold your own. Especially against guys," he elaborates. You roll your eyes, but he continues. "Guys don't give a shit if you're small, or you're a girl, or you physically can't take them." He gives you a pointed look, and before he can say more, you hear the even more irritating sound of your fellow squadmate approaching.

"Hah, yeah, in fact," Ridoc chuckles, bending at the waist to peer over you. "Some twisted fucks try to get paired with girls on purpose, just because they know it's a different type of fight, and it's one they could win." He looks pitifully at you, the waves in his black hair falling over his forehead. You scoff, pushing onto your elbows and wincing at the pain blooming near your hip.

"You're annoying," you throw a pointed glance at your fellow first year, your eyes sliding to the trainer you were assigned by your absolutely-wonderful-and-charming wingleader next. "And so are you; running me into the ground, working me harder than anyone else here," you gesture around the gym, and laugh sarcastically as you notice it has emptied out.

"Oh! Wait. There is no one else here." You frown, and Bodhi only glowers at you.

"You'll be thanking me when it comes time for challenges and you can actually take down your opponents." He says nonchalantly, and you shake your head in disbelief.

Ridoc opens his mouth again from your right. "It's probably for the best anyway-"

"Ugh, Gods Ridoc, do you ever SHUT UP?" Your anger bubbles over, and he immediately stops talking. "I'm so tired, I'm worn out, I've been here all night sweating my ass off with him," you jerk your thumb toward his annoying upper-classman friend. "Now, I have to listen to you run your mouth, too?" You sigh frustratedly, glaring at the moon through the open window.

You push to your feet then, sending one final angry look at the two friends.

"All on a fucking school night, too!"

You turn on your heel, making way for the locker rooms. You cross your arms, feeling the smallest victory won as you approach the locker room door.

It's short lived when you hear their mocking laughter from the training room behind you.

You slam the door shut, grumbling and growling as you stomp by the grayed-out stalls. What the hell is their deal, anyway? Surely you could handle your own. Not every guy here is looking for a girl to go after, anyhow.

Approaching the mirrors, you sigh heavily, bracing your hands against the cool ceramic of the sink.

So what if you were paired with a man. You would be able to hold your own -- they were just afraid of looking weak. That had to be it.

You stared at your reflection for a moment, taking in the bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. Your ponytail was nearly undone, so many hairs had fallen in the hours you'd been forced to train here.

Screw Bodhi for making you stay so late. You shook your head, thinking about him pinning you to the mat. He didn't care how tired you were -- he did it anyway. And Ridoc, he never knew when to stop running those full lips of his...

Screw them both, honestly.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the sound of a locker closing rang out, causing you to jump. Your heartbeat quickened; surely, no one else would be in here. The gym was empty when you walked out.

"Hello?" You called. Your feet felt frozen in place, your mind swimming with all of the possibilities. After a few moments of silence, you shrugged it off. It was late; perhaps with the lack of sleep, you were simply imagining things.

Of the four shower stalls available, you weighed your options before stepping into the one in the corner. Two were missing a shower curtain, and the other had a sign that read "Out of Order" in front of it. Not to mention the lack of a lightbulb in there; you went with the fully funtional option.

You peeled your clothes off, discarding them at the bench near the sinks before stepping in. You had just closed the curtain quietly, the room so eerily quiet when your mind began to wander. You could have sworn the locker rooms had six showers -- not four.

Again, you rolled your shoulders, chalking it up to be pure exhaustion that had you thinking these rediculous things. With a soft sigh, you reached for the shower handle.

✧･ﾟ: *

It seemed as though fifty things happened at once.

You had just let your eyes drift shut, your hand bracing the cool steel of the shower faucet as you awaited the feeling of the warm water to rain down on you.

In that same second, the curtain was abruptly shoved open, and you heard (definitely heard, not imagined) a male voice, asking, "Uhhh, what are you doing in here?"

Also, in that same second, you screamed. At the top of your lungs. Wide-eyed, shrill, screaming. Because why the fuck, was Liam Mairi, of all people, staring back at you, naked in the girl's locker room?

While he was also... naked... in the girl's locker room?

"Liam!" You screetched, reaching for the shower curtain in the same second he did. You pulled it toward yourself in an attempt to conceal what had already been exposed, but it seemed he had the same idea. It was as though tug-of-war was happening with the damned curtain, and in the end, his barely covered dick was pressed against your barely covered vagina. You braced a forearm across your chest in an attempt to hide your top half.

"Y/N, what the Hell-" he began, his cheeks reddening as he looked anywhere other than in your direction.

"Ohhh no," you roared. "What the fuck," you puncuated. "Are you doing. In the girls. Locker room!" You demanded. He let out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes drifting from the ceiling finally to meet yours.

"Are... are you serious right now?" He asked. Your eyebrows rose so high on your forehead, you thought they'd recede right into your hairline.

"Yes? It's, what, nearly midnight?" You seethe. He chuckles, his seaglass eyes roving across your face. You narrow your brows at him.

"It is midnight now, yes," he confirms. "I just got back from riding with Deigh, and since the shower in my dorm is taken..." he explains, his piercing gaze trailing over your mouth and drifting lower. "...I opted to use the ones down here. In the boys, locker room, I might add." He smirks, his pupils widening as he unashamedly takes in the cleavage you still have pressed against him.

Your cheeks burn, the embarassment of the entire situation, and now you've only gotten in worse with this compromising position you're in-

"H-hey," you say, your breaths quickening as you realize he is still quite literally oogling you. His gaze flicks up, the cool blue of his irises now darkened with lust as he's gone completely quiet. "My eyes are up here."

He chuckles, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth as his hand gently reaches around the curtain, the pads of his fingertips connecting with the curve of your exposed waist. You suck in a sharp breath, the steam from the shower providing no warmth under his icy gaze.

Sure, you could admit you had thought about your handsome squadmate in... rather unsavory positions before. Would you ever act on those? Probably not. You were only ever cordial before this, anyway -- but the way he was practically devouring you with his eyes right now had you feeling the need to rub your thighs together.

"You think she's still in here?"

Whatever trance Liam had you in was severed the moment you heard that taunting voice, your eyes widening with the realization.

"Probably, she never came back out."

You grabbed Liam by the shoulder, tugging him into the running water with you -- curtain be damned. You slid it shut, concealing yourself from the approaching males. Turning to face him, you see his face etched in concern. You pull him close to whisper.

"I think Ridoc and Bodhi are in here," you explain, and Liam's lips press into a line. You brace your hands on your hips, anxious now that they'll come looking for you, watching as you went right into the wrong locker room.

You turn your back to Liam, your flushed cheeks indication that you are aware the both of you are still fully nude together... only now, you're in the shower together. No barriers, no curtains between you two.

He steps toward you, his fingers cupping under the curve of your ass as he pulls you back to him. You hiss quietly, turning your neck to look up at him. He's already leaning over to say something, his lips trailing along the column of your neck.

"They can... still see your feet, you know."

You look down. You hadn't even considered the few inches between curtain and floor -- they'd surely know it was you. Not many other males in the Riders quadrant had pink toenails with flowers painted on them.

Liam's hands snake around your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can instantly feel his length pressed against your ass, and as his fingers continue to trail across your dewy skin, he twitches against you.

"Fuck..." he groans, low and gutteral against your throat before placing a wet kiss against your skin. You can hear Bodhi and Ridoc poking around, their voices becoming ever so closer.

"L-Liam... please," you pant, his hands travelling up to cup your breasts in his palms. He pinches your nipples hard between his fingers, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle your cry.

"Liam, please, you have to h-help me," you plead, and he chuckles lowly in your ear. You hadn't realized that you had begun moving your ass against him, his cock now pressed more firmly against your bum.

"Oh, I'll help you," he offers, his hands grabbing your hips and turning you around to face him. His lips merely ghost over yours as he speaks, staring directly down into your wide eyes.

"But you're gonna help me too." His hands slide underneath your butt, gripping the flesh as he lifts you off of your feet. He pulls you against his chest and you wrap your legs around his waist, the feel of his erection strong against your throbbing core. He backs you up until you're pressed against the stone wall, one of his hands moving underneath you as his eyes bore into yours.

"There -- now no one can see you." He grins, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. The muscles of his shoulders flex, and you watch as his hand moves in time beneath you; realizing he is stroking himself below your entrance. The epiphany sends another wave of heat through you, and he leans in close as his tip prods at your entrance.

"Now, be a good girl for me and keep quiet?" He smirks, and you all but nod before he slowly pushes himself inside of you, each inch stretching your aching pussy deliciously.

"Mmmm," You squeeze your eyes shut, trying your best to stifle your moans as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt, only pulling out a few inches before roughly shoving back in.

Your eyes fly open, your mouth wide as you stare up at him. He simply smirks at you, one hand palming your ass and the other bracing against the stone wall. He continues fucking himself into you, slowly at first, drinking in every quiet whimper you let out for him.

"So tight," he rasps, his gaze focusing on your breasts pressed against him once more. You fight to keep any noises at bay, worried that Gods forbid another person pulls back the shower curtain-

"Ohhhh! Looks like Y/N came in here on purpose, huh!" Ridoc's taunting voice bellows, a blast of cool air flooding the warm shower as he yanks open the shower curtain. Your nipples harden at the sudden temperature change, only seeming to turn Liam on more. Ridoc chuckles at the scene before him, and you watch as your trainer approaches from behind.

"It's... it's not what it looks...like-"

"Oh, I think it's exactly. What it looks like." Bodhi cocks an eyebrow, glancing to Liam who has not let up on his relentless deepstroking. "Is this exactly what it looks like?"

Liam smirks, glancing between you and the two males watching the scene before them. "Oh, it is exactly what it looks like."

You gasp, looking up at him in disbelief. "Liam! What-"

"I've heard enough." Bodhi says, raising a hand in silence. He only sighs, his eyes raking over your naked form before him. Your cheeks heat as Liam adjusts his angle, his hand gripping the back of one of your knees as he drives into you harder. You can't help the moan the escapes; the sheer force at which he's fucking you is enough to make anyone wet at the sight of it.

"Thought she deserved something -- been a pretty good girl for me, anyway," Liam praises, and Ridoc rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well she was bein' a fuckin' brat during training today-"

You glare from your place on the wall, watching as his devilishly handsome lips tilted up in a smirk.

"Ridoc... I said... shut... up..." you pant. Bodhi leans against the stone wall, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust Liam gives you. "Ah... oh.. fuck, Liam I'm-"

Liam groans against the hollow of your throat, his cock twitching inside of you before shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. The tether inside of you snaps, your warm release trickling out of you and running over the curves of your thighs. You're panting, still coming down from your high when Ridoc opens his mouth again.

"Why don't you shut me up then?" He says, his voice thick as he pushes his sweat shorts over his muscled thighs. Liam places you gently back on the ground, the aftershocks of your first orgasm finally wearing off as you saunter toward Ridoc. You shove the shower curtain aside; clearly, there was no concern for getting clean anytime soon.

Approaching the bench where your clothes lay, you push against his shoulders, watching as he yields to your touch. He lies flat on his back near the edge of the bench, his toned legs tapering off the end to where his feet plant flat on the floor.

He grins cheekily up at you, his eager hands guiding your waist as you swing your leg over his chest. He grips at your thighs, squeezing your skin as you position your leaking heat just above his awaiting mouth.

"This will do," You say, looking down at him and smirking. He groans, fingers pulling you to sit all the way down on his tongue. Immediately he gets to work, his lips exploring each and every inch of your throbbing core while his hands grip your ass, perched lightly on top of his chest.

"Ohhh... fuck," you moan, your fingers threading through his onyx locks as you begin to lightly rock your hips against his expert tongue. He licks up into you, illiciting more whines of pleasure from you as your fingers tug on his locks. He growls into your cunt, the sound sending another wave of pleasure through you that has one hand leaving his hair and playing with your nipple instead, imagining how good his mouth would feel there if this was any indication.

"Ridoc, yes, yes..." You chant, your eyes drifting toward the abandoned shower you had retreated from before. No longer is Bodhi leaned against the wall -- the space is empty, save for a few articles of clothing on the ground.

You let out a sharp gasp as your hair is suddenly yanked, forcing your chin up as dark brown eyes stare lustfully down at you. From the corner of your eye, you watch as a blonde head strides over, sitting on the bench a couple of feet away and leaning against the row of lockers.

"You don't seem so eager to get to bed now that your cunt's being eaten," Bodhi snarls, his gaze trazing over your face contorted in pleasure. You can't think of a witty a response, no comeback in mind -- especially as Ridoc moves below you, his nose prodding against your clit. You let out a breathhy gasp, your mouth hanging open and Bodhi only shakes his head at you.

"Mouth looks a little empty," he grits out, gripping your chin harshy before releasing you. He strides before you, his fingers tugging on his length before sitting in front of you on the bench. Your mouth practically waters at the sight; he's huge. He sees it too, as he scoffs at you.

"You wanna mouth off all night -- bend over and take it all then," he challenges. Ridoc's hand moves to grip his own length, moving in quick thrusts as you bend before him, lowering on your hands until his glistening tip is positioned just before your lips.

"Said you could handle a man yourself... handle me then," he looks at you darkly, and you glare at him, shoving his entire length down your throat in one thrust. You gag around him, his intimidating size measuring up. When you draw your head back, his hand threads through the mess of a ponytail you have left, roughly gripping the back of your head and forcing your mouth all the way back down on his cock.

"Fuck... so pretty, taking my dick all the way down that little throat," he groans. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the combined sensation with Ridoc's punishing tongue nearly pushing you over the edge almost too much. When Bodhi releases you again, you stick out your tongue, and he taps his length against it.

"Fucking hot," he mutters, watching you through half-lidded eyes. You dare a glance to your right, catching sight of Liam relaxed on the nearly bench, fisting his own cock at the sight of you getting both males off at once. His head is rolled back in pleasure, his eyes closed as he drags his fingers up, and down, and up...

You don't have time to warn Ridoc before your orgasm rolls through you, your thighs shaking beside his head. You glance up, surprised to see Bodhi panting heavily as you continue sucking him at a slow, punishing pace.

"Fuck... oh fuck-"

He plunges his cock deep, shooting his cum down your throat. You gag, the size stretching your throat around him as he whimpers before you with each twitch of his cock. You focus on swallowing every last drop; though a small part of you cheers in silent victory that you have Bodhi Durran whimpering for you.

✧･ﾟ: *

You're spent. You're absolutely spent; surely, you'd been in here hours now, the three males delighting in pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, and you doing the same for them.

Nonetheless, you still find yourself happily sitting atop Ridoc's lap, bouncing on his thick length in the early hours of the morning.

"Fuck, Y/N... just like that, bounce that ass on my dick, just like that," his arms are wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as you ride him, milking every last drop out of his delicious length. It was the only time, you'd admit, you liked hearing the sound of his voice.

"Tongue," Liam commands, and you open your mouth wide, letting your tongue fall out per his request. He grins, giving your head a little pat before tapping it with his silky-smooth dick.

"Good girl," he praises, slipping into your awaititng mouth with ease. Your eyes roll back, his tip hitting the back of your throat as Ridoc's thrusts were now brushing your cervix. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and he delighted in the way your strangled groans sounded right next to his ear.

It was the sharp slap on your right butt cheek that had your walls fluttering around Ridoc though, Bodhi's fingers lightly tugging on your hair again in silent control.

"You like being fucked, is that it, hm?" He asked, landing another slap against your skin. You cried out, Liam pulling his cock from you for only a moment to hear your pleasure-filled screams.

Another slap -- this time, you felt yourself on the edge.

"Fuck!" You sobbed, your fucked out expression staring at Liam with your rounded eyes. He sucked in a breath, his hand working his cock as he slipped his thumb into your mouth.

"Taking it so well..." he mumbled, his eyes closing only for a moment before sticky spurts of cum covered you, painting your chin and neck with the evidence. He sighed in pleasure, Ridoc slowing his relentless pounding before he pulled his dick from you, his cum shooting across your boobs and painting your skin in his seed.

"Fuck... I'm so close," Bodhi groaned, his hands hauling you off of his friend and bending you over the sink. Before you had a moment to adjust, he filled you with his length, his hips snapping against your ass harshly. His fingers gripped your throat, tilting your chin to gaze at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth dropped open, watching the attractive male behind you fuck himself into you mercilessly.

"This perfect fucking cunt," he grunted, his chocolate curls swaying with each thrust. "Watch how good you take it, baby," he ground out, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Your stomach tightened, your eyes rolling back as his dick rubbed against your sensitive spot.

"Bodhi... Bodhi, please, I'm cumming-" You squeaked, and with a few sharp thrusts, he came inside you, pulling out to watch hungrily as the white liquid dripped out of your raw cunt. You gripped the sink's edge, panting as the weight of the evening's activities took hold of you. Glancing to the shower, you sighed, chuckling at the thought.

"You still have time, if you want to actually clean up before class," Ridoc chuckles, pulling his shorts on from behind you. Liam yawns, stretching his arms wide as he glances at you through the mirror. Bodhi grabs your clothes, extending them to you. You take them with a shaky hand, chuckling softly and shaking your head. You could barely believe the direction the night had gone.

"Yeah... I think I may just skip class today."

✧･ﾟ: *

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joeloverture · 1 year ago

Text

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax.

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky.

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…”

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.”

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel.

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?”

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

“Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is.

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!”

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/f! reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic

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serawritesthings · 1 year ago

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hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in.

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man.

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth.

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger.

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject.

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.”

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll.

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door.

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur.

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose.

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look.

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure.

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach.

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn.

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West.

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours.

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing.

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff.

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height.

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much.

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?”

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work.

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words.

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled.

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving.

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway.

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite.

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby.

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people.

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears.

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable.

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes.

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls.

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-”

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did.

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture.

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being.

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle.

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him.

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips.

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something.

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm.

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch.

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.”

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking.

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck.

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own.

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him.

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh.

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night.

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval.

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions.

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.”

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him.

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck.

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else.

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you.

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control.

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements.

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before.

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face.

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly.

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you.

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come.

“Are you jealous of Charles?”

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled.

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.”

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him.

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption smut #red dead smut

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shehungers · 5 days ago

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CARNAL

werewolf husband x reader | 18+ | 3k

your husband is a painter who makes a meager, but comfortable living for you both creating portraits for nobles. his love of painting stems from his adoration of the night sky and the moon. he disappears one night and returns three days later—changed, distant, aggressive, and ravenous. not long after, you discover the reason for his behaviors and face the consequences of curiosity.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, dubcon, explicit sexual content, explicit details of genitalia (werewolf), breeding, knotting, kinda cockwarming??, mentions of feeling "bloated", cumshot on body, brief piss kink mention, size difference, brief handjob, mc gets head a few times lmao, classism, mc is kinda a shitty spouse in this, detail + prose heavy (extreme), roughly proofread — you are warned.

so, this all started when I was talking to @/peachdues about her fic and idk, knotting has just been in my head since. awesome. now it's out of my system, I hope 😭

this is also my first official new piece of writing on this blog! everything before this has been reposts of older work. hopefully it doesn't disappoint!!!

would love, love, love to hear your feedback! reblogs are so tremendously appreciated!!.🙏🏻❤️

note: this is not my personal canon interpretation of werewolves. this is just a werewolf fic, y'know?

He was the wretched thing you kept behind locked doors with the rising of each full moon.

Once, the pale moonlight had been a thing of beauty to you both; an exquisite, lustrous pearl which seemed so small pinched between your fingers, squeezed and blurred through narrowed eyes. He, on the other hand, admired it differently from you by staring adoringly at its craggy features and the wan, white halo it emitted.

By trade, he was a painter and made a meager living for you both from it. His portraits were most popular as nobles found his style palatable, brushwork concealing of all flaws that showed in their faded clothes, their tarnished jewelry, their ravaged flesh and inbred faces. He knew what they'd wanted in a painting and created these fabrications as they wished because it meant more than old bread and leathery meats for dinner.

For you, he endured such mundanity if it meant you could eat well and dress warmly and in an enviable way to the neighbors. He enjoyed your simple delight; how little it truly took to keep you happy, how easy your marriage had been up until that point. You loved him and you loved the things he provided for you.

When it came nighttime, far into the blackest hours where the world seemed seized in so forceful a hush, you made no objections when he pulled you from bed to go outside with him to view the sky. There, he painted by the orange embers of lantern light and tried to capture all the likeness of the night sky with its misty moonlight and glittering, starry veil.

Sometimes you held the lantern for him, sometimes you did nothing but sit on his side holding the paint palette and lean into his hip, leaching away warmth from his body. Most nights, you were a handsome fixture and most beloved companion, trying to squash the moon like a grape with your fingers while speaking every thought out loud.

But, one night he went out alone and did not return for three days. He had left with his easel and stretched canvas and precious paint board, yet had come back to stand in the doorway with none of it.

“Darling,” you hesitated, starting out firm in case he was inebriated, altered aggressively in some way. You looked at him as though he were some strange person. “Where are your things? Your paints? Your canvas? My love, where have you been?”

“I—I don't have much of an answer to that. I'm sorry.” Then, he strode past you to the bedroom, shuttered the windows to muffle light and sound, declaring he needed rest. “Please, let me be. I'll look for my things another time.”

Later, he was ravenous at the dinner table and ate more than you thought it’d ever be possible for one man to do. You sacrificed your own portion in hopes he'd be sated, but he only turned irritable and mute, as if he were aware nothing good would come of his words to you. At the time, you'd feared that you had upset him in some way, perhaps no longer thought you lovely and fashionable or dependable as his partner and wanted to do away with your marriage.

That would mean you could only return home to rural hardship, or to the slums in the neighboring kingdom. The world would know your unwanted status, how much of a disappointment you'd been to satisfy your own husband, and you would never know another moment of quiet luxury again.

You couldn't accept such a fate, so you bathed him carefully that night. Purposeful with how you dragged the soapy sponge down along his back, fingernails a featherlight graze between the valleys of muscle and flesh protecting his spine. You kissed the back of his shoulders, lips a smouldering touch against his neck.

Then, you felt from stomach down to his hips, swirling your fingertips against the bony protrusions and in the fragrant water before wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him to hardness. He still said nothing as he kissed your lips, tongue relentlessly pursuing your teeth to get inside your mouth, and pulled you into the tub with him fully clothed.

He fucked you deep and hard that night bent over the edge of the tub, hips pistoning up against your ass, skin slapping raw, thrusting into your wet walls at an angle that had you writhing with a face warped in equal parts exquisite bliss and agony. It wasn't until one of his hands gripped you around the neck, levering you against him, that you noticed a wound on his forearm right below where purple and green veins pulsed under his skin, translucent.

They were tooth marks—two rows of them. Crooked and sharp, arranged in a way that reminded you of the jagged spears wetted by sea spray at the base of a cliff. They looked deep, like whatever had bit him held on, yet hadn’t the intention to tear his arm off of the rest of him. The punctures were purple-red and abyssal as you studied them, vision jarred by his cock ramming you, his panting in the crook of your neck, and the bruise surrounding it bloomed a concentration of colors resembling an inkspill.

How had you not noticed it before?

“I fear what may come on certain nights from now on. When I ask it, lock the bedroom and shutter the windows from the outside. Don't ask me questions for I have no answers to give you.” He did not offer you the reassurance you had wanted, but it was enough to help you confidently stride through the days, knowing that your marriage wasn't in crisis.

Afterwards, it became imperative for you to act as someone educated because you needed to understand what was happening to your husband some nights.

It started days before a full moon: he became impatient, easy to displease, indignant upon any perceived blunder you made. He did not gorge on wine, but whatever meats were preserved in storage and what you could afford now with his inconsistent employment. You tried hiding these poor portions in thick stews with vegetables that had been infused in simmering beef stock for hours, but he was never fully sated by it.

At the same time he started to demand distance from you, he ravaged you at strange hours in your shared bed, tearing at your clothes to suck on your nipples, lap the glisten between your legs. New was his biting to leave marks and sup the blood mixed with his own saliva. More than once, he came on your body with hot, thick ropes and squirted piss on you like an animal marking territory.

When the night of the full moon arrived, he was transformed and horrifying. You had heard furniture crashing and shattering in the bedroom where he'd barricaded himself. Even his yowls throughout the evening had changed, no longer sounding like agony in the cries of the man you'd married, but something far more beastal. It came from within the chest, in the lungs behind the ribs, and was not human.

You had made the mistake only once to check in on him during this point in his shift, as you hadn't known any better. Your voice was a panicked flutter, a whisper of fear that something else might have broken through the fortress of wooden boards nailed against the windows from either side of it.

“My love? Darling, are you alright?”

He was there. You thought he was there because of the silhouette clambering across the broken remains of your shared dresser and vanity. The difference was that this thing was enormous. A creature with a bristling back, hair or spines standing out like a porcupine threatening with its quills.

It stood and was forced to hunch from the low ceiling of your house. A canine-like countenance glowered at you, red eyes partially obscured by patchy fur. Raw skin shined in the barren spots in the lantern light you'd forced into the room, and that hair didn't fully cover his abdomen nor his groin.

He was as much still human as he was this ugly beast. You'd thought to take another step into the room when he snarled and lunged towards the door. A shrill shriek pulled from your throat as you fully withdrew from the room, bolting the door shut with an iron key. He never made a ruckus against the door, and you left for the neighbor's right after, claiming that your husband had wanted space after an argument.

The next morning, your husband had somehow managed to escape the bedroom and sat in the kitchen clothed from the waist down, disoriented by the sunlight and his placement at the table. He didn't remember his transformation into the beast, but he did remember you.

Perhaps that's what gave you the courage to try to enter the bedroom the night of yet another shift. His yells of anger and pain had cooled after several hours, quieting to beastal groans and his heavy footfalls endlessly pacing the floorboards inside.

The door squealed, a call out to the darkness and creature within, and that creature responded with a growl—low, reverberating in darkness, a warning that you wouldn't be tolerated. You invaded the space carefully, meat and fish and other morsels for offering in a basket you'd woven yourself, that he had told you he thought was particularly artful at completion.

“Darling, I've brought you something. It's food. I've put fresh milk inside, too.” You caught sight of him near the boarded window, massive back rounded as he crouched low into a posture which looked as unnatural as when he tried to stand on his bent legs. “I know it—I know it won't ease your suffering, but you must still eat.”

He approached you, but it was unlike times before where he'd jump at the door to scare you away. This time he crawled towards you instead of intimidating you with his height—he wanted you to stay, and tried to appear small by dragging his long tail across the floor. The fur sounded like coarse bristles on a broomstick.

“Oh, my love. My love. My love. What has happened to you?” You moved away from the coverage of the door into the dark space, using your body to close it behind you so that he couldn't get out. You couldn't be sure how he'd behave if he could leave the house. “I'm here. Oh, you're so sweet. Look at you.”

You'd placed the basket aside neatly, making your movements obvious so as not to inspire ire, and didn't react when his long snout pressed into your abdomen. Stubble and whiskers pulled back to reveal long, stalagmite teeth which chewed mindlessly at your clothes. His damp nose nudged under your layers, pressing flush to your skin, startling you with a nasally gasp.

It was the instance where his nose left your stomach and went lower, pushing between your legs to lick you through your pants that you tried to cower, sidle out of his reach. He must've retained some semblance of himself because his arms rose to flank you at the waist, claws digging to the grain of the door, his strong snout pinning you, tongue knowing your shape even through cloth.

The fabric between your legs was wet, sticking flush to you, giving him as much nearness he could achieve without stripping off the layers separating him from your taste. The luscious imprint of you was unfulfilling, not even a teasing drop of what he instinctively knew he could have.

Your pants were removed unkindly; ripped at the waist, torn through impeccable artistry and threads and delicate fabric he had once paid for. Neither complete fear nor anger kept you silent, motionless for him to do as he pleased by yanking the pants off of your legs, but swelling curiosity. You wondered how much of your husband still remained inside this beast when the full moon was high.

The same unkindness followed him shredding through your underwear with his strange teeth, gnawing the fabric to a thin, sopping string before he could finally have you. Inhale you. Taste you with the paddle flatness of his tongue and make you squirm when his teeth skimmed that part.

“O-oh—” this wasn't like when he did it with his human tongue, as masterful as it was. He licked you with fervor you'd never felt, like he was reaching for something deep inside your viscera and blood and gore. Every subtle change of his immense nose and tongue was white heat behind your eyes, jostling pulses of electric, immodest moans, your hips driving forward on their own accord to help him find the treasure he sought within you.

Then, he stopped and hauled you to the floor with a single arm twice the thickness of that of his human counterpart. He knew no gentleness even now, dropping you onto your knees and palms against splintery floorboards which vented cool air up through the gaps, into your skin from the draft rising from underneath the house.

That cold reached deeper, seemed to lift off the ground to meet you as your husband—the beast—thrust your chest against the stiff boards and spread your legs apart with his mass. His claws sank around your hips without piercing your flesh, though their sharpness was undiminished to you regardless.

You knew agitation would not serve you here, neither would bursts of courage to escape. He would catch you with those talons, eat your insides with them and fuck you all the same.

He mounted you clumsily, then.

Enormous, coarse-haired hips grinding against your bare ass, prickling you, making you wince from where your face was nearly pressed into the wood below. You shivered at the first pass of his cock between your legs. Stiff and girthy, arched so well that you felt the moist tip drag across you, catching on spots he'd licked to flinching sensitivity, eagerly prodding at you.

The beast made a sound; a suffering groan with the tremble of his hips before he was thrusting inside of you. The sheer viciousness of his hips hammering against the globes of your ass and his heaviness forced you flat to the floor, where you reached out from the sides of your body for something to hold and grip for comfort. It was barren everywhere you touched.

Your walls were still tight around his cock even as the moments passed, growing no closer to accommodating his size than before, strokes animalistic and messy. While his fur muffled the friction of your skin, the airless dark of your bedroom was compacted with lewd squelching and moans you'd never known you were capable of making. Your noises were high-pitched and vile, paced with his hips, the curve of his cock stroking your velvety insides, and the wet suction releasing when he'd partially withdraw.

Above you, he panted with his long tongue lolling, dripping strings of saliva onto your back where they cooled upon contact and made you feel filthy. Your body ached from his weight pinning you to the inflexible floorboards, cold numbing your skin, hardening your nipples, grinding them down with each of his thrusts.

The enclosed space held an unusual smell, one apart from what you knew was sex. How sweat and salt and cum clung to the mustiness of old places. This was more pungent; earthier and heavier as it filled the room and leaked out of your hole, oozing down your thighs like nectar from a weeping peach.

You continued to let the beast—your husband—fuck you into the wood, the grain, to become an impression in the floor as nothing else could be done. But you were sore now and sure to be swollen, as you were an uncomfortable fit for him again; virgin tightness which gripped every vein and ridge in his cock.

The grinning beast bared even more of his teeth, clicking them together as he released a shuddering sound, too distant to be human but not entirely monstrous. He rutted you carnally, pushing your legs as far apart as they could go from where you were on your stomach, and went deeper inside of you still.

Something about the depth was so wrong—not meant to be, not meant to be experienced by a creature so simple as yourself. It was divine pleasure and pain, it was a threshold that shouldn't have been crossed, yet he had persevered and fucked you into screams.

His hips stuttered violently and he growled; he snarled; he whimpered like an actual beast mortally wounded. You gasped in awe at an enormity of sensations: his cum gushing inside of you, spurting out in thick ribbons to join the rest that had dried on your thighs, and his knot stretching your walls, locking his hips against your ass.

You fidgeted from the bulbous growth, clenching around it, whining wanly while he insistently humped you to burrow the knot as far as it could go. He was trying to breed you; plug his spend inside of you just as he would have had another creature of his sort. Because you were his spouse, perhaps he was only able to perceive you as his mate.

His movements soon slowed, calmed in a way of someone who'd been taken by blows of exhaustion and draped his large body across your back, prodding you with his spinose furs. There was some tenderness in how he kept his arms outside of you, bracing his weight onto them so as to not smother you. He did it to adjust his knot and half-hard cock inside you as well, unforgiving to the idea that you might have forgotten his fullness, that you were brimmed with his cum and felt bloated from it.

Nothing would come from this, only the shame of knowing you'd moaned and screamed for this beast, but not the human you'd married.

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

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(18+) horny brainrot & hcs about the men I write for..

includes: bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, miguel o’hara, moon boys, peter quill, pietro maximoff, spencer reid, tangerine

fem!reader, mdni

cw. mentions of edging, blow jobs, dry humping, cock warming, oral (f receiving) fingering/ clit play, pinv sex

bucky barnes: likes to eat you out after you've had a bad day. he likes to listen to you try to formulate words describing the details of your day while his tongue flicks over your clit - the feel making your mind blank and hazy. he loves listening to you restart your sentences over and over and over because you keep cutting yourself off with noises - with moans

logan howlett: likes to play with your clit while he’s fucking you. palm resting on your public bone, thumb extended down to your clit — the motion slow and unrushed. each little circle and swirl matches the pace of his strokes, his cock fucking into you. the sensation of his dual touch earning him all your beautiful sounds and noises. every little one acting as fuel, as his momentum to keep going for you.

matt murdock: he knows the moment just as you're about to let go. he listens to your body, to your heart - listens to it pick up in rhythm, to it pump wildly just before that moment. he listens to your breathing stagger and heighten, listens to the change in your body, to your muscles seize and tense. though that's all he lets you feel. he snatches himself away just as you're about to cum - pulling away his cock or tongue or fingers, not allowing you that sweet moment of release. he plays with you, endlessly working you up until you're just shy of your orgasm, then yanks himself away - listening to you whine and protest, panting wildly. he tells you he'll be nice on you and let you cum, but it'll be the same story again. working you up impossibly more, leaving you on the cusp of your high

miguel o'hara: he won't always fuck you with the full length of his dick. sometimes, he's just too much for you to take, so you have to satiate your need with just the tip of his cock. he'd keep his fat head wedged snuggly inside you, not moving or giving you any friction you desperately need. only placing his thumb over your clit, circling it slowly as he essentially uses his tip as a plug. he'd look down at you almost pitifully, cooing at you when you'd pout and whine, trying to take more of him. but he won't allow it - placing a large hand on your hip, stilling you as he continues to toy with your clit

moon boys: they make you wear a blindfold while they take turns fucking you. you have to figure out who is fronting solely by their touch - no talking, no communicating, no nothing. you have to differentiate them by their strokes and rhythm, by the way they fuck you, by how they touch and caress you. they don't like being mistaken for one another, so you best not guess wrong - they won't be so lenient with you

peter quill: a lazy, heated makeout in bed under the covers. both wearing comfy, cozy underwear, quill hovering atop, your legs wrapped around his hips - keeping him snug to you. kissing each other carnally, all slow and sloppy, breathy muffled moans into one another's mouths as he nudges his clothed chub-on on your pussy. leisurely winding his rock-hard cock against the pit of heat between your thighs. one hand on your throat deepening the kiss, the other holding your hand beside your head

pietro maximoff: before you both get down and dirty one night, he'd pull out a deep, dark red lipstick from his nightstand, asking you to put some on before you suck him off. he loves to see the red kisses scattered along his chest and stomach - your lipstick marks littered over his pale skin as you work down to settle between his thighs. he'd smear the red over your mouth, his thumb dragging over your slightly bruised lips - smudging the lipstick around. he keeps his eyes glued on you the whole time, watching the way your mouth wraps around his cock, leaving a messy red ring at the base - streaks running up his shaft

spencer reid: enjoys the intimacy of touch during sex. loves the feeling of your fingers in his messy curls, your hand soft and gentle on his face as his cock rocks into you. it would all be slow and sweet - the encounter so leisured and unrushed. the steady wind of his hips into yours and the warmth of each of your hands on one another faces, creating a beautifully tender moment

tangerine: loves to play with your cunt while he's sat behind. you'd lean into him against the headboard, your back resting against his chest, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, the other between your thighs. he'd extend his neck, reaching around to kiss up the side of your throat, peppering your skin in soft, light kisses as he lazily rubs over your clit. middle and ring finger leisurely circling over the swollen nub. just him mindlessly toying with you as he kisses your cheek, whispering sweet words into your skin as he palms your tits with his spare hand

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

had some of these ideas floating around for ages, but never done anything with them—so finally finally wrote about the brainrot that’s been eating me up

added bucky and reid mar 5th

added logan oct 11th

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pedgito · 8 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must.

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege.

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family.

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed.

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child.

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.”

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius smut #gladiation 2 fanficition #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #my writing #ANYWAYS

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