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brittle-doughie · 8 months ago

Note

Since we had that story of Y/N Cookie wanting to keep the Ancients from going out and getting themselves killed up against Dark Enchantress Cookie, how about something similar with the Beasts?

>The Beasts get corrupted

>Y/N Cookie, not corrupted, tries to fight them, and fails

>cue them starting to die

>Beasts start panicking, completely overestimating how much Y/N Cookie could take

>Y/N Cookie, in their last moments, wishes they could’ve done more to help the Beasts not get corrupted before finally going

>Witch(es) stumble upon this scene, seeing their greatest cookie having been crumbled, along with whatever other carnage is around

>cue literally everything else

Being sealed away with the guilt of spilling jam from the cookie you all loved the most fresh on your mind? They are NOT gonna be doing so hot in there.

The Tale of the Forced Hand (The Five Beasts)

Witch’s Castle witches are pretty neat.

“The story begins when this very Silver Tree was only a small sapling…When the World of Desserts was at its infancy.”

“The Witches baked six Cookies to help them in their creation of the world.”

“..harness the radiance bestowed upon you for the betterment of this world…”

“And the six Cookies imbued with absolute powers walked Earthbread as almighty envoys of the Great Creators.”

“Knowledge, Volition, Compassion, Happiness, Change, and Solidarity.”

“The Dessert World bound by these Five Virtues was nothing short of paradise.”

Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie chimed in with their responses.

“So those six Cookies were the original owners of the Soul Jam?”

“Huh…Those “Six Virtues” are different from those of the Soul Jams. There’s six of them, yet only five today…”

“The Virtue of Compassion is what held the other Virtues so closely together, cherishing each of them equally as much.”

“Alas, for they and the perfect age were short-lived. Absolute power begets nothing but arrogance. It inevitably corrupts its wielder, bringing them to the most tragic of ends…A fate even the Witches were unable to foresee.”

“One by one, the Five, once regarded as saviors of the Cookie World, gradually turned to Darkness. And thus, the Five Virtues, too, became distorted, twisted…reduced to Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence….”

Strawberry Cookie shuddered in worry at the mere mention of the fallen virtues.

“Deceit, Apathy, Sloth, Destruction, and Silence..that sounds really scary…

“Wait, what about the Virtue of Compassion? They weren’t evil too, were they?”

“The Virtue of Compassion was able to prevail against their descent into Darkness with their Soul Jam, whereas now the Five Beasts, the apostles of evil, began their dark crusade…”

“The Witches asked of Compassion to protect the Cookie World from the Beast Cookies, lending them what strength they could give.”

“Compassion fought bravely against the Beasts, blocking each of their blows and resisting their sickly whispers…But it was only a matter of time before Compassion slowly began to whittle…”

———————————————————————

“Come on, snap out of you all! This isn’t what you guys once were!”

“What’s the big deal, silly willy~ There isn’t anything wrong with dabbling yourself in a little bit of Darkness, you should try it with us!”

“No! This isn’t you! You were all my best friends! Come to your senses! Now!”

“It pains me to see you still cling onto false hope that you’re different than the rest of us, darling~ Can you just let go and become who you really are? For me~?”

“I can’t…I cannot forsake my oath to protect the Cookie World. You all know that! Cookies that want happy lives, don’t you want that?”

“They will all meet the same fate in the end, reduced to nothing…the futility of all this should be clear to you…”

“As if! It isn’t pointless to live life the way you want it to! It’s how you spend it and make the most of it!”

“They will all crumble in the end, so why not give them a little push! You’re starting to really aggravate me now, Y/N Cookie!”

“I won’t let you hurt them and I don’t want to hurt you all any more then I have to! Please, don’t do this…”

“……”

“Your silence says everything I need to hear from you. I tried…but I will put a stop you no matter if I’m reduced to bits!”

———————————————————————

“Woah….What happened to them?”

“The Virtue of Compassion fought for as long as they were able, their dough slowly whittling away with every blow that dealt to them. The Beasts have overestimated just how durable their former friend was…and they perished right in the middle of the circle….”

———————————————————————

“Ok, ya silly goose! You can stand right back up now! You put on a great show, let us give you a round of applause!”

“Darling, we know we haven’t hit you too hard. You can join us and we can all be together once more as Beasts…”

“Hmm…they don’t seem to be responding to us…”

“Hey, Y/N Cookie. Quit being soft and get up already, you’re..starting to worry me a bit here, you know.”

Silent Salt Cookie knelt down and placed their thumb on your wrist…jumping back when they feel nothing…

“Ahaha! Okay! This isn’t funny anymore, you softie! You win! Stand up on your two feet now! I’ll make you if you don’t!”

“D-Darling? P-Please get up. Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I-WE just really wanted you to join us…”

“Burning Spice Cookie, just how hard were your strikes to their dough?

“D-Don’t put any type of blame on me! All of you were just as rough with them as I was!”

“….!”

The Beast Cookies rushed to their fallen friend in the center, clearly distraught on their faces…

“Y/N Cookie, if you don’t stop playing jokes with me right now, I’ll never forgive you!”

“Darling! Wake up! I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have hit you so hard! Please wake up! You have to! Don’t leave me alone!”

“It was pointless to try and stop us, Y/N Cookie. Yet…my heart cries and aches, why did you have to resist….please, wake up…”

“God DAMN IT. I-I went too far, I shouldn’t have been so brutal with my swings and now look at you, your dough..damaged and ruined….because of me….”

“….Hmph….”

Silent Salt just lowered their head to look at the ground, feeling nothing but shame and remorse for what they had done…for what they all had done….

“I wish…I could’ve done more for you all…I wished…that I had loved all of you more…to not…end up like this...”

“…..I’m sorry…..”

———————————————————————

“The Witches couldn’t bear to see what fate had befallen their creations, made even more distraught at the loss of their greatest creation among them all…they punished the Beasts by sealing them away deep within this land…”

“And planted the seed of the Silver Tree to ensure their evil power never sees the light of day again. Right where the Virtue of Compassion was laid to rest, so that at least a part of them can live on….From then on, this land where the Beasts were put to sleep, was called Beast Yeast.”

“The Witches then gathered the last vestiges of power bestowed upon the Beasts, untouched by their corruption. They further cleansed, purified it, and in the end…Soul Jam was created. The purest Soul Jam was meant to be earned by Cookies who had proven themselves worthy.”

“All, but Compassion. For their purity simply could not be remade again. The Witch who personally baked Compassion had locked herself away in grief after the loss of her cookie and took the knowledge of the recipe and baking of Compassion with her…”

“So, there can never be another cookie like Compassion?”

“It’s what they say, but all life powder returns to the earth. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that the Virtue of Compassion may return in some form, someday…”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Y/N Cookie, who was casually eating some food offered to them by the Faeries.

“…..What?”

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darknight3904 · 1 year ago

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It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist

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s1ardusty · 2 years ago

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having a long drawn out self care process is my therapy

#alot of my posts r sickly but i can comfirm i amell like strawberries #self care

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gghostwriter · 7 months ago

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Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet.

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge.

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side.

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips.

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.”

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you.

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much.

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed.

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door.

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then.

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face.

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.”

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade.

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight.

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid comfort #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

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ninasmovingcastle · 26 days ago

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the taste of her cherry chapstick! - bsd

↳ flavoured chapstick challenge ft. dazai, ranpo, tecchou, jouno, fyodor

cw// mildly suggestive → making out

DAZAI can never get enough of you. he kisses you like a starved man at any chance presented to him, taking in the taste of your lips whether or not they've been laced with a flavour other than your own. he'll pull you close, lithe fingers busying themselves in your hair while he kisses you deep.

"strawberry," he says in his sickly sweet voice, smiling against your mouth <3

RANPO figured out what you were up to before you even started kissing. immediately noticing the discarded chapstick package in your trash, he already knows the flavour, brand, and store you bought your chapstick from. still, he'll never pass up an opportunity to indulge you, playing dumb until you're satisfied.

"peach," he'll state, the moment you pull away <3

TECCHOU is absolutely obsessed with you. he wouldn't pay much mind to giving you a correct answer; maybe he didn't even notice the soft chocolate flavour lingering on your lips. all he's concerned about is you. taking you in, feeling you close to him; it's all he needs. he loves losing himself in you, maybe just a little too much this time <3

"flavour..? what flavour?"

JOUNO and his heightened senses were more than happy to accept this little challenge from you. although he can't take in your beauty with his vision, he'll let himself sink into every other aspect of you, your scent, the way you feel in his arms, and the delectable flavour lingering on your lips.

"coffee," he'll say without a moment of hesitation, picking up right where he left off <3

FYODOR is a conniving man, brimming with passion. and he was never one to shy away from a challenge. he kisses you like nothing's different, dragging his tongue across your lips as you messily make out. he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls away from you, a shimmery thread of saliva connecting your lips.

"vanilla..." he'll hum. "eos brand, manufactured in china, probably purchased last week," he'll add, before getting back to his unfinished business <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Besotted 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Saturday is fat tiddies day. I'm sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Wow, uh, I'd say that's a lot but it's really not much," you snort at Angelique as she comes out of your bathroom in a tiny string bikini. The leopard print is loud on the tiny triangles barely concealing her tits and a few other parts.

"Not all of us are nuns like you," she retorts and sticks out her tongue.

"I'm not a nun," you roll your eyes.

You're not exactly modest yourself. You like your booty shorts and your cropped tops. And when you're lazy enough, you can be caught walking around in your purple track pants that read sex bomb across the ass. Not exactly classy, but fun.

"Right, right, sure," she scoffs.

"That's a low blow," you hiss.

"Well, it's the truth. What's that now? Twenty-two and you're as pure as the blessed Mother Mary."

"You're a fucking bitch," you sneer.

"I am," she grins and shakes her tits. "But the guys love it."

"You are so dumb," you scowl.

"Try a smile, babe, and maybe someone will want to get it in."

"Wow, did you just come over here to be awful?"

"No, I came over to have fun. Loosen up, have some vodka." She insists.

"Oh, no, I get it, you came to drink my booze," you accuse.

"Look, it's hot enough out that I don't need you breathing down my neck. You invited me over," she snips.

"Regretfully," you tweak your brow.

"Boo, get you're fucking swimsuit on. I'm dying." She crosses her arms and drags her feet across the floor. She grabs her drink; some strawberry kiwi juice and too much vodka.

"Why don't you go start?" You ask. "Better than pouting over your drinking problem."

"Cuntttttt," she growls the last consonant. "Oh, you are the worst."

"Isn't that why you love me?" You blow her a kiss and skip into your bedroom.

You better keep up with her so you can put up with her. Vodka and orange juice should do the trick. A little less sickly sweet. You pull out your bikini. The sides of the bottoms are silver hoops and there's another between the bra cups. It's not exactly a nun's habit, is it? Especially with your tits.

As you come out, you tuck in your left boob, the bigger one. Angelique swirls around her glass before emptying it. It's barely noon.

"You know, you'll probably be drunk before you even get a tan," you chirp.

"Probably," she shrugs and spins. "Come on, I'm bored."

You huff and stomp around her. You pour yourself some vodka then find the carton of orange juice in your fridge. Hm, only enough for one drink. Nice of her to bring mixer for both of you. You dump it in with the vodka and head for the door.

You grab your sunglasses before you step out into the sunlight. It's blazing hot. You slurp back the orange juice laced with alcohol and look around. You don't have much but it's yours. Somewhat. The sunburnt grass and cracked walkway. That's really the dream home.

You put down your drink on the folding table under the mailbox and grab the kiddy pool leaning against the siding. Angelique makes no effort to help. You don't expect her too.

You drag it over onto the lawn and go around to unwind the hose. You unwind it and haul it back with you, tugging out the kinks until it reaches the pool. You'd do this all in the backyard but there's too many ant hills.

You hold the hose and spray it into the plastic pool. As you do, you notice the peculiar dark shape in the next lot; a motorcycle. There's boxes on the other side of the duplex porch. Huh, they must've found a new tenant.

Angelique pops open a bottle of tanning lotion and generously applies it over her arms and chest. She's shining as she smears it over her sandy skin. You'll put on some actual SPF when you get a minute.

You wiggle the hose as you grow bored of filling the pool. Your mind wanders. She always has to say something. Always has to embarrass you. Never lets you forget every time you struck out. Well, you're just a little awkward. Maybe you should stop giving a fuck. Like her.

"Oh, summer feels so good," she struts over with her drink and steps into the pool.

She sits and shivers so her pert tits jiggle. A top like that would do nothing but go missing under your chest. As she reclines and basks in the sunlight, you sigh.

"Gee, Ang, thanks for all your help."

"No problem, girly." She smirks and bends her leg, swaying it as you notice the neighbours across the street gawking. The two pot-bellied men who meet up to gripe on their lawn chair. Ew.

You drop the hose in and go back to the porch. You dip inside for your bottle of sunscreen and come back out. You work at rubbing it in. You'll wait a bit before you get in so it doesn't wash off. It's no Hawaiian coast but that small dented pool is your only relief from the summer heat.

Angelique swishes her second drink in the glass. You don't think she'd help with your back. She's in her own little bubble. As usual.

You hear the snap of the door behind the wooden crisscross that blocks the other half of the porch. You glance over at the shadow that passes by. The unit's been empty almost since you got there. No tenant stayed longer than a month.

The man tramps down his stairs and to the motorcycle leaning on its kickstand. He digs around in the saddle bags then turns. As he does, you catch his eye and give a half-smile. You wave weakly as he keeps going. Oh.

You blink and look at Angelique. She's completely unaware; of your new neighbour or her audience. Two teen boys pass by in a not so subtle detour from their side of the street. You grimace but they're not looking at you.

You turn the bottle in your hands. That man. He's kinda handsome, if he is a bit older. His long hair is a mix of fading brown and grey. His beard is seasoned with silver and his blue eyes shine boldly. And his jawline. That's to die for.

Why had you been so hung up on boys your own age?

The thought make you cringe. Are you serious? Angelique is right. You're too desperate.

“Anj,” you approach the pool.

“If you’re not offering to refill my drink, I don’t want to hear it.” Her eyes are closed behind the dark lenses.

“Why are we friends again?” You mutter.

She just giggles and finishes her drink. Nope. If she wants more, she can get it. You spin away and catch sight of that man again.

Your new neighbour grabs a box from the stack on the front porch. You step up to the property line and smile. He doesn’t notice you as he disappears inside.

There’s not much. The boxes are dusty, marked with the logos of the local storage facility, and his motorcycle is the only other thing there. He must’ve had the stuff dropped off.

He emerges again and you wave, “uh, excuse me? Hi. Neighbour?”

He pauses and his shoulders tense. He faces you slowly. His left arm is covered in ink. The patterns are intricate. His other arm is marked with scars.

You introduce yourself as you sidle up the property line. He stares.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say. He still doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?”

He looks up then back at you. “Bucky,” he grits out. His voice is sexy.

“Oh, Bucky? That’s cute,” you say. “Say, neighbour, can I ask a favour? I’ll bring you a casserole for your trouble.”

He considers you, “don’t gotta do that.” He crosses his arms. His biceps bulge and so do your eyes. He is built.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t mind, it’s just...” you peek over your shoulder at Angelique as she lazes in the water. The sun beats down on you hotly and sweat beads on your nape. You look at Bucky. “I can’t reach my back.” You show the bottle of sunscreen and smile sheepishly. “Could I get a hand?”

He grumbles and tilts his head. He looks you up and down.

“I really don’t wanna burn. It’s so hot out.” You plead.

Reluctantly he unfolds his arms and comes down the porch steps. He approaches and his chest decompresses visibly as he exhales. He extends his palm to you. You press the bottle into it.

“Thanks!” You let go and shimmy then turn your back to him.

There’s a moment before the lid clicks. He still doesn’t speak. You hear the lotion squirt and brace yourself. He smears it, barely touching you. As the lotion only slides over your skin, he sighs. He shifts and rubs it in more firmly. You push back against his strength, arching your back just slightly.

Your heart races. His hesitance is disappointing. You know you’re not ugly. The reasons you got for your many rejections were that you didn’t want a one-night stand or you insisted on protection. It’s not too much to ask for. You really don’t think it’s your looks.

“All done,” he says.

The lid snaps shut loudly.

You face him, your bikini top stretching dangerous as your chest bounces. His eyes flick down briefly. You nearly laugh. It’s a nice reassurance.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you smile.

He grumbles again and hands you back the bottle. Your cheeks are on fire. He’s so hot. He’s got that definition that makes you all fuzzy. You bet he knows exactly what to do.

“So if you need anything, I’m just next door,” you point to your side of the duplex. “Oh, and I don’t mind noise. At all.”

He nods. You wring your hands around the bottle.

“But you know, if you do, I can be quiet,” you say, realising the double meaning only as your words hang between you.

His brows rise and he dips his chin again. He turns and stalks away. He’s busy. You’re bothering him. You’ll try again when he’s not unpacking.

Your eyes linger on his bike. That might be good place to start. It’s all harmless. You’re being a good neighbour.

You go to your own side of the porch and put the bottle on the top step. You go to the pool and poke Angelique with your toe. “Move over.”

She snorts but gives you room. You get in, arms around the edge, feet up on the other. She giggles.

“What?”

“He’s a bit... ancient,” she flips her sunglasses up and gives you a pointed look.

“Whatever,” you shrug.

“Even so... he’s in good shape,” she sits up slight, flattening her hands against the bottom of the pool. “Hmmm... maybe you might have a chance with the old man.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you growl.

“No, really. Do you think you do?” She asks.

You furrow your brow and search her face, “why?”

“Oh, it could be fun. How about a bet?”

“A bet?”

“Sure, you know, we’re going down to the beach. Got that old house by the shore and there’s only so many spots. You could have one if you can reel him in. No virgins on vacation,” she taunts.

“Fuck, I hate you,” you sneer.

“You love me and I know for a fact, you don’t have a chance of seeing the beach if you don’t come so...”

You take a breath and peer over as your neighbour swings the door open once more. He’s entirely undistracted as he lifts another box. Your stomach swims with nerves. You can flirt; it’s that next thing you never got the hang over. But so far, he’s not even flirting.

“Guaranteed?” You arch a brow in her direction.

“Promise. It’ll give you something to talk about.” She cranes to watch, “you better hope his dick still works.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #besotted #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

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noctiva · 1 month ago

Note

hi cuteness!! I cannot wait for pt 2 of your toby fic to arrive.. I am literally refreshing every chance grahhhhh >-<

any thoughts on toby x fem reader and kind of like ur recent one of reader giving head after a long day but just the other way around??? dying and begging for soft anything with toby, penetrative or not!!! I hope you're doing well and I feel awful for requesting bc you seem so busy!

-🦇

hello my love!! thank you so so much i know this is long overdue but don’t everrrrrr feel bad for requesting! your girl is booked and busy but that’s the way I like it! constant stream of toby thirst fuel? yes puhleasee

Nectar

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

WC: 7.1k

Summary: Toby works so hard just to make it home to you. He wants to make sure you know that.

CW: mentions of death and injury, semi-detailed descriptions of murder, blood, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, praise and sweet talk, little bit of overstimulation, hair pulling, biting, scent kink?? I guess, unsafe sex, established relationship, they’re so in love it’s sickening.

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

He did this all for you.

The blood on his hands, the heaviness of his muscles, how his eyelids drooped with fatigue even though his mission was hours from being over. Toby did it all for you. All just to keep you safe, comfortable, and happy.

Ever since he had met you, you had been his driving force. Knowing that being close to you was dangerous, but being too selfish to stay away anyways. Because of that, he forced himself to work overtime - picking up more missions, harder missions, proving his worth and dissuading any suspicion that might be building up around him. It was tiring work, but it was worth it, because in return he got rewarded with the warmth of your body against his.

Your soft skin, pressed against his calloused and scar ridden body. Your hair, always smelling so sweet because of that strawberry shampoo you loved so dearly. Your eyes, always warm and brimming with love as you looked up at him like he was the only man in the world. The gentle melody that was your voice, speaking his name like it was holy scripture.

It was hard to think about anything other than you, even when he was knee deep in carnage and sinew - blood caking onto his skin with each brutal swing of his hatchets. It was more like working on autopilot, barely even mentally present as his blade cracked open the skull of some unfortunate soul who had made their way onto his hit list.

He just had to get it done. Because once it was all over, he could skip right on home to you - and promptly bury himself in your warmth if you’d allow it.

He just wanted to pull you in close, nuzzle into your hair and breathe your scent in deep. Wash away the sickly smell of copper with the sweetness that clung to you daily. Wanted to sink his fingers into your soft, yielding flesh - dig into your hips and leave indentations behind. Slip down lower to rake his nails against the fat of your ass.

Part his lips and taste you. Licking across your neck to gather the taste of your perfume mixed with sweat, travel down to your cleavage and nuzzle into the valley of your breasts, feeling your heartbeat thump against his cheek.

He wouldn’t normally call himself desperate, but you brought it out in him. You were the perfect woman, in his eyes. Not a single flaw - like god had sculpted you to be someone pulled straight from his dreams. He constantly wondered how he managed to get you, constantly worried that someday he may lose you, and so therefore - constantly wanted to be as close as possible.

On days like today, when he was five hours deep into a mission two hours away from you - it was truly a taxing endeavour to not think about you every second you were apart.

“Rogers! I think he’s dead.” Tim’s voice snapped Toby out of his daydream quickly, tugging him back into the brutal present that he was unfortunately a part of. Kneeled above a mangled corpse, fingers still curled around the handles of his two hatchets, staring down at a face that was more mush than discernible features.

“H-Huh?” Toby faltered, eyes blinking slow as he took in the gruesome scene beneath him - such a stark contrast to the cushy daydream he had just been swimming through. “Oh.” He lowered his weapons and dropped them to the ground beside him, then looking up to Tim, who was staring down at him with a pretty unimpressed expression. “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re ruh-right.”

“Made such a fuckin’ mess.” Tim huffed softly as he examined the sight before him - the smashed head of Toby’s victim practically melting into the ground below it, and the perpetrator completely soaked from the chest up with blood and gore. It was no secret that Toby was the most… Eccentric, out of their little rag tag group of killers, and his victims really got the short straw, but the cleanup for this would probably tack an extra hour onto their time here. “Did you really have to turn him into minced meat?”

If Toby was being honest, he barely remembered the kill at all. Had been too preoccupied living in the fantasy world in his mind, where he was already home and nestled between your thighs. A place he would much rather be than here, and his heart ached knowing you were sat at home waiting for his return.

Were you snuggled up in one of his sweaters while having a little nap to pass the time? Maybe cozied up by the fireplace, working through that book he had bought you a few weeks ago? Whatever you were doing, he wished he was there to watch you do it. Be with you, while you did it. You always slept best curled up against his chest anyway.

“I d-dunno. Wasn’t- chirp! -wasn’t thinking.” He muttered back, slowing pulling himself up onto his feet, leaving two indents in the ground below him where his knees had once dug in.

“Clearly.” Tim snorted and rolled his eyes, before digging into his jacket pocket and pulling out a carton of smokes. He tapped two out of the pack and promptly slotted one between his lips, before lazily tossing the other one at Toby - who fumbled to catch it. “Clean this up. Me and Brian are almost ready to go.”

And so he did, grumbling in annoyance to himself as he cleared away and disposed of what was left of his victim. The longer it took, the more antsy he got, the soft buzz of nicotine not even doing anything to dissuade the impatience flowing through his veins. He just wanted to be home. Just wanted to be home with you, where everything was tenfold better. Where all the blood and grime was just a distant memory, where he could just live as a human being - not as a tool.

By the time he was done, he was aching for you.

Images of you flashing behind his eyelids the whole drive home, fingers itching and twitching with the craving to smooth against your skin. He knew it was desperate, and downright pathetic how he could barely stomach half a day away from his girlfriend - but he didn’t care. If he had it his way, you’d be at an arms reach at all times.

But maybe, time away from you just made seeing you again that much better.

Though he was tired, he made it to the door of your shared cabin in record time - fishing his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. Then, he was pushing it open, and immediately scanning the area. You weren’t in the living room, and he couldn’t hear you milling about in the kitchen. Kicking off his boots and setting his hatchets down on the bench in the entryway, he wandered through his home - peeking into the kitchen just to be sure you weren’t just being quiet.

When he didn’t find you, he padded off to your shared bedroom, absentmindedly tugging his goggles off of his head and wiping blood from the lenses with the bottom hem of his hoodie.

The door was cracked, and so he slowly pushed it open with his shoulder, before being greeted with a sight that nearly made him melt into a puddle against the hardwood flooring.

You were curled up in the sheets, lips parted and eyes fluttered shut as soft slow breaths slipped from your mouth. Your hair was fanned out against the pillow below your head, the fingers of your right hand still curled around the pages of the book you had been reading. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, the material hanging loose and flowy over your peaceful body - swaddled in his scent, which had presumably lulled you to sleep.

So beautiful. It nearly knocked the wind out of him every time he gazed upon you, but especially right now. It was as if an angel had dropped straight from heaven, and landed in his bed.

Once he broke free of the lovestruck stupor that had frozen him in place, he was moving immediately. Gravitating towards you like one magnet to another, tugging off his bloodstained sweater to leave him in just a (arguably) clean black t-shirt. His hands were still bloody, as was his face, but he couldn’t stand another moment without touching you - especially when you looked so lovely. And so, he slid into bed next to you, knowing that you’d probably chastise him for staining the sheets but not caring in the slightest.

His arms snaked around your torso, wrapping you in an embrace as he pulled you in close to his chest. Smiling softly to himself at the soft, sweet little sleepy grumble you let out from being disturbed. Next, his legs intertwined with yours, and his face found a home in the crook of your neck - wrapping you up so completely in his warmth, it seemed as if he was trying to meld into you completely.

“P-Pretty girl.” Toby murmured softly next to your ear, before planting a soft fleeting kiss against the lobe. “Missed you.”

You shift, clearly being tugged from your slumber by his presence, and so he presses further - nuzzling into your neck with a content hum, fingers drawing lazy patterns on your stomach through the fabric of your t-shirt. Then again, he kisses your skin. Again, when you start to stretch your limbs and let out a yawn. Again, when your eyes are slowly fluttering open. Peppering the length of your neck with soft pecks, so that you’d wake up while being showered in his love.

Maybe, the nicest thing to do would just be to let you sleep, but he had been restless all day. He needed to hear your voice, and see your smile, or he knew he’d barely catch a wink of sleep.

“Toby?” Is the first word you mumble when you come to, your voice raspy and thick with sleep - laced with a combination of confusion and hope.

“Who e-else?” Toby chuckles softly in reply, as his slid his hands downwards until they were resting against your hipbones - giving a gentle squeeze before tugging you in closer. Slotting you against him completely, like he’d die if he wasn’t pressed against you in every way possible. “Missed you.” He repeats again, knowing now that you’d actually hear him, before punctuating his words with yet another gentle kiss. This one, on the slope of your shoulder.

“Missed you too.” You hum back to him, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his lips dancing across your skin. Leaving a patch of tingles wherever he made contact, sweet gentle kisses that lit you up completely. Body still heavy with sleep, muscles and limbs stiff and achy, but slowly unfurling as his gentle touches coaxed out a comfortable relaxation. “Missed you more.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from Toby’s chest, and you can feel the vibrations of it against your back. He drags his nose up the side of your neck, before nuzzling into your hair and taking a deep breath in - relishing in the warmth that flooded his veins as the sweet scent of you swirled around his head.

“Y-Yeah?” He murmurs back to you. “So much th-that you fell asleep?”

“Hey!” You grumble back to him, eyebrows furrowing together as you try to crane your neck back to look at him. It’s practically an impossible venture though, with the way he’s curled up into you. “You were gone for a while. Have you checked the time?”

“I know, I-I know.” Finally, Toby peels himself from your body, but not to move away, only to shift. Rolling onto you gently, pressing you back into the soft sheets so that he could actually get a good look at that pretty face of yours. Eyes still hazy and sleepy, the cutest little pout on those plush lips. Laid beneath him all soft and sweet, like a gift to be unwrapped. All of the misfortune and gore that seemed to follow him around didn’t hold an ounce of weight during times like these, as far as Toby was convinced - he was the luckiest man in the world. “I’m just k-kiddin’, baby. I’m sorry I got home s-so late.”

He reaches up to cup your face with his stained hands, smoothing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks. It’s the most beautiful sight, when you melt into the touch, leaning into him though the evidence of his crimes was still streaked across his skin. You never minded though, you were always so forgiving of him, even if you knew deep down how wretched he was.

“Could’ve at least showered before you woke me up.” You hum back to him softly, eyes scanning across his face - lingering on every speckle of blood that stood out so starkly against his pale skin. The thought of how it got there, what he had done before coming home to you, it should make you nauseous - but it didn’t. It never did. For reasons you couldn’t begin to try and explain, more easily just chalking it up to be because you loved him. “You’re gonna stain the sheets.”

“I’ll wash ‘em.” Toby laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the corners before he was dipping his head down to nudge into the crook of your neck once more. His breath warm against your skin, fingers rough as they trailed down your jaw to rest under the swell of your breast.

“You won’t.” You huff back to him, the annoyance in your voice a complete facade that proved obvious when your lips twitched upwards at the corners. Your hand comes up, lazily threading into the messy hair atop his head as he goes back to leaving sloppy kisses against your skin - his teeth grazing against you every now and then, causing your arms to pebble with goosebumps.

“I will.” Shifting to fully straddle you, Toby’s thighs rest on either side of your hips, caging you in. His hand wanders not enough to cross the line, but enough to make his intentions clear as he gently cups your breast with his palm - feeling the weight of it, braless in his hold. Fingers twitching and jerking as he tried his best to be as gentle as possible. It was hard to be, when you were so soft it was if your body was begging for him to sink in deep - but he didn’t want to be rough with you.

Though you did always look so lovely, marked with the evidence of his claim, he wanted to leave your skin spotless tonight. Treat you with the carefulness of someone handling fine china. Because that’s what you deserved, really, for putting up with all that you did. For putting up with him. Caring for him. Looking past all of his misdeeds like they were nothing.

You were a goddess. A saint. And so it would only be fair, to worship you like one. “I j-just really missed you.” He gently palms your breast, as his other hand trails down to cup your waist, all while his kisses slowly turned more and more insistent. Lips parting, tongue darting out to lave at your neck, savouring the flavour of your skin on his tastebuds. Breathing you in, caressing the skin his hands had ached to touch all day, unable to get enough now that you were beneath his fingertips. “Left you a-alone for way too long.”

“I passed the time.” You murmur to him, letting out a little sigh as a shudder goes down your spine, unable to help the way your body responded when Toby was showering you in such tender affection. Not being hasty, or greedy, paying ample attention to every spot before he moved onto the next.

“Yeah?” His thumb rolls over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, a small rumble of appreciation vibrating from his chest at the feeling of it perking up under his touch. His teeth nip your earlobe lightly, and his other hand squeezes your waist gently, before he’s asking; “W-What did you do?”

It’s a little hard to answer, when you have your boyfriend on top of you, seemingly hellbent on slowly but surely riling you up to a maddening degree. Giving you just enough to leave you wanting more, generating a heat that was trickling down your body - lower and lower until you were squeezing your thighs together. Trying to stay put together, but failing, because every touch was pulling you undone more and more - evident by the flush that had started to creep onto your cheeks.

Still though, you try anyway.

“Went on a walk.” Toby squeezes your breast gently, kneading the supple flesh in his palm as he lets out a barely audible groan against your skin. “F-Finished that scarf I was trying to make.” Your thighs were twitching, breathing growing shakier as Toby lips trailed from your neck to your collarbone - nudging the collar of your shirt out of the way to gain access to more skin.

“B-Busy girl.” He mumbles against you, making your hips jolt when his fingers teasingly dipped under the hem of your shirt - pleased to find that you were only wearing panties beneath it. “What else?” He doesn’t touch you fully, not yet, settling instead on just grazing his fingers against the lace, giving you the ghost of his touch and nothing more. He wanted you melting before he even got you bare. Wanting to savour this, not wanting to rush it after spending all day salivating over the thought of it.

This wasn’t about him though, when you peeled back all the layers of his desperation, this was all about you. Treating your body with the tenderness it deserved, working you up in an almost delicate manner, leaving you shaky and breathless before he even touched you proper. Absolutely dripping for him, by the time he got a taste.

And well, he was succeeding. You were sure that the warmth you were bathed in was radiating off of you, your impatience clear when your hips jumped at the slightest touch. Searching, begging for friction to placate the ache between your thighs. You could feel your panties growing damp, slickness pooling between your folds as Toby played your body like a damn fiddle. Always knowing just how to touch you to make you squirm, how to make your breathing go shallow in just a matter of moments.

“Practiced- ah!” A surge of pleasure ricocheted through your body the moment his fingers dipped down lower, doing nothing more than just pressing against your cunt lightly - but having you so worked up by now that it’s enough to make your entire body buzz. “Practiced piano, a- a little bit.”

“Mm, y-you’ll have to play f-for me sometime.” Slowly, he rubs gentle circles against you through your panties, his own breathing hitching as your slick wets his fingers through the fabric. “Bet you’re g-getting real good.”

He finds your clit with ease, pressing down against it and rolling it under the pad of his thumb. And you just get wetter, he can feel it, see it when he pulls his head back to look at you properly. The sheen of your arousal dampening the insides of your thighs, pussy pulsing and twitching under his touch. Crying for it, your body begging him for more so earnestly.

“T-Toby-“ You whimper softly, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you gaze up at him. His messy hair is falling over his eyes, the freckles on his cheeks drowning in the pink flush that had begun coating his skin. His eyes are dark, hungry, yet brimming with awe as they stay locked on your barely clothed cunt. The muscles in his forearm flexing every time his fingers moved against you. The sight of him above you, just proves to take you higher, and you can’t help it when a downright pitiful little whine slips from your lips. “I need you to touch me, please.”

“I am t-touching you, baby.” His voice is low and rough as he rubs tight circles against your clit, sparking up a pleasure that rolled through your body and made your limbs feel gooey. “You n-need more?”

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, irises clouded in desire so potent he may as well have had hearts in his eyes. Then, his hand stills, leaving you yearning for more, and hopeful that you’ll get it when his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties instead. “P-Pretty pussy’s begging f-for it, hm?” He tugs, slowly tugging your underwear down your hips, pausing to let you lift a bit before he’s pulling them the rest of the way off. Fingers grazing the outsides of your thighs, leaving a trail of tingles against your skin. “Can’t-Can’t leave you hanging. E-Especially since I’ve been wanting it just as bad.”

Toby shifts his body, sliding down the bed until he finds himself at eye level with your glistening cunt, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as drool pooled in the corners of his lips. He can feel it when it seeps out of his mouth gash and drips down his jaw, but it’s the least of his worries - despite how desperate he knows it must make him look. That was alright. Desperate was exactly what he was, and you deserved to know that you had him wrapped about your finger. “Spent all day th-thinkin’ about you.”

He leans in, pressing his cheek against your thigh before he’s turning his head to plant a kiss against the sensitive skin. Parting his lips to really taste you, letting his teeth peek out just to make you jolt. “Thinkin’ about h-how beautiful you are. How badly I j-just wanted to forget it all and come home to you as soon as p-possible.”

You can feel his stubble tickle your skin as he slowly works his way down your thigh, closer and closer to your aching core - lapping up the sweat and slick smeared across you. Your head feels hazy, heart thudding in your ears, the heat within you just burning hotter and hotter each time his mouth connected with your skin. “Thought about h-how lucky I am. How much I hope I m-make that clear to you.”

“You do.” You gasp out, bringing a trembling hand down to tangle in his hair once more - curling into the fluffy brown strands and gently tugging him in closer. Impatience getting the better of you, which is rewarded by Toby giving you a sly little smile with eyes glinting under hooded lids.

Was it too much to say that Toby looked best between your thighs? Maybe, but it was simply the truth. Skin flushed and eyes dark, looking at you like you were a feast and he was nothing but a starving dog. Long lashes fanning against his cheeks, lips glistening with drool that had begun accumulating in his mouth.

And the best part? You never had to ask. He just loved being there. Loved putting all of his effort into making you feel good. He’d spend hours there, if you let him - lapping at your heat until his jaw locked up. Ignoring the ache in his own pants in favour of drinking in release after release he managed to pull from you.

And he said he was the lucky one.

“D-Do I?” He asks, before pressing a soft kiss to your already swollen clit. His grin only widens when he feels the grip on his hair tighten. “I’m glad. Sh-Should I make it even more clear?”

“Please.” You couldn’t be bothered to try and act coy right now, your mind clouded and your body reaching a fever pitch. You feel like you’re melting in his hands, slipping through his fingers as he reduces you to a pool of mush. You could barely comprehend it, having gone to sleep alone, then waking up to the whirlwind of affection Toby had swept you up in. You weren’t complaining though, far from it. You were pleading for more.

And who was Toby, to deny his girl?

“I-I’ve got you.” Toby’s voice, thick with desire, rings in your ears as his hands push against your hips - pinning them to the bed to stop them from bucking up impatiently. Keeping you locked firm in his grasp, all his for the taking. “Ju-Just lie back and r-relax, alright? You know I’ll take care of you.”

That, you did know, and he just proves it more when his tongue meets your cunt mere moments later. He licks a long, flat stripe from your hole to your clit - drinking up every drop of your essence like it was the sweetest nectar. To him, it was, so much so that it pulls a moan from his lungs as well as yours. The taste making his brain go fuzzy the moment it met his tastebuds, already getting dizzy just from the feeling of you pulsing under his tongue.

You were divine. Absolutely divine. And he would swear you just got better every time you parted your legs for him. It was no wonder he spent every second away thinking about you, when being with you made him feel as if he was ascending to a higher plane. “Taste so g-good.” He’s slurring against you, eyes fluttering shut as he wholehearted buried his face in your cunt - nose bumping against your clit as his tongue swiped through your folds. His grip on your thighs, though tight, was tender. Thumbs rubbing soft circles against you in an almost soothing motion - though all it was really doing was bringing another source of stimulation. He was gentle, so gentle as he held your legs open. Gentle, as he sucked on your clit before slipping his tongue inside you.

You, were left just a gasping mess on the sheets before him. Legs twitching and hips bucking as he licked into you with languid thrusts, burying his tongue as deep as he could with each swipe. Like he was trying to lick you clean, suck you dry of everything you had to offer. You’d give it to him, easily conceding as melting into him as he drank you in.

He was attentive. Already knowing and keeping track of every little thing that you liked the best. How your walls would tense up around him when he flicked his tongue inside of you, the way you’d cry out when he nuzzled up against your clit while doing it. He knew how to make you feel good, because that was his favourite thing in the world to do after all.

“Ah, Toby-“ That was why. Because you sounded the most beautiful when you were falling apart. Moaning out his name in a tone so sweet, that it stuck to his ears like molasses. He couldn’t get enough of it, and he quite honestly didn’t think that it was possible to. His need for you being an ache that ever persisted, a part of him that would never disappear. And that’s just the way he liked it. Being wrapped around your finger, falling at the feet of the angel he had the honour of calling his lover. “Don’t- Don’t stop-“

He wouldn’t dream of it. Toby could feel your pleasure cresting - the walls of your pussy twitching around his tongue as he licked into you. So wet, it was dripping down his chin. He couldn’t help but moan into you, absentmindedly rutting his hips down against the bed as he doubled his efforts. Barely any friction at all, but the absolute ecstasy he felt just from making you fall apart before him was enough to satiate him.

With fingers curling into the flesh of your thighs, and nails leaving shallow indentations there - you come undone. Gushing right onto Toby’s tongue, for your boyfriend to eagerly lap up. Your body arches off the bed, shoulders bowing as your thighs shake - a chorus of gasped out moans and cries slipping past your lips, red from being bitten raw.

Toby coaxes you through it, low groans rumbling from his throat as his tongue drags against your sensitive folds - flicking at your clit every so often to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. In all honesty, it’s quite hard for him to relent, even when you start weakly pushing him away because the oversensitivity became too much for you to handle. He just wanted to keep his face buried between your legs, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until your cheeks were slick with tears.

But, he had decided already that he’d be gentle with you, and so he pulls away. Face slick with your release and hair mussed, eyes hazy with a self-satisfied little smile tugging at his lips. “F-Felt good?” He asks softly, smoothing his palms against the backs of your thighs - rubbing the sweat slick skin lovingly.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to gasp out, your head still reeling from the intensity of your release. Basking in your post orgasm glow with your body near limp beneath him. “That even a question?” Through your blurry vision, you observe Toby, watching the way his expression crinkles when he lets out a low chuckle. How his sweat slick hair sticks up at odd angles when he pushes it off of his forehead. The sheen of your release on his chin, which he wipes away with the back of his forearm. And then, then obvious tent in his jeans that your gaze catches on when it drifts lower.

And well now, that’s just not fair is it?

So, despite how shaky they are, you part your thighs once more as you look up to meet his gaze. A silent offer that you know he wasn’t ignorant to, but you make it clear with words anyway. Just because you knew it would make that blush of his darken even more. “C’mon baby, I can’t be the only one who feels good.”

You let your legs fall open like a flower blossoming in spring, your still twitching pussy on full display for him to feast on. And he does of course, eyes widening minutely at the shameless display below him, his cock jumping to life once more. You really were a goddess. You had to be.

“You’re t-too perfect for your own g-good, you know that?” He asks you as he moves in closer once more, before reaching down to grasp the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. After shaking his hair out, he does the same to you, stripping off your last piece of clothing and leaving you completely bare. Bare, and beautiful. Flushed all the way down to your tits, chest heaving and skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. “What did I do t-to deserve you, hm?”

You watch with bated breath as his fingers travel down to work on his belt buckle, tugging it free, too impatient to bother tugging it from the loops before he’s popping the button of his jeans.

“I think the same thing about you.” You hum back to him, unmasked desire clouding your eyes as you track the sight of him pulling down his zipper.

“You sh-shouldn’t.” He laughs dryly in response, but his tone is nothing but fond. The zipper comes down, and now you can really see how worked up he is - straining against his black boxer briefs, so hard you think it’s a miracle that he didn’t cream his pants. “I, am not a good p-person by any means.” He barely slips the rest of his clothing off, far too antsy now to be bothered with stripping completely. He needed to be inside of you ages ago, and so he just settles on tugging his underwear down enough to let his cock spring free. “You-“ He nestles himself snug between your thighs, the weight of his length resting heavy against your cunt. “You are just a s-sweet little lamb. Never done anything wrong.” He ruts against you, coating his length in your slickness as he slides between your folds. Making your breath catch every time he nudged your clit with the head.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, finally tearing away from where they had been hard focused on the sight of his cock slipping against your heat. “Except maybe g-getting involved with me.”

“I don’t regret it for a second.” You beam up at him, eyes brimming with nothing short of adoration - because you really did mean it. You knew, that the side Toby didn’t show to you was that of someone ruthless. Someone who butchered people without a second thought, or an ounce of remorse. Someone who, if you were smart, you’d stay far away from.

But you couldn’t. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, from the first day you met him.

And with you, Toby was simply a doting, devoted partner. So could he truly be so bad?

And was it selfish of you to look past it all, even if he was?

Maybe. But a little bit of selfishness is needed, if happiness is what you seek.

“G-God, I love you.” Toby breaths out, voice shaky and strained. You try to respond, but he barely gives you a second to before the head of his cock is pressing into you.

Your jaw falls slack, body going pliant as he sinks in inch after inch, bringing with it that delicious fullness he always made you feel. Stretching you open so wonderfully, your cunt yielding to him like you were simply made to take him in. Even when he sunk in so deep it made your toes curl and your brows pinch together. Even when the pressure of him inside you left you breathless.

“I- I love you.” You choke out, the words coming out strained and muddled with ecstasy. More so moaned out, than actually spoken, but that just makes it sound that much more beautiful to Toby’s ears.

“Th-That’s right.” Toby murmurs back to you hoarsely, as he slowly draws his hips back - his grip on your waist never faltering as his cock drags against your walls, just to press back in again. “Say it a-again, pretty girl.” He rocks into you gently, really letting you feel it every time your cunt stretches open to welcome him - the emptiness before he fills you right back up again. “Love hearing you s-say it.”

“I-“ You gasp when he hits your gspot, still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that it’s enough to make your head swim. Your words choke off into a moan, and it’s hard to recover when the feeling of him pressing into you again leaves you near brainless. “I love you, T-Toby.”

Toby can’t help but smile down at you, a heady mix of lust and adoration swimming through his veins at the sound of your whimpered out declarations of love. You were so beautiful that it made his chest hurt normally, but right now especially - crying out how much you loved him, looking so pretty with tears in your eyes while he stuffed you with his cock.

If any of the other proxies could see you like this, he’d bet they’d very quickly understand why his head was always in the clouds while on missions. But then again, he’d also kill them if they ever did.

You were his. His girl. His life. His reason to keep going. And though he wasn’t quite sure if he really truly deserved you, those facts were infallible. He much rather die, than ever let you go. Would willingly come close to death every single day, if it meant he’d be coming home to you.

“Th-That’s my girl.” He murmurs gently, before dipping down low to lick and nip at your jawline - hips never faltering as they rolled into you over and over again. Belt clinking every time his skin met yours. “B-But I love you more. You make me f-feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

God, you were perfect. Sucking him in so eagerly every time he pulled out. Walls wrapping around his cock like a glove, pulsing to the tune of your heartbeat, tightening up in a way that made his mind go blank each time he nudged against that sweet spot within you. Your pussy had him under a spell. Whether he was simply tasting it, or buried six inches deep into it, it brought forth an ecstasy he had never once found elsewhere.

‘Pussywhipped’, Brian had called him once, and he knew it was true. Wore that title with pride, because how the hell couldn’t he be, when he had a cunt this glorious all to himself? It felt like you were moulded to the shape of him, milking him so good that he knew he was already close.

He couldn’t help it. You just felt too good. Always did. But especially, when he had really been missing you. “Y-You feel so good, baby.” He’s groaning into your ear, breathing out hot huffs of breath against your neck that have goosebumps rising on your skin. “S-So good, fuck. This pussy was m-made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh-“ You’re gasping back to him mindlessly, head stuffed with cotton as your hands lift to grasp at his broad shoulders. Nails raking against his skin before sinking in deep as a means to ground you, but you know he doesn’t mind. He can’t feel the pain. Just the pressure. The desperation in your grip as you cling to him like a lifeline, curling your whole body around him when your legs come up to lock around his waist. “S’all yours.”

“Damn right it is.” He groans against your skin, voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure consuming him. He’s panting against you, sweat rolling off the strands of his hair and dripping onto your skin. Muscles flexing under your grip from exertion as he snaps his hips into you over and over and over again. Chasing your release, more than his, because he can feel it coming. Can feel how your walls start to convulse around him, sucking him in tighter every time he buried himself to the hilt. And if there was only one thing better than you cumming on his tongue, it was you cumming on his cock. “Y-You gonna give me one m-more?” He mumbles huskily as his lips drag against your jaw, angling his hips to hit your gspot on every thrust, relishing in the way your body jolts and your eyes roll back because of it. “Cum on my dick, sh-show me how much you missed me.”

It was like he had you under a spell, with the way the coil snapped at the sound of his voice. Burying your head in his shoulder as you cried out in ecstasy, clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your entire body.

And with how beautiful you sounded, and how your pussy was squeezing him like a vice, hellbent on milking him dry - it was no surprise that he was tumbling over the edge right along side you.

Toby comes in a flurry of gasps and expletives, pulling out just in time to jerk his cock once, twice, before he’s spilling onto your stomach and chest. Rope after rope of sticky warmth coating your skin and leaving you breathless. You can feel it as it pools in your bellybutton and drips down your sides, staining the sheets below you - but well, they had to be washed anyway, so did it really matter?

“L-Love you.” Is the first thing you hear Toby murmur out when his brain starts to boot back up, face buried in your neck as his cock softens against your thigh. “F-Fucking hell, I love you so much it’s crazy.”

You let out a soft little giggle, chest feeling warm as you pull him in as close as possible without smearing the mess on your skin onto him as well, before pressing a kiss to his jawline. Nuzzling against the stubble there, you murmur;

“Love me enough to clean me up?”

Toby snorts out a laughs and lifts his head just so that you can see it when he rolls his eyes at you, and just like that you’re breaking into a little fit of laughter.

“Wh-Who do you take me for?” He scoffs. “C-Course I will.” Then, he’s sitting up, tucking himself back into his boxers before sitting back on his calves - eyes raking across your naked body as he takes in the damage he caused. “Hm, g-guess I did make a mess, huh?” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry about it. “You look good l-like this, though.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You would think that.” You laugh, lifting your leg to nudge him softly with your foot. “Go get a towel.”

“Alright, alright.” Toby raises his hands in surrender, before slipping off the bed and retreating towards the bathroom. Not before looking back to take in the sight of you once more though. Okay, twice more. Soon though, he returns with a wet cloth, and making true on his promise - wipes you spotless.

Leaving your stomach and chest clean, dipping between your thighs to gently clean up the mess there too. Not stopping until he was sure that you were before he came and sullied you.

Then, he’s finally kicking off his jeans, and crawling into bed with you once more. Tugging you in close to his chest, just like he had when he first got home.

“You still need to shower.” You murmur to him sleepily, though make no effort to stop him as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. Easily conceding when he reached down to tug the blankets over both of you.

“Mm, t-too tired now.” He murmurs against your skin, and you can feel the way his lips curl up into a sly smile. “I’ll d-do it in the morning.”

You, also too tired to argue about it, simply let out a soft sigh before snuggling into him further - finding comfort in the feeling of his bare chest against your back.

“And you’ll wash the sheets?”

“A-And I’ll wash the sh-sheets.”

—————————————————————————☆

hi everyone!! my first post since I died and disappeared for over a week!

very happy to be back I missed u guys so much <3

thank you for readinggggg!

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burningembers91 · 4 months ago

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Loving You From Afar - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Park Gyeong-Seok is in love with you. But his life isn't one he thinks you'd want to share. If only he opened his eyes, he might realise that you loved him too.

Warnings: depictions of cancer, Park Gyeong-Seok's daughter is sick, Reader and Gyong-Seok are lovesick fools, 18+only!

The past few years hadn’t been easy for Park Gyeong-Seok. His marriage to who he thought was the love of his life, and the subsequent birth of his beautiful baby girl should have been a turning point in his life. But sadly, fate had other plans. Na-Yeon had been born prematurely, the doctors uncertain whether she would make it through the night. But his daughter, she was one hell of a fighter, and she pulled through. It hadn’t been plain sailing, her early birth leaving her sickly and frail. Gyeong-Seok never lost hope, he never gave up on the tiny life he cradled to sleep every night. His wife on the other hand, she found it hard to cope. Being a mother wasn’t what she thought it would be, and she wasn’t equipped to deal with a child who needed round the clock care. A few months after Na-Yeon was born, her mother left in the middle of the night. Gyeong-Seok had spent months trying to track her down, but she didn’t want to be found.

His dream of opening his own art studio came to screeching halt, and he found himself taking any and every job he could to keep his daughter fed and sheltered. He eventually found himself at an amusement park, painting tourists for less than the price of a cup of coffee. It wasn’t a well-paying job, but Na-Yeon loved spending every day there, watching the characters in their costumes, laughing as they paraded through the park. Her health was in decline again, cancer ravaging her already broken body. But she was so strong, so happy, and that was what kept Gyeong-Seok going. When he could no longer afford their two-bedroom apartment, he moved to a smaller one-bedroom place, giving his daughter the bedroom while he made do with the sofa bed.

That was where he’d met you; the beautiful girl who lived across the hall. The one Na-Yeon spoke of all day every day. you were the one who made him laugh on the days he felt like crying, who took Na-Yeon out for ice cream when he needed a rest or bought her colouring books and toys when he was struggling to keep her entertained. You had such a way with his daughter, and your presence was one that calmed him immediately. It was you who had crocheted the strawberry hat his little girl never took off, something to keep her warm when the chemo took her hair. If you didn’t enjoy looking after Na-Yeon, you never complained. You always had a smile on your face, always had a positive word for him.

He'd fallen hopelessly in love with you over the last eight months, but you would never want to be with him. He could barely afford to keep a roof over his daughter’s head. he couldn’t take you out on dates, or buy you jewellery, or whisk you on a weekend away. Na-Yeon’s treatment took every penny he earned, and there were nights when he couldn’t afford to feed the both of them, so he went hungry. He never asked you for anything, never complained, and yet you seemed to sense his desperation. You’d bring food round every now and again, enough to last them a few days. He would never be able to find a way to repay you for your kindness, would never be able to articulate just how much you meant to him.

He's drawn and painted you probably a dozen times, but he could never get the courage up to give you any of his creations. Your beauty couldn’t compare to his artwork, your kindness could never fully shine through on the paper. Some nights, you’d sit together in his apartment, Na-Yeon sleeping in the bedroom next door. Your fingers would graze each other’s as you watched TV, your knees would bump together under the blanket you cozied under for warmth. You’d smile at him, and he’d smile back, but it never went further than that. You deserved someone who could buy you nice things, who could take you places Gyeong-Seok would only ever be able to dream of.

The paintings of you stayed tucked out of sight, just like his feelings for you. there were nights he’d lie on the tiny sofa bed, the springs digging into his back, and he’d think about you. He wondered how it would feel to be able to love you, to be able to cuddle up next to you each night, not on a broken sofa bed, but in a plush King size bed with silk sheets. He wondered if his pillows would smell like your perfume, whether you’d smile when he woke you up every morning with a kiss. He wondered if Na-Yeon would grow up to think of you as her mother, turning to you for advice about hair, boys and other things dads didn’t have the privilege of knowing about.

No one wanted a poor painter though, who had holes in his clothes and a daughter who needed constant care. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to make your life hard. You were so kind, so caring, and so full of life. He would be content loving you from afar, relishing the friendship you gave him and his daughter.

You wished Gyeong-Seok could see how amazing he was. He was a man broken by circumstances beyond his control, dealt a shitty hand of cards by life. you’d loved him from the moment you met him, carrying his daughter to the apartment across the hall from you as she giggled. He worked so hard to provide for them and you wished you could do more to help. You didn’t want to seem like you were pitying him, because you weren’t. life may have kicked him, but Gyeong-Seok wouldn’t stay down. He was the strongest, most resilient person you’d ever met, and you loved both him and Na-Yeon more than anything in the world. The nights you spent with him, watching TV under the blanket were so precious to you. you thought there might have been something between the two you of, but Gyeong-Seok would only ever smile, and turn his face away. you would be content to love him from afar and cherish every moment you spent with him.

You watched him now, painting a picture of the Seoul skyline while you crocheted a matching strawberry sweater for Na-Yeon, who was fast asleep beside you. You met each other’s eyes, the two of you smiling. Not realising just how much you meant to each other.

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orphicsun · 7 months ago

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Farmer Williams

FARM ELLIE HEADCANNONS (Ellie Williams x Fem! reader) Content: Smut, Ellie being a horndog AND farmer, cutesy domestic bliss

•Farmer Ellie who wakes up at some insane hour of the morning to get started on her chores so she knock them out of the way and spend time with you later..

•Farmer Ellie who smiles when she walks through the screened door of the farmhouse to the scent of freshly cooked bacon and eggs. She just loves when you cook for the two of you, even if it’s something simple(and technically 1pm…)

•Farmer Ellie who will wrap her strong arms around your waist while you’re leaned over the stove, planting soft kisses to your nape. If she’s in a really good mood, her tongue will soon follow after those soft, sickly sweet kisses.

•Farmer Ellie whose presence envelops your nose as you flip over a piece of bacon. It’s the heavy scent of her sweat from working all morning, which you love to use as an excuse to shower together after breakfast.

•Farmer Ellie who is a quiet eater, munching away at her toast, bits of homemade strawberry jam plastered on her chapped lips. She’s oblivious to how truly adorable she is, and you have to resist the urge to lean in and press a few chaste kisses on her. She’s a messy eater, scarfing down every last bit of food you provided her, and uttering with a full mouth, “Babe, this is fuckin’ delicious. You trying to be my housewife or somethin’?” She mostly jokes around with you, but there’s a soft smile tugging at her lips that makes you wonder if she’s joking or hinting at her own desires.

•Farmer Ellie who thanks you for the breakfast by leaving her seat to stand behind yours, calloused fingertips drumming on your shoulders as her breath makes it to your ear, “How ‘bout that shower, babe?” You can tell it’s one of those days, because her tone is pathetically low and needy. Ellie isn’t aware, but when she’s horny, she sounds all serious and low, quite different from her usual sweet voice. It’s a turn-on for you, of course.(I imagine Ellie sounding like she did in the couch scene with Dina anytime she’s thinking about fucking you…) When you agree, Ellie intertwines her fingers with yours and leads you into the farmhouse’ bathroom.

•Farmer Ellie who loves to undress you. You need to take your bra off before bed? She’s already tugging at the clasp with her grubby hands. It’s one of those special mornings where she wakes up beside you instead of getting up early to manage the farm? She’ll wake you up with a kiss and a soft, “C’mon, babe. Lemme dress you,” because god forbid you slip on your own clothes. Most of the time, it’s seemingly nonsexual, only helping you and maybe taking a few peeks at your tits when you’re unaware, even though you’ve assured her many times you don’t mind her visual appreciation.

•Farmer Ellie who shuts the bathroom door behind you, immediately unbuttoning your jeans to get you naked. It is in fact, one of those days when she’s undressing you quickly, desperate to see how wet you already are from her. Once your clothes are practically ripped off, you take your cue to hop in the shower and get the water going. You can’t help but glance at Ellie’s own undressing process, watching as her worn sports bra meets the floor, her pretty tits on display for your own wandering eyes. Your impatience only grows when she finally slips her boxer-briefs, she pretty cunt free of any fabric.

•Farmer Ellie who steps into the hot shower behind you, hands trailing up your wet skin, lips latching onto your neck, practically devouring your neck in a way she wanted to do earlier. Ellie’s a horndog, sure, but she loves to take her time with you once she’s got you completely bare and soaking wet both ways.

•Farmer Ellie who spins you around so you’re facing her, immediately leaning in to give you a hot, wet kiss. She’ll try to start slowly and sensually, but after maybe 10 seconds, she’s ravishing your poor mouth with hers. When she’s pussydrunk, she kisses you like she’s eating you out. That only reminds you of how her hot tongue feels inbetween your thighs. She sees that needy look in your eyes, and she’ll pull away from some part of your body she was busy macking on to smile sinfully at you. “Baby, whatcha want? Tell me how you wanna be fucked….” You’ll get shy on her, but eventually, you mutter something about her mouth making you cum, and she won’t continue to torture you any longer.

•Farmer Ellie who eats your pussy like she’s starved. Those little smacking sounds she makes, the way her tongue sloppily fucks its way into your sopping cunt, nose nudging against your clit, it’s so perfect. She’ll hold you firmly against the shower so you don’t fall over, strong hands digging into your hips so hard there will be red marks on them later. She’s practically making out with your pussy, muttering hungry words about how ‘wet she is for me’ and promising to make you cum. She just can’t get enough of your taste. Even after you cum your brains out, her mouth is still latched on you, licking up every last drop of your essence until you’re squirming, begging her for mercy. She’ll pull away with a sheepish grin, though you know she’s not sorry.

•Farmer Ellie who loves to take care of you after sex. She’ll wash you up and after she’s all clean too, you two will spend the day together cuddling and talking about everyday things such as Ellie’s hunting trips, your plans to bake for her later, and complaints about chores. She loves just laying on top of you lazily, pressing all of her weight onto you.

•Farmer Ellie who usually falls asleep right after dinner. Sometimes you swear that girl’s hibernating with the way she snores and rolls all over your bed. Nonetheless, you tuck her in, pecking the top of the head and whispering a soft goodnight. After a while, you’ll join her, attempting to not wake her but fail as she mutters sleepy, petulant complaints about needing her beauty rest. However, she will always wrap an arm around you, pulling you into her arms and whispering some incoherent ‘g’nites’ and a ‘love you’ before you both drift off to sleep<3

NOTE: This is my first real post so be nice to me😞 I wanna do more of farm Ellie soon!

#ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie smut #ellie x you #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader

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daryldove · 8 months ago

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Temptation

nsfw drabble, daryl dixon x bimbo!reader

Daryl didn't really like you at first. You weren't a bad person by any means, just so… impractical. You pranced around in miniskirts and frills. At least you didn't seem to care too much if they got dirty. One day, though, something just switched in him. Suddenly, he couldn't stop staring at your thighs or sneaking a peak at the exposed skin when you bent over.

If he had to use one word to describe you, it would be bimbo. But god, did the cleavage popping out of your low cut tops start affecting him. He started hovering more around you, finding any excuse to be in your vicinity, staying close enough that your sickly sweet strawberry scented perfume imprints a spot deep in his brain. Even when you weren't around, his thoughts were drawn to you. He couldn't figure out for the life of him why. And it pissed him off, you pissed him off.

He'd lay in bed late at night, needing sleep but not letting it come. It can after he does. He stroked his aching dick, thinking about your sweet scent, your round ass under that little skirt… The things he'd do to get a taste of you, a chance with you. You're so different from him, colourful, bright, and girly. He became obsessed with the image of his arm around your waist, his hand around your neck.

The day you wear your hair in a cute little ponytail, the image of you on your knees in front of him leaves him beyond distracted. His hand would yank on it, pulling you back so he can cum all over that pretty face of yours. He became insatiable for you, and it started to show. He got bolder, reached out to touch you more, with excuses, of course.

It happened sooner than he ever anticipated, not that he minded. On a late night in Alexandria, he got you pushed against someone's house, hands flat against cladded wood. His hand pushed against your mouth to silence your moans as he fingers you open. His pace fast and his touch rough, they filled you up surprisingly easily. He didn't even bother removing your stupid skirt, it was short enough.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction

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1800titz · 1 year ago

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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental.

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks.

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.”

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.

“Easy.”

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?”

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.

“Hey, you.”

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?”

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry.

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?”

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug.

That’s dangerous.

She’s glad he isn’t.

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.”

Her breath stutters.

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?”

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.”

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.

“Would you like that?”

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.”

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?”

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled.

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…”

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign.

It’s not.

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks.

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.”

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?”

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.”

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.”

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.”

The pointed little end grazes over his balls.

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.”

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first.

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.”

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?”

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.”

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene.

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.”

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds.

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans.

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.”

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.”

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.”

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach.

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.”

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile.

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.”

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock.

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?”

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?”

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.”

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends.

Just friends that fuck.

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