#think of the tender things that we were working on

[s4nguiine]

dead flowers; pressed against my lips

arlecchino x fem!reader

» summary: you and arlecchino go on a christmas date and end the night with nasty lesbian sex

» rating: NSFW!! minors dni!!

» notes: ohhhh my godddd merry christmas everyone! here is 3.5k words of wlw with dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, choking, strap sucking, you know, the kind of stuff you usually imagine when thinking about arlecchino. don't look at me like that. i know who you are. i speedran writing this in a single afternoon and it is not beta read so there are probably many many mistakes. have fun!

arlecchino does not get christmas. she finds it frivolous and materialistic and most of all, she finds it to be a waste of time. suffice to say that the house of the hearth does not celebrate this holiday. or at least it used not to.

when she wakes up early that morning, she is immediately struck speechless when she finds you up and about. that much is a feat on its own, as you are not one to get up early unless strictly necessary. and yet here you are, awake earlier than arlecchino herself, and the living room is… green, red and golden. your back is turned to her when she enters, and although your hands are preoccupied with hanging up a wreath above the fireplace, you notice her presence anyway.

this does not come as a surprise to arlecchino. you wouldn’t run the orphanage with her if you weren’t good at your job.

“good morning,” you greet her, then you finally face her.

“what’s all… this?” arlecchino asks as she motions around her in general.

“why, it’s christmas, of course.” you smile like you’re saying the most obvious thing in the world.

arlecchino furrows her brows, looking around herself once more. “it’s gaudy.”

you laugh. she looks like a grumpy cat finding out that the furniture has been rearranged. “yes. yes, it is gaudy. but i think the kids will like it. some of them never got to experience christmas before, a change of pace should do them good.”

the harbinger sighs and relents. “i suppose you are right. it shouldn’t hurt to spoil them every now and then.” she can’t not relent when there’s that spark in your eye anyway. in this way, you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.

“come on,” you say, making your way towards the kitchen. “we still have some time before the kids wake up. coffee?”

arlecchino follows. “of course.”

she doesn’t need to say how she wants it made. you know that she likes it black, no sugar, no milk or cream. in this way, the two of you are once again opposites. arlecchino often cringes at the amount of flavoring you like to put in your coffee, asking you if you even like coffee in the first place. the truth that you haven’t told her yet is that you just want to be involved in her daily routine.

you were right, of course. the children begin to filter in, and everyone’s spirits seem to lift when their eyes land on the decorated living room. the more extroverted children are visibly excited, wasting no time in running back to the dorms to grab their friends, and even the gloomy ones perk up somewhat. arlecchino’s eyes, however, remain pinned to your beaming face. you’re clearly proud of your work.

if you’re the sun, the arlecchino is the darkness. and much like the color black, she wants - no, needs to soak in as much of your light as possible.

arlecchino catches your attention by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. finally, your eyes are on her. if things went according to her, they would never leave her. the knave is lucky that the kids are too busy to notice this moment of tenderness.

days pass, and arlecchino finds herself growing accustomed to the holiday atmosphere around her. in the end, she is glad that she allowed you to do this.

she sits by the hearth, gazing into the fire as she usually does when she’s free, a warm cup in her hand. the scent of high quality chenyu vale tea wafts into the air, creating a relaxing atmosphere calm enough to lull one to sleep.

your footsteps draw near, and arlecchino knows that she can only hear them because you allow her to. she puts down her cup and folds her hands in her lap.

“come to keep me company?” she asks, feeling the backrest of her chair dip under your weight as you lean on it.

“maybe. or maybe i’ve come to ask you out on a date,” you reply.

arlecchino lifts both of her eyebrows and finally turns her head to look at you. “a date?”

“indeed. we haven’t gone in a while, right?”

arlecchino hums. she takes your hand in hers and brings it to her lips. “do you have something in mind?”

you smile at her display of affection. “there’s a christmas market in the court of fontaine. what do you say we go check it out tonight?”

she takes a moment to consider it. markets really aren’t her thing, and she really doesn’t understand the excitement about christmas. but it would make you happy. if she gets to see your smile, she will go.

“very well. let’s have a date, dear.” your grin is all she needs to know she made the right choice. “as for those three…”

“i will handle it.” you pull away and cross your arms, facing a nearby door. “you can come out now.”

there is a moment of silence before lyney, lynette and freminet emerge from the door, each looking more bashful than the other.

“i’m disappointed,” you scold. “surely i taught you to sneak better than this. did you even try to be quiet?”

the trio shift on their feet, throwing glances at each other to urge someone to speak already. you shake your head. “two weeks of dishwashing duties for each of you. now go along. i’m sure you have chores to do.”

lynette and freminet both deadpan at lyney, who laughs nervously. this is enough to clue you in on whose idea it was to spy on you. the children leave, and you sigh. “sometimes i feel like i have no clue what’s going on through their heads.”

arlecchino does. you’ve always had a way of pulling all eyes towards you. it makes it all the more impressive how good you are at being stealthy. she rests her hands on the armrests of the chair and pushes herself up.

“now then, let’s waste no more time and start getting ready, yes?”

you look at her, confused. “we still have ti-”

the words are swiped from your tongue when arlecchino leans in to capture your chin between her thumb and index finger. “don’t you want to pretty yourself up for me?”

your face burns up with the heat of a thousand suns. “i… yes… of course…”

the harbinger graces you with a small smile that’s enough to make you feel weak in the knees. she then lets go of you and retreats into the bedroom, leaving you reeling in the middle of the living room.

you’re pretty sure your brain just melted. when you come to, it’s been a full minute, and you quickly scamper to the bathroom to start putting on your makeup. yes, you’ll pretty yourself up for her. better yet, you will make her want you like she’s never wanted you before. tonight will end with her strap rearranging your guts, you’ll make sure of it.

when the two of you meet outside, you both stare at each other without saying anything. she’s hot. insanely hot. hotter than usual, even despite the fact that she is wearing more clothes than usual. arlecchino’s hair is let loose for once, a sight usually reserved for the bedroom. she knows you like it loose. seems that the two of you have the same plans for tonight.

you grin and take her up on her silent offer to lock your arms together.

“you look dashing,” she says. compliments are rare - you know you’ve struck gold.

“so do you. i’ll have to watch out for suitors.”

“no need.” her eyes are cold as she sweeps them over your surroundings. “i only have you in my sights.”

satisfied and arm in arm, you head out to find the christmas market. it only takes a few minutes for you to arrive at the main plaza, which is teeming with people. you know you don’t have to worry, though. as soon as you enter the crowd, there forms a circle of space around you two. this is simply the effect of dating peruere, who is so intimidating that people naturally avoid her whether intentionally or unintentionally. not you, though. you find that attractive.

you arrive at the first mulled wine stand and get a cup for each of you (but not without complaining about the ridiculous price.) arlecchino watches as you hold it with both of your hands and blow at the rising steam to cool the drink down a little. your cheeks and nose are red from the cold and your eyes are cast downward to show off the full length of your eyelashes.

having a better tolerance for heat, she sips at her own wine without taking her eyes off of you. you blink when you notice.

“like what you see?” you grin, exposing the teeth beneath your red-tinted lips.

arlecchino hums. “i do. very much.” she notices a speck of mascara on your cheekbone. immediately without thinking her hand darts out to wipe it away, black finger brushing against your skin.

“you’re spoiling me tonight, i see,” you joke. it’s all you can do not to give away your racing heart.

“for now,” she replies. “don’t get too used to it.” and with a wink she turns to lead you to another stand. you feel warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach and you’re unsure whether it’s the alcohol or the anticipation of what’s to come.

it is a nice date. you walk between the stalls, looking at the various products on sale. at some point you buy matching rings for you two, and you get chocolate croissants and some more wine, her treat of course.

by the end of the evening there is a pleasant buzz permeating your body and you’ve got a dumb grin on your face. arlecchino also seems more relaxed, despite all the eyes on her. she leans in close to your ear.

“shall we get to the next program?” she asks. you have to hold down a whimper.

your shoulder presses closer to hers, both hands wrapped around her arm. “i would love nothing more.”

“wonderful. let us depart.”

you are shoved down onto the bed, your naked body bouncing with the force of the push. arlecchino watches you like a hawk about to snoop down to catch her prey. she finds pleasure in seeing your messed up makeup, the lipstick smeared from vigorous kissing, and she licks her lips to taste your spit. stripping down to her underwear, she finally climbs on top of you, presenting you with a full view of her clothed cunt. she’s wearing the panties you gifted her a few months ago; black with a small red ribbon in the front. you’re salivating.

“what are you waiting for?” her voice comes from above, and in the darkness of the room all you can make out from her face are the glowing red crosses in her eyes. you swallow. “take them off.”

your thumbs immediately find their way under the hem of her underwear but she slaps them away.

“with your teeth.”

you let out a shaky breath. “yessir,” you reply as you push yourself up on your elbows. your face inches closer to her sex and you pinch the fabric between your incisors, careful not to bite arlecchino. your nose buries itself in her lower abdomen, upper lip dragging across her skin as you pull the panties lower. you manage to pull them down to the middle of her thighs before letting go. a strand of spit connects you to the fabric before breaking once you’re far enough.

the harbinger lets out a pleased hum. “good girl,” she purrs, and her clawed hand cups your cheek. her thumb pushes down onto your lower lip before breaching the entrance of your mouth. she explores your tongue and teeth and you let her like an obedient puppy begging for a treat.

arlecchino releases you from her grasp and you whimper. she reaches behind you, grabbing something from her drawing, and when she comes back into your field of vision, she’s holding a strap harness.

“would you put this on for me, darling?” she asks. you nod. of course you nod. anything for her, anything she asks. you take the harness and put it on her, making it tight enough to stay in place but not so tight for it to dig into her skin uncomfortably. more praises spill from her lips and you have to rub your legs together in search of some kind of friction.

arlecchino fastens a strap-on to the harness. you peek up at her through your lashes, salivating at the sight of her towering you. she seems to notice your reaction as her eyes narrow into a crescent shape. she grips the toy with her hand, bringing it up to your lips.

“why don’t you suck it first, hm?”

you part your lips, breathing onto the fake cock in front of you. “yessir…” she doesn’t move. you have to do all the work, and you do it gladly, leaning in, resting the dildo on your tongue. it tastes funny. you pay it no mind. it’s time to put on a show for her.

you swirl your tongue around its tip before dipping lower to its base, coating the dildo with your saliva. her eyes remain on you, a scalding hot gaze that penetrates your very soul. it makes you shudder.

a couple more licks, and you feel that the dildo is sufficiently covered. you pull back to the tip to give it a tender kiss, maintaining eye contact with arlecchino, before closing your eyes and completely wrapping your lips around her cock. your head dips and you take more of its length in your mouth. you move without stopping, until the dildo hits the back of your throat, making you gag. breathing in deep, you swallow around the shaft in an attempt to get used to it, and as you do so, you feel arlecchino tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you’re taking it so good,” she coos, almost out of breath. “go on. you can take all of it.”

of course you can. if it’s her, you can do anything. so you flatten your tongue around the base of it and you push deeper, feeling it enter your throat. tears well up in your eyes, spit runs down your chin, but you press on - and at last, you can feel your nose hit the leather harness. you feel full, accomplished.

arlecchino shifts her hips and you gag again. “good girl,” she praises, and if you had a tail, it would be wagging right about now. “i suppose i should reward you for being so obedient.” she reaches behind herself, and as soon as you feel her fingers push past the folds of your pussy, you groan around the girth of the dildo. her middle finger teases your clit and your hips flinch. you want it, you need it so bad. unfortunately for you, you cannot beg with your mouth full of cock.

arlecchino pulls back her hips and you gasp for air, then cough as you choke on your own saliva. she brings her hand forward again, glistening with your arousal.

“so wet,” she drawls. “i didn’t even have to touch you.”

“please,” you seize this opportunity to beg, “please fuck me. please.”

arlecchino’s eyes find yours, and they’re freezing cold. “all in due time, my dear. or are you questioning my leadership?”

you shake your head. “i wouldn’t dare.”

“that’s what i thought.” you think you’re about to pass out with arousal. “open up.”

obedient as always, you do as you’re told, and her strap is back in your mouth before you can register anything. she begins to move her hips, and you suck to the best of your abilities. this proves difficult when her hand finds your cunt once again, middle and ring fingers rubbing your clit in a circular motion.

your eyes roll back into your head at the feeling and you arch your back. the moment you lose focus however, arlecchino draws her hand back and slaps your pussy, forcing a muffled squeak out of you. you get right back to work, glancing up at her pleadingly. she decides to indulge you, going back to your pussy, this time pushing her fingers inside while her thumb stimulates your clit.

your thighs shake, but you do your best to focus on showering her strap with love. arlecchino sighs at the sight. she withdraws her fingers to touch herself under the harness. and you feel yourself drip even more. arlecchino then grabs a fistful of your hair with the hand coated in a combination of your slick and hers, and her thrusts grow more forceful. your own hands find purchase on her thighs, now gone taut as her muscles flex.

she fucks your throat mercilessly through your garbled sounds of pleasure and gagging, and your eyes roll back as your vision grows blurry with the lack of oxygen in your lungs. your face burns and turns red. and just as you think that you’re about to pass out, arlecchino pulls out to let you breathe. you gasp, and the moment your lungs fill with air, your cunt spasms and you release, painting the bed sheets with your arousal.

the woman above watches you intently, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths. neither of you realize it, but her own arousal drips from between her folds, falling in drops onto your bare stomach.

once more, she praises you. “good girl,” she says, and you believe her. you’ve been a very good girl.

arlecchino lets go of your hair and gets off you, leaving you to ride out your high and calm down. once your small moans cease, she settles between your legs, lifting your hips and hooking your knees over her shoulders. it seems that while you were reeling, arlecchino procured a flask of lube, which she is now pouring over the dildo.

she then strokes the dildo with her bare hand, a casually vulgar display that leaves you biting your lip. her fingers delve inside your pussy and make a scissoring motion to test how stretched you are, and she hums, pleased with the result. at last, she lines up the tip of her cock with your entrance, and with a plunge, its girth enters your body.

you moan, fingers digging into the bed sheets as you’re stretched and filled. your heels dig into arlecchino’s back, toes curling while you struggle to breathe.

arlecchino’s hawk-like eyes remain on the connecting point between your bodies and one of her hands lets go of your thigh to rub at your swollen clit, which pulls a whine out of you.

“puh-please, have some mercy-” you interrupt yourself with a groan as arlecchino thrusts her hips, rocking your body. you feel like you’re going to snap in two.

“don’t lie to yourself,” she scolds, “you love it when i’m rough.” she thrusts again, hitting a spot deep inside that rips a sob out of you.

you cry, “you’re right! fuck- fuck me! peruere!”

arlecchino’s eyes widen at the mention of her name, crimson crosses seemingly glowing brighter. “as you wish, dear.”

she sets a merciless pace. the dildo penetrates you time and time again, and each time the sounds of your sex grow wetter, dirtier. you’re practically gushing over her dick while she rearranges your guts, fucking you into the mattress like her life depends on it.

her thrusts turn you into a whimpering and mewling mess, and arlecchino groans with you as you begin to unravel.

“so beautiful,” she says, voice gravelly, “you’re so beautiful for me. are you gonna cum again, dear?”

you have half a brain cell to nod. your mascara runs down your face and your lipstick is smeared all over your mouth. in spite of this, she calls you beautiful, and you truly believe her, for anything arlecchino says is the truth.

you feel pressure on your clit again, as peruere massages the bundle of nerves. you sob, then throw your head back, and your vision goes white. everything inside you grows taut, until the dam breaks with the snap of a finger and you come undone, legs stretching as you squirt all over arlecchino’s belly.

her movements finally still, except for her finger on your clit, which only slows down. you hiss when it becomes painful and arlecchino stops entirely. she pulls out and leans in to kiss you, humming into your mouth when you reciprocate.

“wonderful,” she mumbles. “you’re simply wonderful.”

your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, leaving you unable to reply. you don’t need to. arlecchino draws back and you hear the clinking of the harness’ strap, followed by a soft thud.

as you stare at the ceiling, the harbinger comes into view once more. “i hope you don’t think we’re done for tonight,” she says.

you chuckle.

“without repaying the deed? never.”

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXIX)

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Alright, things can’t be perfect all the time, let’s spice things up a little bit…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4508

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here

After it ended badly it got so much better which took a while of course but still he grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was I’m trying to tell you I know you have staggered wept spiraled through a long room banging you head against it holding crushed bird skulls in your hands your many hearts unstrung unable to play a note their wood still beautiful and carved so elaborately maybe a collector would want them stupid collectors always preserving and never breaking open the jars so everyone starves while admiring the view you don’t own anyone everything will be taken from you go ahead and eat this poem it will help

Kim Addonizio

“You should bring Y/N over next Sunday.”

Raine’s invitation wasn’t the first one of this kind, and Andrew smiled as she offered to welcome you to Saturday’s family dinner. Still, he didn’t want to push you, you had been together for merely a couple of months, he didn’t want to rush you.

“Soon, I promise, mom.”

“You know we like her already… but your dad and I want to know her better.”

“I know, mom.”

“Then bring her next week.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door of your shared office opened, and you walked in, smiling as you saw him. God, you were so beautiful today…

“I have to go, mom. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Sure, honey. Have a nice day.”

“You too, mom. Bye. Love you.”

“Love you, Andy.”

He ended the call and turned to you as you walked around your desk, putting down your bag.

“How was your meeting, babe?” Andrew asked, walking over to you, bending to avoid the lamp hanging from the ceiling and burying his hands in his pockets.

“It was… interesting.”

“That bad, huh?”

“We’ll see. For now, some professors are reluctant at the thought of organising a full set of conferences around women and the female gaze. They fear there ‘won’t be enough speakers’.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah… it’s okay, I can still convince them.”

“I’m sure you will. You can do it, babe.”

“Thanks, honey.”

You smiled up at him when he moved even closer, so close you had to lean against your desk.

“Did you want something else, professor?”

God, his heart was beating so fast… it was so fucking hot when you called him that…

He had to remind himself that you were working, that he couldn’t simply devour you…

“Professor…”

“Stop it… we can’t.”

“Hmmm… I know.”

“Then why are you teasing, professor?”

Your lips parted for a second, and he smirked at the tortured look on your face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, until he rested his hands on your desk, right next to where your lower back was pressed against the furniture, enclosing you between his arms.

“I like it when you blush,” you confessed, making him laugh.

“That’s still pretty cruel…”

You let out a sigh when he connected his lips to your neck, when he bit and kissed your pulse, his hold on your desk tightening so he would keep his composure. Your fingers got lost in his hair.

“Was that your mother on the phone?” you asked, breathless.

He merely hummed in response.

“How is she?”

“Fine…”

Gently, you pulled him away from your skin.

“We can’t, not here…”

Andrew nodded, trying to hide how hard it was to pull away.

“How are your parents,” you asked while he took a step back, remaining close to you, but none of you touching the other anymore.

“They’re fine. Just… the usual. My mom is working on a new painting.”

“Amazing!”

He thought about asking you, then. But it was too soon… it was too soon…

Were you really over Frank? Would you really stay? He couldn’t get his parents involved if you simply chose to disappear…

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

He shook himself, put his hands into his pockets again.

“I should go back to work,” he reasoned. “I need to go to the library this afternoon, will probably work from there for a few hours.”

“Yeah, I should go back to work too… I have so much to do.”

“You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

“Of course!” you answered with an excited grin.

“I might not come back to the office before heading home…”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight at seven, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You rose to your tiptoes to peck his lips, before turning to your computer, and Andrew walked back to his desk to gather his things.

He kept on wondering if bringing you to his parents was a good idea or not…

Andrew was an overthinker, which meant that he had a special talent for ruining his own life.

His day had taken a bad turn after that shared moment in your office. He was frustrated with the article he was working on, and the conversation with his mother kept on being played on repeat in his head.

And he simply… doubted himself.

There were days when his brain got too busy, too loud, and darker thoughts and doubts were enhanced in those times. And now that he was torturing himself on whether or not he was going too fast, his own insecurities were coming back. Was he really good enough for you? So far, he hadn’t had to change to make you love him, wasn’t that strange? He was used to tune down some of his interests, to be quieter than he wanted to be, so Sam would love him.

Wasn’t it strange that you were still talking for hours? That you were still interested in him? That you… didn’t ask for him to change?

And what if you longed for Frank still?

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the knocking on his front door. Only when Elwood sprinted across the room and barked at the wooden surface did he realise that it was already 7 pm, that you were waiting on his doorstep.

He heaved a sigh, forced himself to hide his pain, before walking across his flat to welcome you in.

You greeted him with a grin, and a pizza box.

“Brought dinner!” were your first words, and he couldn’t refrain a smile as he took the box you were handing him.

“Thanks, baby.”

You went to your tiptoes to kiss him, and while he pecked your lips he wondered if it would be too much if he yielded to his impulse and hugged you now.

Yeah… probably… he would be too much…

“How was your afternoon?” you asked, taking off your shoes and jacket, before giving Elwood some scratches.

“Erm… yeah… it was fine.”

You looked at him, something expectant on your face, but he didn’t want to bother you with some unimportant problems. Sam was never interested in those anyway…

“Are you hungry, then?” he asked, already walking to his kitchen.

“Erm… sure! Yeah! Starving actually!”

“How was your afternoon?”

“Nothing very important happened… but I’ve found some interesting articles…”

He let you babble away for a while, nodding while he set the table.

You started eating, but then you grew quiet, and he wasn’t sure why. You had been excited, and then you simply… stopped talking.

Was he being annoying? Was that something he needed to change?

At the back of his head, his mother’s voice was still asking to invite you, and he was still debating on whether it was a good idea or not, and what about Frank? Did you still think about him? Did you still want him? Did you…

“Andy?”

He looked up at you, surprised that you were using his name. You hadn’t in a few weeks. The pet names were all you used when you were alone by now.

“Hmm?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No… why?”

“I don’t know, you’re… you’re very quiet tonight.”

He couldn’t tell you that he was asking himself a thousand questions, that he was doubting himself, that he wanted to hold you close, because he would be too much then, and anyway he couldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never good at it and…

“Did something happen this afternoon? Are you okay?” you insisted, and he looked away, rubbing at his collarbone now.

“No, no… I’m okay.”

You remained quiet for a while.

“You can tell me anything, you know? I’m your girlfriend, I’m here for you,” you offered in a gentle, soothing voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“You… you were talking about your seminar… what about that speaker you wanted to contact, then?”

“Erm… I’ll contact her tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He waited for you to speak some more, but you didn’t, and the silence that settled was awkward, at best.

This was so unusual for you. It was supposed to be easy to be with you, what was happening,? What was he doing wrong?

Would you leave? Would you regret Frank all over again?

“Andy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, tell me what’s wrong. Why aren’t you talking to me? Is there something bothering you? Have I done something?”

“No, no… nothing, I’m just… tired.”

You stared at him, but there was nothing else he could say without talking about his feelings, and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to bother you, to be too much, and anyway, he didn’t like talking about his feelings, so what was the point in burdening you with those…

“Oh, okay… do you want to go to bed early?”

“Erm… sure, yeah…”

“Okay… I’ll clean up with you, and then leave you to it, then.”

He blinked up at you as you got up and picked up your plate.

You were leaving? You were supposed to stay the night…

“You… you can stay, if you’d like.”

“It’s okay, I understand that you’re tired. We can have dinner again tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

You gave him a bright grin. Were you happy to leave?

He started fidgeting, hurried to clean up the table. He noticed the way you seemed disappointed when you moved to his hallway though.

He was doing everything wrong, somehow, what was he doing wrong?

You wanted Frank again, of course, because he would know how to hold you back, and Andrew didn’t, and…

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“I get that you’re not in the mood to talk, but… I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, babe.”

“Please… you’ve barely said a word tonight. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just… wanted to listen to you.”

You frowned at that.

“You… you didn’t say anything.”

“I had nothing to say.”

“Now, that’s not true. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.”

“Andy…”

“I said I’m fine!”

Your eyes grew a little round at his harsh tone, and he regretted snapping as soon as the words passed his lips, but it was too late to take the words back now.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked, hurt evident on your features.

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright… well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

He watched as you grabbed your jacket, couldn’t refrain the words from passing his lips.

“Why are you leaving?”

You turned to him with a puzzled frown.

“You said you were tired, and you don’t want to talk to me… I thought you didn’t want me to stay.”

“I… I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“Then… talk to me.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh, ran a hand through his hair.

“I… there’s no need, I’m fine.”

“That was almost convincing, I’ll give you another try.”

“It’s not funny.”

You put on your jacket, and he was so frustrated right now, by his own thoughts, by you leaving, by his stupid feelings making him vulnerable and overreacting and…

“Are you angry?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“No… disappointed, rather.”

You were disappointed in him… of course, you were. You thought he was worth the trouble, but he wasn’t, and you were realising it, and Frank was better even though he was a fucking jerk and…

His hurt came out of his mouth as acidic words.

“Right, leave then.”

You froze, flashed him a glare.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He rubbed at his neck, until it was painful, but he didn’t care.

“Nothing’s wrong…”

“Of course, something’s wrong! I’m not blind! I’m not an idiot!”

“Why are you leaving? You said you’d stay tonight…”

“That was before you acted like you didn’t want me here.”

“I didn’t…”

“Of course you did!”

You started to put on your shoes.

You were leaving… you were leaving…

“Alright then, leave!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

You were leaving because you didn’t want him, because he wasn’t enough, because he hadn’t changed for you, because Frank was better, Frank…

“Well, then… go back to Frank!”

The look of horror on your face sobered him up, made all traces of frustration or annoyance vanish. Instead, he was just afraid.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your lower lip trembled, he saw tears glimmering in your eyes.

What had he done? What was he doing?

“Take that back. Andy, take that back…”

He remained silent, staring at you and rubbing at his shoulder and collarbone.

He was fucking up everything…

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight, but I hope you’ll tell me once you’re calmer again,” you said in a cold voice, and he hated that tone.

And then you turned around, your hand on the doorknob.

You were leaving, you were leaving… because he couldn’t open his fucking mouth and be honest…

“Don’t… please, don’t leave.”

His voice was fragile now, and he hated it, he hated the weakness that transpired through it. You stopped your movements, turned to him, but your fingers remained on the doorknob.

“I just… I want you to stay,” he pleaded, but you raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

You crossed your arms before your chest. You were angry, but at least you weren’t about to open the door anymore…

“Really? Cause you don’t look like you want me around tonight.”

“I do. Please…”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“I just… I’m sorry… my head’s all over the place… I do want you to stay though. I really do.”

You heaved a sigh, took off your jacket again.

“Talk to me, then, okay? If you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, then… tell me about your day. Or anything… I just… I want to understand what’s in your head right now. And please, stop this, your skin is all red.”

He was surprised when you reached for his hand, stopped his nervous gesture, and rubbed soothing circles in the back of his hand.

“Why did you talk about Frank?”

Andrew looked down at his feet. You were still wearing your shoes.

“That…that was really hurtful.”

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Why would you say that? Did you mean that? Do you… do you want to get back with Sam?”

“What?! Of course not!”

“Why would you say something like that, then?!”

“Because I… I don’t…”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Slowly, you nodded. He could see you were hurting though…

He was hurting you. He was hurting you… his silence was hurting you…

God, it was so painful to admit it all this out loud.

“I’m afraid.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your expression softening.

“I’m afraid… about this. About you… leaving, and… I’m afraid you’re going to regret Frank. I’m afraid you’d choose him over me. And I’m… I’m afraid to go too fast, and to make you freak out. And I’m afraid because… I’m not changing for you, and that means I’m not giving you what you want, and…”

“Wait… what?”

“Sam… I was quiet with her, and I knew what parts of me she didn’t like, and so I tuned them down, but you’re… tonight you said you didn’t want me quiet, the way she wanted me, so… so what should I do? What should I do, so you can love me?”

He blinked tears away, and he hated it, he hated being so vulnerable before you, you could destroy him entirely with how much of his heart you owned and…

You reached up to gently stroke his cheek, and he was taken aback by your tender gesture.

“Andy… I don’t want you to change anything for me. I love you. Just as you are. I don’t want you to be quiet, I don’t want you to tune down any part of you. I just… want to be with you. That’s all. And I don’t regret Frank, not at all. I’m very happy with you.”

He blinked, trying to process your words.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. And I… I would choose you over him. If I had to make that choice, I would choose you. I love you, not him. Not anymore.”

He brushed the tear that had begun rolling down his cheek, nodded.

He wasn’t sure he believed everything you were saying, and yet he knew you were earnest, that you weren’t lying.

“I’m sorry for tonight, I just… got really into my head, and just… I really doubted… everything, and… I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave, Y/N. I don’t want you to leave.”

“What do you want then? Earnestly. What do you want?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Why would it be? I’m your girlfriend, you can tell me anything.”

He forced the words out of his mouth, despite how vulnerable it made him feel.

“I… I really want you to hold me, right now.”

He let out a wry laugh.

“Christ, that’s pathetic…”

But before he could add another word, you were holding him in a tight embrace. All he could do was to hold you just as tightly.

“What about we go to bed, and cuddle?” you offered.

“Yeah… please…”

“Alright, I’ll get changed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You took off your shoes, picked up the pyjamas you had left in his drawer a couple of weeks ago, and disappeared in the bathroom. Then, Andrew got changed as well, and when he walked inside his bedroom again, you were already in his bed, waiting for him.

“Come here,” you invited him, opening your arms for him.

Slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it, Andrew walked around the bed, lied down and nestled into your embrace, burying his face into your neck. For the first time that day, he let his body fully relax.

“You’re okay?” you asked, and he hummed in response.

“Yeah… much better. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it again tomorrow. Let’s just rest now.”

You turned off the lamp on your bedside table, and in your arms, Andrew was out like a light.

Andrew woke up to the smell of coffee.

You had closed the door of his bedroom when you got up, to let him rest a little longer. As classes were over for this year, you could allow yourselves to arrive later at work. As long as the job was done, no one cared when you arrived or left.

He checked the time, it was almost 8 am.

He forced his body to move, to get up, groaned as he stretched the sleeping muscles of his long back. He almost hit his head in the doorframe, forgetting for a second that he needed to bend to avoid it.

You were there alright, in your pyjamas, putting butter on toasts and talking to Elwood. Andrew’s heart melted at the sight.

You fitted so well in his life, in his home… this was obvious, you and him. Everything about it was obviously right, so why was he sabotaging himself?

You turned to him as you heard him enter the room, welcomed him with a smile. But it wasn’t as bright as your usual ones, and a lump crept up Andrew’s throat.

“Morning, babe,” you greeted him, voice soft.

“Morning, love.”

He wanted to reach out, to hold you close, to kiss you and apologise, but he was too afraid of messing up everything again…

“Slept well?” he asked instead. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I slept well.”

You poured him a coffee, stared at him as if gauging his reaction.

He heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he let out in a whisper.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It… it really is not. I’m sorry.”

“I just… I don’t really understand what happened.”

He started fidgeting, but he spoke anyway.

“I… like… I was stressed, and tired, and got stuck into my own head and… I think… I got really insecure.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not… I’m not very good at talking about how I feel in those moments. I just… get stuck in my own ugly thoughts, and I fuck up everything.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I see… is that okay if we talk about last night some more?”

“Sure… yeah…”

“Andy… Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t react well. Maybe I could have handled that situation better…”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine,” Andrew shook his head. “I told you, I got stuck in my head, and was a mess…”

“Maybe I’ve triggered this…”

“You didn’t. Really, Y/N… none of this is your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Last night… you said some things… we need to talk about them.”

“Do we?”

He averted his eyes, spinning his toast in his hand, without taking a bite.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said in a weaker voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault.”

He knew you were right. You needed to talk about last night. He needed to clear the air, make up for the stupid things he said.

The stupidest of all was easy to remember.

“I’m sorry I mentioned Frank. It was cruel, and uncalled for.”

“Why did you say that?”

He shrugged.

“I just… I don’t know.”

“It hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Like… I’m scared, Y/N. I’m really scared you’re going to wake up soon and regret giving me a chance, and regret not fighting for him more and…”

“I’ll never regret you, Andy.”

He looked up at you again, let his heart bloom with hope.

“I… I don’t have everything figured out either when it comes to us,” you admitted. “Sometimes, I worry too… that you’re going to leave, that you’d rather be with Sam. But I need to believe that you’d choose me over her. And you have to believe me when I tell you that I would not hesitate for a second. I would choose you, Andy. Even if Frank came begging to get me back, I would not hesitate, and I would choose you. I don’t love him anymore, I love you.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Do you believe me?”

He couldn’t lie to you, he simply couldn’t. He knew you were being vulnerable now, and he couldn’t answer with a lie, even if it meant to make things harder for you.

“I know you’re telling the truth,” he nodded. “But I… my brain just… like… I’m really struggling believing that’s the case.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do. Of course, I do. But I’m… I’m not used to having someone who loves me the way you do. And with how Sam left, I… I thought she was a safe place, and it turned out she wasn’t. It’s hard to come back from that.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I understand.”

“It’s not that I believe you’re lying, or that you could hurt me on purpose. It’s more that… I feel like you’re going to wake up one day, and realise you’ve made the wrong choice, and you’re just going to leave…”

“The way Sam did.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m not her, Andy.”

“I know. And I’m not Frank. Could you love me the way you loved him?”

He was surprised when you smiled, and even more so when you got up and walked over to him. He pushed back his chair so you could stand between his parted legs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I don’t want things to be the way they were with Frank,” you answered, staring intensely into his eyes, and he lost himself in the shades of your gaze. “I want better than him. You are better than him. I want to love you better than Sam loved you, too. I want this to be better, Andy. I’m not going to love you the way I loved Frank. I’m going to be happier with you.”

His heart grew warm at your words, at the sincerity in your voice and eyes as you spoke them. He blinked tears away…

God, he was such a sap, these days… crying over everything…

“All I want is for you to be happy, Y/N,” he whispered.

“And I want you to be happy, too.”

“I’m happy with you.”

You held him close, he nuzzled his face into your chest, his forehead resting against your chin.

“I’m happy with you,” you confessed. “And Andy… last night… I meant what I said. I don’t want you to change. I want you. Okay? I want you to be yourself when you’re with me. I want to talk with you. I want to hear everything you have to say. And I… I don’t want you to be afraid when you’re with me. I love you. I want to be here, with you. I’m certain about this. This… us… it feels so right…”

He took a moment to let your words sink in. And perhaps he could learn to believe them. That you could love him fully, like that. Yeah… yeah, he could believe that, with a little bit of time…

“Loving you is… I feel like myself when you’re with me,” he admitted in a fragile whisper. “And it’s… it makes me happy. But I’m not quite used to that. I’m sorry, if it takes me some time to adjust.”

“I understand. You can take all the time you need. Just… just promise me you won’t use Frank and Sam against me ever again…”

“I won’t. I promise you, I won’t.”

“Okay… I promise I won’t either.”

“Thank you.”

You heaved a relieved sigh.

“We should get ready for work.”

“This is nice, though… give us five more minutes.”

You chuckled, making him smile.

And he thought back about his mother’s words, and he forced himself not to be so scared anymore.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, kissing his hair, holding him close to you.

“Would you like to come to my parents’ for dinner this weekend?”

He was surprised when you started laughing.

“So… we’re resolving our first real fight… and you directly jump to bringing me to your parents’?”

He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Yeah… that’s a way to change the subject, I guess,” he joked, making you laugh again. “My mom asked for you to come, though.”

“Really?”

“Hmmm…”

“And you want me to come?”

“Yeah… but I’m worried I’m going too fast. I don’t mean to freak you out.”

“Who will be there?”

“My parents and my brother.”

“I’ve never met your brother.”

“No… but you’ve met my parents.”

“Yeah… and you have to warn your father, by the way… I will ask for our bet to be honoured. He lost. I was right about the rugby match we placed bets on. He owes me a beer.”

Andrew laughed.

“Alright… I’ll warn him. Do you want to come, then?”

“Of course, I want to come.”

“Is it not too soon?”

“No… it’s okay… I want to see them. And I want my free beer.”

You were laughing at your own joke, but he quickly shushed you with his lips.

Yes… perhaps, one day, he could believe that you loved him as much as he loved you…

[onyxmustdie]

HEY

HEY

HEY

HEY

[thebirdandhersong]

Excellent news turns out there was a miscommunication and Mr. Knight isn't still interested--learned instead that what actually is the case is that he DOES know and understand why the relationship ended. He is committed to avoiding me at all costs now so that he can move on, which is fair enough. I didn't think we could be friends after this. Bad news I have to think with nuance and admit to myself that I was not entirely blameless either and that I do need to be careful not to conclude in bouts of anger or sadness that I was an innocent victim who suffered and endured the slings and arrows of outrageous treatment like a saint and now to deal with residual negative feelings with more wisdom and care than previous fanning of flames

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[suskz]

Saw jockchan x nerd reader. I was wondering if you could write something about swim captain Chan x quiet female reader ?

pairing: SwimCaptain!Chan x Quiet!fem!Reader

t/w: smut ; semi-public sex ; secret relationship ; oral (f!rec) ; jealousy ; exhibitionism kink (but no exhibitionism) ; unprotected sex (be smarter, don’t do that).

w/c: around 1,8k

a/n: It’s 1:45 a.m. here, I’m going to sleep now. Hope you like it! ♡

18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

There are 25 minutes left until the end of the training session when you arrive.

"Come see me at training today, it will bring me luck for tomorrow’s championship." This was his sweet request this afternoon, and you naturally said yes; it's just a pity that you arrived an hour late.

Your quick steps to take a seat in the stands can’t be heard by the guys as they talk near the pool, but Chan notices you the moment you enter.

His head turns in your direction and he smiles at you, waving a hand at you. You do the same, returning the greeting.

Immediately, his eyes shift to Changbin and Jisung though, members of the team, who seem to be arguing, and he approaches them.

It doesn’t take you long to understand that they were arguing about who is the fastest swimmer of the two, as shortly after they are giving each other challenging looks as they get into position and enter the water when Chan gives them the signal.

You like seeing him in leader mode in moments like this. It’s extremely hot, but also really cute when he turns in your direction to look at you, shaking his head in exasperation, making you giggle.

But your attention shifts a little further away from you when you hear a girl speaking.

"Did you see him? Now you can’t say he isn’t gorgeous." One of the two girls says to the other.

“He’s freaking perfect, oh my God,” the other girl comments. “What did you say his name was?”

“Bang Chan; I’ll give you his Instagram.”

Your teeth clench at the last sentence. Are they talking about Chan? Your Chan?

The same Chan who kisses, fucks, and cuddles you every day?

You briefly consider letting them know. You should turn to them and tell them to their faces, but there’s something holding you back, keeping you still. And this thing prohibits you from letting them know how things really are, so you sit there in silence, enduring their annoying compliments about him for what feels like endless minutes.

Yes, his body and muscles are stunning. Yes, his voice is sensual and his laugh is sweet. Yes, he has an irresistible gaze. Do they really need to keep repeating that?

When the training ends and you think you’ve finally gotten rid of them, they’re in front of him before you can make a move.

You watch them from afar, standing and waiting, trying to appear as normal and indifferent as possible while they congratulate the captain for his hard work as a leader. Ah, and also for his hard work in the gym.

He chuckles with his dimples showing, first shaking his hands in front of himself in a gesture of denial, but ending up scratching the back of his neck as he thanks them cordially. The two girls look at each other and giggle.

But a few minutes later, it’s you who finds yourself in the locker room with him, his hands on your hips and his lips on yours, feverish and needy.

“Were you jealous?” He grins teasingly, but deep down he feels immense tenderness and perhaps a little embarrassment knowing that you love him so much that you can’t stand other girls complimenting him in that way.

You don’t respond, looking at his bare chest and hoping he’ll stop.

His smile grows, “I saw how you were looking at them, your eyes were burning flames.” He stifles a chuckle as you raise your head with a guilty expression.

“Was I that obvious?” You ask, your cheeks starting to blush, embarrassed by your exaggerated reaction.

“Yes, but I like it.” He leans in to kiss you again, but soon his hands slip under your shirt and you break the kiss.

“Chan, we can’t do this here.” you whisper against his lips. All the other guys from the team are just meters away, taking a shower. You risk being heard, and you don’t want that to happen.

“But I need you now.” he whispers on your neck, starting to leave warm, wet kisses.

You don’t respond, but you tilt your head to give him more space and don’t stop him, and he takes this action as agreement.

He licks and sucks on a patch of your skin, leaving a red mark that will be prominently displayed for days. He might get completely hard just at the thought of you walking around with the mark of his presence on your body, even if others don’t know whose it is.

He pulls away and admires it, then gives it one final kiss, making you hiss from the slight pain.

Needy, his hand grabs yours and pulls you into the bathroom. You don’t resist; you follow him, silent, and together you enter one of the showers, closing the curtain. The one in the corner, with an empty shower next to it.

And then, Chan turns on the water, wetting both of you, although not completely.

“Chan, you finally came in, why did it take you so long?” Changbin yells from a few showers away.

“I just had a moment with Y/n.” Chan responds casually, as if he weren’t currently lowering your shorts and underwear at the same time.

“Oh, she’s already gone?” This time it’s Jisung’s voice.

“Yeah, she went back to the dorm.”

There’s something, something that arouses both of you at the idea that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing while his friends are there, just meters away from you, unaware.

His fingers move skilfully between your folds, rubbing your clit with one finger quickly while two of his other fingers hold your pussy lips open as your hips move back and forth instinctively.

When his fingers enter your cunt, they do so easily from how wet you are and from all the times his cock has been inside you.

You take his face in your hands to bring your lips closer to his ear so you can talk to him, “We don’t have time, put it in already.” You whisper, and his cock twitches in the tight shorts he’s wearing, reminding him of how damn tight they feel.

He withdraws his fingers and turns you around, replacing them with his dick, entering you slowly to allow you to more easily suppress any sounds that could be heard by the others.

His hands hold the lower parts of your cheeks to spread them apart to get in deeper as he moves inside you. It’s not the best position, but you can’t bend over because you’d risk slipping.

Your moans are silent. Your heavy breaths are fortunately hard to hear with the shower water running and their voices humming.

Chan tries not to fuck you too hard to avoid the sound of your skins slapping together. Because you’re not alone, and no one must hear you. Even though, maybe, he actually wants someone to hear you. He wants someone to find out about the dirty things you’re doing without their knowledge, right there near them. Maybe he secretly wishes someone would open the shower curtain and see you in this situation.

And maybe you want it too.

But these thoughts don’t stop both of you from freezing at the sudden sound of Hyunjin’s voice. “Does anyone have shower gel?”

His movements pause only for a moment. He should feel embarrassed, mortified to hear his friend’s voice so close to you in such a situation, but instead, it sends a jolt of pleasure to his cock, and he immediately starts moving again.

You look at him with an expression now fearful, but this arouses you as much as it does him.

Jeongin’s voice is quick to respond, “I do, here it is.”

“Thanks Jeonginnie, love you.” Hyunjin thanks him in his sweet voice.

Chan pulls out of you, but before you have time to say anything, he turns you around, grabs your thighs from behind, and lifts you, pushing you against the wall. His arms slide under your knees and spread you open, re-entering you.

“That’s better.” he whispers against your lips, and you nod in agreement with quick breaths.

The pleasure intensifies for both of you. A soft moan escapes his lips, not being able to hold it back, causing him to bite his lower lip and hide his face on your shoulder, his ears turning redder as he failed to contain his pleasure.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling strands, causing his hips to buck up in a harder thrust, making your head slide back against the shower tiles.

It’s at this moment that the others start coming out of the showers, and soon they are out of the locker room after greeting Chan and telling him to hurry up.

When everyone is out, you both look at each other, then chuckle.

“I couldn’t hold back anymore.” you admit.

“Me neither.” he says.

“I noticed.” you tease, and he looks at you with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows in an offended look.

You clench around him on purpose, eliciting a needy moan from his lips. In response, he thrusts into you, and this time it’s you who whines.

“You’re as needy as I am.” he grins, resuming his movements. This time you’re a bit freer to let out your voice, but you need to hurry. His thrusts are faster now, reaching deeper spots inside you, being able to fuck you harder, eliciting a series of staccato moans from you.

“Touch yourself.” he orders and you immediately obey, without needing to be told twice.

His movements become more erratic. He’s close, and you can tell by the way his cock twitches inside you and releases small droplets of pre-cum.

His moans grow deeper, and he closes his eyes, trying to hold back from coming with all the self-control he has to make you reach your climax too, with him. But it’s difficult for him, and soon he has you back on your feet, giving a few final thrusts before pulling out of you and stroking his cock quickly through his orgasm.

He tries not to throw his head back in pleasure, wanting to see the ropes of his hot cum covering your pussy and thighs as you stand there with trembling legs.

Your mind is still fogged with pleasure, and you don’t notice what’s happening until you feel his tongue on your clit, which makes you let out a whimper. You look down to see your boyfriend on his knees with his head between your legs, looking up at you.

You run your fingers through his hair, and he pulls away, “You need to come quickly, someone will be coming for spot checks soon.” He warns you before returning with his tongue between your folds and two fingers inside you, stroking at your sensitive spot.

[butterflytint]

birthday boy

Summary: how the jjk men have birthday sex (p.s. it's their bday)

Pairings: jjk men x fem!reader

Warnings: nsfw, sexual content, morning sex, missionary, oral (giving and receiving)

a/n: i wrote this a while ago for gojo’s bday but never got around to posting it…let’s pretend it’s still his bday

Satoru Gojo

He's a light sleeper so he ends up waking up when you press a soft kiss to his forehead in the morning. With a sheepish smile, he wakes up, his eyes hardly opening.

You wish him a happy birthday, kissing his lips.

He deepens the kiss, lazily throwing an arm around you and before you know it, you’re having sex first thing in the morning.

“-Toru—I had a whole morning planned—ah—I was going to make you breakfast before I gave you your present—it’s why I woke up so early.”

His fingers dig into the flesh of your waist, his breaths shallow and his strokes deep. His blue eyes flick up to your face, watching you struggle to take his cock. He can’t help but crack a crooked smile, his snowy hair falling over his forehead.

“Baby, you’re so cute—thinking I need anything else when I’ve got you.”

The smooth talker he is, you don’t even bother arguing as he flips you over, getting on top.

He beams at you brightly before kissing your lips, “Best gift I could’ve asked for.”

Suguru Geto

He comes to pick you up for “dinner”  which is actually a surprise party you and his friends had planned. Your plans go up in smoke when he sees you in that dress he likes.

You barely make it past a “Happy Birthday” before he’s inside your apartment and shoving the door closed behind him. All the while, he wears a smug smirk, seemingly unsuspecting.

Except you know him all too well, already knowing what was going on in his head.

His lips are on yours and he’s groping at you like he’s never touched you before—or that he’ll never get the opportunity to ever again.

You giggle, “Suguru—we have to go—we have a reservation.”

“The reservation can wait,” the reservation being all your friends waiting for the birthday boy to arrive.

You don’t even argue any further before he has you pressed up against the wall, hand slithering up your thighs to drag your underwear off.

Next thing you know, he’s got your legs wrapped around his waist as he’s ploughing his cock in and out of you.

“Can’t believe you were gonna keep me waiting all night for my present.”

“I was—was gonna make you—work for—for it,” you gasp, feeling the tip of his dick prod deeper inside you.

“On my birthday, too?” he scoffs jokingly, pressing his forehead against yours. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart.”

You claw at his shoulders, gasping for air before your arms wrap around his neck. You bury your face in his shoulder, ignoring the constant notification pings coming from your expectant friends.

Kento Nanami

He’s the type of guy to go about it in a classy way.

He insists on taking you out on his birthday.

When the two of you come back home, you let him unwrap his present (you in a brand new lingerie set).

He’s very tender and gentle with you most the time but on his day, he lets YOU take care of him.

He groans as quietly as possible as you trail soft kisses down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt before kissing down his muscly chest. You work to unbuckle his pants, his eyes growing hazy with desire.

He tips his head back as you finally wrap your lips around his cock, flicking your tongue over the tip. Your hand wraps around his dick from the base, sliding it up and down his length. And he can’t help but buck his hips into your hold.

When you pull your mouth off, a desperate whimper escapes him as he flicks his gaze back down to you.

“Happy birthday, baby” you smile.

Toji Fushiguro

He has you on your back, face buried between your legs while his large hands grasping your thighs enough to bloom everlasting bruises on them.

He can’t help but grin when he pulls whine after whine from you.

Birthdays were never a big deal to him. Why should anyone care so much about getting older? It only reminded him that he was yet another year older than you.

But when you’d treat the day like it was a special occasion—getting all giddy to make him dinner and get dolled up in that lacy dress he loved, kissing him a little extra too, he was so fucking happy to have been born after all.

And no way in hell was he going to pass up the opportunity to unwrap his present after dinner.

He pulls your hands away from your face, “Don’t hide that pretty face from me, wanna hear you scream my name, baby.”

He nearly melts when you whimper, your chest heaving in heavy breaths as your eyes met his.

He lowers himself again, his fingers spreading your folds, his tongue flicking over your clit as you screamed out his name just as he asked.

“There you go, pretty girl,” he chuckles, eating you out because he prefers that over cutting a piece of damn cake on his birthday.

[amiableness]

dad!james not being able to contain himself around reader and just kisses her 24/7 he’s always trying to press a kiss against her lips or cheeks and maybe henry’s picked up on it too so he starts kissing readers cheeks every time he’s close

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 817 words

i changed it a tad but hope this still works! series masterlist ; main masterlist

After sleeping with James, a sickening worry had settled in—you feared things might become awkward, or worse, that he’d want to slow things down to avoid confusing Henry. You understood completely, knowing how important it was to keep everything stable for his son. But after wanting James for so long, feeling his hands all over you and the heat of his kisses. The idea of returning to the way things were felt almost unbearable.

“Strawberries or blueberries?” Holding up a container as you say their name, you stand at the table in front of Henry, who looks terribly sleepy but still flickers his eyes back and forth as he weighs his options. His waffles sit before him with a dollop of cream slowly melting from the warmth.

Nerves swirl in your stomach at the thought of seeing James, but you try to push them down. Waking up before him, you decided to make breakfast, hoping the simple task might help dodge any awkward conversations. It’s a desperate attempt to keep things normal, a way to distract yourself from the uncertainty of what might happen once he walks into the kitchen.

“Both.” Henry finally affirms, giving a confident nod that makes his messy curls bounce. All he needs is a pair of glasses, and he’d be a miniature version of James—not that he isn’t already.

You sprinkle both types of berries over Henry’s waffles, his little hands directing you to add just a few more each time you try to pull away. As you remind him to eat what he has first and that he can always have seconds later, you’re so focused on him that you don’t notice James entering the kitchen.

As you turn to place the berries on the counter, you startle at the sight of James standing in front of the coffee maker in nothing but plaid pajama pants. Your gaze instinctively trails down his chest, and when you look up again with a nervous swallow, you find him watching you with a knowing smirk.

“Morning, darling.”

You offer him a soft smile and murmur a quiet “good morning.” To your surprise, he strides directly toward you. When you instinctively take a step back, a puzzled frown crosses his face. Without missing a beat, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in and pressing you against his chest.

You let out a surprised gasp and glance over your shoulder at Henry, who watches the scene intently as he takes a bite of his waffles. A hint of purple stains the corners of his mouth.

“He’s watching us, Jamie.” You whisper, casting a warning glance. James looks between you and his son, his expression one of confusion.

“Is that a problem?” He asks, his voice calm.

“Well, I—” You begin, but the words falter as James presses a slow, tender kiss to your cheek. His lips curl into a teasing smile as he pulls back and watches you struggle to gather your thoughts.

“What, baby?” He teases, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

“I didn’t think you’d want to act like this in front of him.” You reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” He asks, his tone curious as he holds you close.

“A couple.” You clarify, feeling the weight of your words.

James raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are we not?” He questions, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

“We didn’t really talk much about that last night.” You admit, your voice faltering slightly as you struggle to find the right words.

“You’re right. We didn’t,” he agrees, his hand gently cupping the side of your cheek. A smug glint dances in his eyes as he leans in, his warm breath mingling with yours before his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The touch is tender, as if he can’t get enough, his lips moving slowly against yours, drawing you deeper into his arms. As he pulls away just enough to look at you, a playful, yet affectionate smile tugs at his lips. “I just sort of assumed you were mine after last night.”

You’re flustered, staring up at James with wide eyes. He smiles down at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek as you roll your lips together to hide your smile.

“Why does Daddy get kisses?” Henry squeaks out, his words tumbling over each other. “I want kisses from darling too!”

James laughs, giving you another quick kiss before letting you go and heading towards Henry. He scoops his son up, showering him with kisses all over his face. Henry bursts into laughter, his giggles punctuated by playful sputters as he repeats that he wanted kisses from you. You stand in the kitchen, your fingers lightly tracing your lips as you watch the sweet exchange between them, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write! 💌

[monstersflashlight]

Chasing the bounty hunter (Day 5/8 of the 10k followers event)

Griffin x gn!reader || primal play, chasing, breeding, cum inflation, size difference || tw: kidnapping

When he captured you, you were surprised about it. You followed him for days, tracking all his movements, being on his tail until you were almost ready to catch it… But he got to you first. You weren’t expecting him to turn around and chase you down. And above all, you weren’t expecting the rush of adrenaline and heat that the chase gave you.

He captured you and brought you to his house in the mountains, you didn’t know what you were expecting but a cottage-core cabin with enough greenery to be a botanical garden wasn’t it. You were surprised about it, too. And what shocked you the most was how nice he was. He captured you because you were following him, because he knew there was a price on his head and you were a bounty hunter. He knew all of that, but instead of killing you on sight, he captured you to keep you around. It felt a bit insulting that he treated you almost like a pet… But it also made something inside of you burn hotter than the sun.

He insisted on you going away, but you didn’t want to. If you went back to the village, you would have to explain why the griffin wasn’t with you, how you let him escape… And someone else would end up trying to catch him. So you stayed. (You didn’t think too much about how it just felt right to be with him, how comfortable you were in his house…)

You spent there about two weeks by the time you wanted nothing else but to climb him like a tree. The house was immense, perfect for his big body but a bit difficult with your human size. He didn’t mind though, he helped you get everything, he cooked for you, and he let you his nest to sleep at night. It took you four days to convince him you should sleep in the nest together, there was enough space. If you woke up sprawled over him, it was just an unconscious thing… right?

But without realizing, feelings started to grow. You became tender of him, every little quirk he had made you melt inside, and you knew he felt the same way. He kept looking at you with fire in his eyes, but also with a fondness so deep that made your heart beat faster and faster.

It took you two a month to kiss for the first time. His beak was a weird feeling against your mouth, but in a way… it worked. It worked and it felt great and made you moan against him, your body melting as he grabbed your waist and pulled you up against his body. It was exhilarating.

“I want us to fuck,” you blurted as he took the weeds out of the garden. You were sitting in the shade because he was worried your fragile skin would get burned.

He didn’t even turn around to answer. “We can’t.”

But you weren’t having any of his nonsense. “Oh yes… Yes, we can. Definitely can. I want to. You want to. We can.” He turned around then, his eyes tracking your every movement as he checked for your reactions. You bet he was checking for your vitals signs with his super-senses.

“You are so tiny. I would break you,” he told you, his voice leaving no room for argument.

But if you were something was stubborn as fuck. “And I would say thank you after,” you teased, being more than okay with him squeezing you if that meant getting him to fuck you senseless. “Come on, dude, you want it. I want it. Let me have that good, good griffin dick.” You knew he would appreciate your bluntness, but also that it would make his proper self get all blush-y.

He looked so flustered that you wanted to giggle. “You were sent to capture me.” Well, he had a point there, but at the moment you wanted nothing else but to be chased. And to be captured.

“But you captured me first. And now I don’t want to capture you anymore, I like you… I- I might love you,” you confessed, your heart beating fast. His face was unreadable, but you didn’t leave him room to say anything before you continued talking. “And I want to fuck you until we are both breathing hard and covered in fluids.”

“That- That sounds disgusting,” he said in a joking tone.

“Stop being a lying liar who lies. Don’t you want me?” You asked, analyzing his body for any response to that question. He nodded intensely, his big body moving with the inertia. You giggled and nodded, too. “Have me, then.”

He was doing the freaky vital signs again to look for some kind of signal that you were lying, when he didn’t find any, he asked: “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t look that convinced, always worried about your humanity. “But what if…” You didn’t let him finish that thought.

“I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m gonna run, and you are gonna chase me, and when you get me, I hope to be pounded into the ground until I’m full of cum and my legs don’t function anymore.” His face was like a poem, a filthy, filthy poem. You could see his nostrils dilating as he imagined the picture you just formed for him. You were so ready to be fucked senseless. “Okay?” You asked again, wanting to make sure he wanted it as much as you did.

“Yes.” He agreed, his eyes burning with desire. “Now run.” His growl was enough to send hot lava through your veins, excitement and arousal filling your insides until you were trembling as you bolted from there.

You ran through the forest like a soul followed by the devil. First you couldn’t hear a single noise over your heartbeat, but as the house disappeared in the distance, the forest around you became alive. You could feel everything. The sound of little animals, the sound of the breeze moving the leaves and the flowers, the smell of dirt and spring in the air… and the metallic taste of your fear and arousal. You knew he was behind you, you could feel him following you but couldn’t see him. The excitement of the chase was making you all kinds of turned on.

Your heart was beating so hard you feared he could hear it, he probably could. And you knew his scenting was a lot better, so he could probably track you just by arousal alone. You were so horny at the moment that you could scream.

“I can smell your arousal, smells like honey.” You could hear him inhale behind you, growling at every intake of breath. “You want to be caught that bad?” His voice was teasing, like nothing you’d heard before. He was always so proper… But right then he sounded like sex and wildness, and that made you even hotter.

You kept running, but you didn’t get too far. When he caught you, he pushed you to the ground, his big body covering you. His breathing was labored behind you, and you smirked, knowing he was as affected as you with your little chase-scene. He ripped your clothes off and you groaned, mourning the lose of your shirt and pants for a total of three seconds before you felt the tip of his dick against your hole and you cried out.

He pinned you to the ground and started entering you, bit by bit until he was settled so deep inside you could feel him at the back of your throat. So big, so wild. “You okay?” He whispered, always the gentleman.

“Yes. Fuck me.” He didn’t have to be told twice.

He fucked you like a madman, in and out at the speed of light as he grunted and growled and went feral over you. Telling you how good your hole felt, how amazing you were and how glad he was he captured you that day. You were dizzy with desire and pleasure.

He made you come twice before he came inside of you, just like you asked. You knew it would be a lot, but you weren’t expecting the sheer amount of cum… He filled you until your stomach was bloated and you were a messy drooling body over the forest floor. You were drunk on his cum, and you didn't want to analyze how much of a cum-slut you discovered you were in that exact second.

He didn’t pull out. His dick still hard was nested inside of you as he breathed hard against your ear and you whimpered. Your stomach felt too big, your hole too raw… But that didn’t stop him from fucking you full over again, making you cum twice more in the process, the filthy sounds of his cum dripping around his dick were exhilarating.

And when he said: “I might love you, too.” Your world shattered into a million pieces once again.

[weixuldo]

Baby Fever

Anakin x f!reader

This is based off of number 2 of this list :)- I havent really delved into kink writing s sorry if this isnt the best haha- think of the reader as a padme- type figure

After seeing you interact with a lost child- Anakin thinks it’s time you had your own baby to look after…

warnings: P in V, smex, ani has a mean breeding kink, multiple orgasms, mentiond of pregnancy

________________

Floods of invigorating politicians and citizens exited the large Coruscant city center after a successful senate meeting. You had just finished pitching a plan that would excel the economy while also protecting labor’s rights. 

You smiled as you stood from your podium once the majority of the crowds had exited- the whole public eye thing was a bit new to you. 

For the longest time you worked behind the scenes helping other politicians with similar goals; it wasn’t until a few months ago that you, yourself, were appointed as your district’s senator. 

You fixed your dress as you exited your booth and headed for the dimly lit corridors of the massive building. Most of the clamor had moved outside into the city square so the halls were mostly empty. 

As you turned the corner a small smile found its way onto your face once you saw a familiar figure leaning against a marble pillar. Unmistakable robes and lightsaber clipped to the man’s belt. 

“I wasn’t aware Jedi had any interest in politics” you said with a smirk as the man snaked a gloved arm around you before you could pass. 

He pressed his face into your hair as he hugged you tighter to his chest, “We don’t, but you know all of my interest belongs to you”. 

You sighed as he pressed a passionate kiss to the column of your neck. 

“Ani- not here” you almost whimpered. 

He quickly twirled you around to face him before holding your face in his hands, “why not?” he asked with a charming smirk- “we should let them all know”. 

He glanced out the large windows down at the crowds of excited civilians- from up here they looked no larger than ants running for a sugar jar. 

“They all love you, so why can’t I?” Anakin asked with a pout. 

You sweetly smiled before placing a tender kiss to his pretty lips, “you can, and you do- you know the ramifications Anakin, you know we ca-“. 

Anakin cut you off with another deep kiss before releasing you and playfully slapping your ass. 

“Yeah yeah, I know” he huffed, “but they don’t know that”. 

You rolled your eyes at your lover’s childish desires before leading him out of the building. 

To avoid the spotlight and attention of the crowds, you dawned a hooded cloak before exiting the center.

Anakin followed closely behind; a hand already on his saber just in case. Thankfully being in public with Anakin seemed normal to some degree because you had become such a public figure- Jedi were often tasked with protecting political officials.

So Anakin looked no different than a routine bodyguard. 

The crowds were easier to navigate now that you had some practice under your belt. You had almost made it to your reserved speeder when you felt a small tug on the hem of your long dress. 

You smiled once you realized the tugging was coming from a small child, probably no older than four. 

She looked up at you with wonder as she mustered up the courage to speak to you. 

“Senator?” She finally asked. 

You nodded with a smile before turning to her. A wide grin settled onto her small face as she looked you up and down. 

“Pretty” she giggled. 

Anakin stood a few feet behind you, trying to see what was going on over the people standing in the way- he became anxious when you dipped from view.

The Jedi quickly weaved through the remaining people to see you crouched down speaking to a small child. His expression immediately softened as he watched you interact so sweetly with the girl; making exaggerated faces at the child’s comments, pointing out her cute accessories to make her giggle, picking her up to shield her from oncoming pedestrians-

Anakin never really thought about having kids- of course he wanted them someday; he wanted to create life with you and wanted to raise his children with a childhood he never got to have. But it never seemed like the right time.

The two of you had been careful when engaging in those activities to avoid an unexpected surprise when you still hadn’t quite figured out how to navigate your secret relationship. 

But each time Anakin fucked you he got closer and closer to giving up on the unspoken rule; he got closer and closer to cumming deep inside of you without any intention of pulling out. 

You knew Anakin was a passionate lover but you never considered that your sweet, respectful Jedi lover fantasized about locking you into a mating press while he fucked his children into your fertile womb. 

Anakin had no timeline of when he wanted them, but he knew you’d make a great mother no matter how long (or short) he waited.

Though seeing you interact in real time just made him want the fantasy to spring to reality. 

_________

“Hello sweetie, where are your parents?” You cooed at the small girl in your arms. 

She giggled and shrugged, making you frown. 

“Well that’s not good, they’re probably worried about you” you said, scanning the crowd for anyone who held any semblance to the tiny child in your arms. 

She, on the other hand, had no interest in finding her guardians- instead she was focused on the shiny tinsel that had been put into your hair prior to your speech. Innocently, she flipped your hood off and began to touch your face as she admired your beauty in childlike wonder. 

Before you could react, Anakin was by your side; he gently placed the cloak back over your head to protect you from interested onlookers. 

“Ani! You came out of nowhere” you giggled lightheartedly as he guided you off to the side of the still buzzing city square. 

“Who’s this?” He asked with a smile as the little girl in your arms hid her face in your shoulder. 

“It’s ok baby, he’s a Jedi- he’s very strong and he’s here to protect us” you whispered to the little girl in your arms. 

“Jedi?” her green eyes brightened as she became excited at the title. 

She continued asking you questions but all Anakin could focus on was how beautiful you looked interacting with such a young child. How natural you looked. 

Is this how you would interact with your own children? With his children?

He couldn't help but adjust his pants as he felt them becoming increasingly tighter. 

Soon the overexcited child had fallen asleep in your comforting arms; shortly, you began cautiously walking around in hopes to find her parents. The jedi beside you watched as you subconsciously brushed the girl's hair and gently bounced her on your hip. 

Before long you finally stumbled across two very worried adults calling for who you could only assume was fast asleep in your arms. 

“Oh Maker! There she is!” the woman gasped as she reached for her baby. 

The Man she was with breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly joined her as you handed her the sleeping child. 

“Thank you so mu- Senator!” the man’s eyes widened once he realized who it was. 

“We are so sorry to have troubled you- please forgive us for our carelessness” the woman bowed. 

“No, no! It was no trouble at all- you have a beautiful daughter” you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from the girl’s face. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. We loved your speech- you are just what this city needs” the mother offered before turning to her husband. 

You bowed and met the silent figure watching from the sidelines; “Sorry Ani, we can go now”. 

Anakin just nodded silently and trailed you with an uncharacteristically dazed aura. 

Once you were in your speeder, Anakin hopped in the driver’s seat and jetted off towards your apartment; his strong jaw clenched as he imagined you full with a child.

He flinched as you placed a tender hand on his tensed thigh, “Ani- are you alright?”.

________________________

A cacophony of moans and groans ricocheted off of the walls of your penthouse bedroom as your lover continuously plunged his cock in and out of your abused hole. He had been at it for two hours already and had already cum once (while you came thrice). 

Once you entered your private apartment, all of his carefully crafted will-power snapped and he went feral; the natural urge to breed you, hit him like a bus.

He was all over you; your lips, neck, breasts, cunt- you were his and he was going to make damn sure it stayed that way. 

“A-Ani! S-slow down!” you cried as he jetted his thick cock in and out of you. 

“S-Sorry baby, C-can’t- I gotta- gotta fill you up” he winced as he fucked you through his own overstimulation. 

His heavy balls slapped against your ass and a ring of foam from your combined juices formed at the base of his cock. 

He already came inside of you once, what more could he want?

“Baby- t’s too much! You're-spilling all over”.

“N-no, not enough- gotta fuck a baby into you” he grunted against your bruised neck. 

His confession had your eyes snapping open, “What?!”. 

“Looked too damn good with that baby on your hip- I-I wanna see you with my child on your hip in-instead” he babbled as he pulled you flush against his chest and rutted his desperate hips into yours. 

So that's what this was all about. 

Admittedly you didn’t mind his desires, deep down you wanted the same thing… you wanted him to reach so deep that he fucked one into you on the spot. 

“Oh Fuck Ani- I wan- I want your kids” you admitted ad you raked your long nails down his toned back. 

“Shit babe- squeezing me so tight” he whined as he gripped onto your hips with a caging grasp (surely you would be bruised tomorrow). 

He slammed his hips flush against yours with intense force as he felt the coil in his stomach begin to snap- this was it, this was the orgasm that was going to give you a child. 

He just knew it. 

“Ahh c-cumming! Gonna give y-you a child- Shit! i-i ‘m going to fuck my baby into you” he babbled as he felt his hot, thick, warm seed shoot out of his oversensitive tip into your gushing cunt as your own orgasm washed over your like a crest-fallen wave. 

“Ani!” you cried as your legs began to shake from the overpowering climax mixed with your exhaustion. 

You clawed onto him so hard that you swore you drew blood. Anakin, on the other hand, dove down and captured you into a tight embrace; his mechanical hand making you gasp at the sudden coolness. 

His body shook with pleasure and overstimulation as he struggled to rut his hips into you to push the last bit of spend further into you with shaky breaths. 

Once you came down from your high, you were so tired that you couldn’t even bother to ask Anakin to clean you up; you half expected him to fall asleep inside of you based on how tired he also looked. 

“Gonna make you a mommy- you’ll look s-so good- so round with our child” Anakin mumbled into your neck before slowly turning over so that you were on top of him (his dick still inside). 

You hummed in contempt before drifting to sleep as he gently brushed your hair with hsi flesh hand. 

“The two of you should get some sleep now- I love you” Anakin whispered before drifting right after you. 

You would have giggled at Anakin’s addition of “two” when speaking to you and your hypothetical baby, but as usual your lover was right. 

The famed “Jedi perception” was affirmed 9 months later when you cradled not one, but two small bundles of joy. You sat on your couch as you fed your children and Anakin couldn't help but smirk at the scene before him, this is just what he wanted… he couldn’t wait till you could have another one. 

***

(a/n: ngl im not crazy big on kids but breeding is hot 🤭🤭 hope this lived up to the idea on the list :0)

[luveline]

I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

[reidmania]

blackfish | spencer reid

summary; being in the early stages of your relationship, spencer has yet to hear your passionate rambles, until you watch a documentary together and the topic of animals in captivity comes up.

warnings; fluff, so much fluff fem!reader, early seasons spencer, marine biology major!reader, start of relationship things, talking about animal abuse, animals in captivity, talks about orca’s and the documentary blackfish (i know the time line is unrealistic use ur imagination please)

an; self indulgent as a marine biology major and someone very passionate about the fact animals should not be used as apart of a circus act. Very very short, and sweet.

Your legs were resting over Spencer’s, the heels of your feet pressing against the side of the couch arm, while his hands massaged the skin of your calf gently, the credits to the documentary you had spent the last hour and a half watching together rolling over the tv. His hands were gentle and hesitate in every one of the movements, a little shy.

“Did you like it?” He asked, turning his head to look at you, thumb pressing against a tender muscle in your calf, the sensation causing a soft sigh of relaxation throughout your body, which contradicted the annoyance that had been filling you as the film went on.

You hummed, unsure of how to answer the question. “It was interesting.” You mumbled out, your head rolling to press against the back of the couch cushions. He smiled slightly as his hands continued to work out the tension in your legs.

“Yeah?” He hummed out. You nodded, interesting was a safe way to describe your feelings on the documentary you had watched. It wasn’t that it was bad, it wasn’t at all. And you had been interested, the entire time. Just the more the details were revealed the sicker the feeling got in your stomach.

He shuffled slightly, “What are you thinking about?” He asked, his hands pausing their massaging movements to instead rub gently over the smoothness of your skin. Obviously he had noticed the slightly sour look on your face and the way your mind seemed elsewhere.

“How horrible the human species are.” You answered honestly although you were aware Spencer was already aware of this fact. He worked to stop all the horrible things the human species did everyday. He witnessed it firsthand.

“Annoyed?” He asked. You nodded.

You shuffled slightly, pulling your legs away from where they had been resting over his thighs to sit up a little straighter, tucking your knees underneath you as your hands came to rest on your thighs.

“I don’t understand how anyone can look at animals in aquariums or even animal’s in zoo’s and think that it’s just.. okay?” You huffed out, annoyance lacing your tone as you spoke, every word coming out just as disgusted as the last. “i mean— These are wild animals and people act so shocked when they act like wild animals. Like that poor orca had been put through hell since the age of two— ripped away from his family and everything he knew, starved, beat up by other orca’s all for what? A quick buck?” You huffed out in frustration.

Spencer hadn’t expected the ramble but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome, your voice was laced with so much passion and intent, every word that left your lips showed how deeply you had thought about this. He had hummed in response, not wanting to interrupt.

“Marine mammals — they are isolated more in captivity than they aren’t which is absolutely insane since every aspect of their being is based on their social and emotional connections— I mean they have a whole part of the brain that human’s don’t have thats dedicated to their emotional bonds. Which means they feel everything probably double the amount that we do” You continued in frustration as your arms came to wrap around your stomach, and irritated pout on your lips.

Spencer raised his eyebrow but nodded, you were right. “They don’t belong in captivity” He agreed simply, you nodded passionately in response to what he had said. He couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face as you rambled, because this had never happened before. Normally you were pretty quiet, not in a way that you were shy or awkward, you just didn’t ramble a lot, not like he did. This was a nice change and he couldn’t help the way his heart swarmed at the sight of you getting all worked up over something you felt passionately for. He would listen to everything you had to say, and a million times more.

“It’s— so gross. Like it genuinely makes me feel sick how they take these animals away from their families and then exploit them for money. Like dolphins — Teach them tricks and then act like it’s just an extension of their natural behaviours — it’s not. You know marine mammals in captivity die way earlier than marine mammals in their natural habitats? Especially Orca’s. Orca’s could live up to 100 or even more and they hardly make it to 30 in captivity.” You huffed out.

“I didn’t know that” He did.

“And Orca’s— Oh my gosh. Each family speaks in their own set of vocalisations, no two families will communicate the same way. They literally have their own languages. And— and people want to throw Orca’s from different pods together in a pool and call them a family? They can’t even communicate with each other, or understand each other at all!! You know that can lead to aggression between Orca’s? Nearly half of Orca’s deaths in captivity is because of a different whale being too aggressive—“ You paused when you finally realised you were rambling.

Your cheeks burnt at the realisation, meeting Spencer’s eyes which were filled with nothing but love and admiration only furthered the burning sensation in your cheeks. “Sorry.” You huffed out sheepishly. “I got a bit carried away” you let out a laugh.

He shook his head instantly, his hand reaching out to rest gently against your knee, “No. Don’t apologise. Keep talking, what were you going to say?” He asked, almost desperately begging you to continue on with your passionate ramble, continued to further discover this side of you.

“I-“ you started but your brain short circuited at the look in his eye, pleading, sweet, gentle, loving, admiring. How could he look at you like that and expect you to be able to form a coherent sentence — you could hardly form a coherent thought. “I- forgot.” You huffed out.

He smiled widely, “Whales being too aggressive which can lead to that frustration being taken out on other whales, especially if they feel challenged or uncomfortable.” He finished for you, making your smile widen.

“You’re so smart” you huffed the compliment as if he wasn’t told it so often. He didn’t mind, it always meant more coming from you.

“Go on, angel. What else do you have for me?”

[edsbug]

soaked

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you shower with eddie. things turn steamy. (wc: 1.6k)

contains: 18+ NSFW mdni!, fluff turned smut, oral (female receiving), eddie eats reader out while on his knees, fingering, piv.

authors note: this is my first attempt at writing proper smut. english is not my first language, please forgive any mistakes<3

The gentle patter of water hitting the tiled floor filled the small bathroom of Eddies trailer. Steam swirled through the air, wrapping everything in a warm, misty embrace. You both stood under the showerhead, the hot water cascading over both of you, easing away the stresses of the day.

Eddie ran his fingers through your wet hair, his touch light and soothing. His rings, now safely discarded on the sink, usually added a cool contrast to his warm skin, but tonight, it was just the warmth of his hands.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" he murmured, his voice low and comforting. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. Moments like these, where the chaos of the world was shut out, felt like pure bliss.

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into your palm before lathering it into his hair. Eddie closed his eyes, a content sigh escaping his lips as your fingers massaged his scalp.

"You're really good at this," he chuckled, opening one eye to peek at you. "Maybe you missed your calling as a hairdresser."

You laughed, a light sound that made Eddie's heart swell. "Maybe. But I think I like my current job better."

"And what's that?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye.

"Taking care of you," you replied, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Eddie's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The water continued to cascade over you both, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his body against yours, his heartbeat steady and strong.

"You do a pretty great job of it," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "I don't know what l'd do without you."

"You'd survive," you teased, running your hands down his back. "But your hair would be a mess."

Eddie laughed, the sound deep and rich, echoing off the tiled walls. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, the water making your lips slide together effortlessly. When he pulled back, his dark eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

Gently, you turned Eddie around, guiding him to face the showerhead. You started to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, your fingers working through the soapy strands. Eddie leaned into your touch, his muscles relaxing under your careful ministrations.

He hummed in contentment as you continued to work the shampoo out of his hair. Once it was all rinsed out, you grabbed the conditioner, spreading it through his dark locks. Your fingers moved methodically, ensuring every strand was coated.

"You know," Eddie said, his voice light with humor, "I could get used to this kind of treatment."

"Don't get too used to it," you teased, though your tone was affectionate. "I might start charging you."

Eddie chuckled, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. "I'm sure we could work out some kind of arrangement."

You laughed, shaking your head as you continued to run your fingers through his conditioned hair. "I'm sure we could."

After a few more minutes, you rinsed out the conditioner, making sure Eddie's hair was soft and clean. He turned around to face you, his pupils blown.

"Your turn," he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Before you could protest, Eddie had taken the shampoo bottle from your hand, squeezing some into his palm. He reached up, gently massaging it into your hair. You closed your eyes, a soft moan escaping your lips as his fingers worked through the strands.

"See?" he said softly. "I can take care of you too."

"I never doubted it," you replied, leaning into his touch.

The rest of the shower was spent in comfortable silence, the two of you taking turns washing each other's bodies. Warm water cascaded around you, mixing with the scent of soap and the steam that filled the air.

As Eddie's hands continued to explore your body, the gentle caresses began to ignite a deeper desire. He picked up a bar of soap, lathering it between his hands until it was covered in frothy suds. Slowly, he began to spread the suds across your skin, his touch both tender and electrifying. The feel of his hands gliding over your body, slick with soap, sent shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Eddie's gaze darkened with desire as he watched the soap suds slide over your curves, his fingers tracing patterns in the bubbles. The sight of your wet, glistening skin and the feel of your curves beneath his hands were intoxicating, his own arousal growing stronger.

"Eddie," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His response was immediate. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your wet skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You pressed closer to him, feeling the heat between you grow as the soap and water continued to pour down, forgotten.

Eddie's hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his arousal, hard against your thigh. The sensation sent a shiver of excitement through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your own desire pooling low in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you." he murmured against your lips.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his lips continued their journey, moving lower. He paused briefly at your breasts, taking a moment to tease your nipples with his tongue, drawing soft moans from your lips.

"Please," you breathed, your fingers threading through his wet hair, urging him on.

Eddie sank to his knees, kneeling in front of you. He glanced up at you, the water trickling gently down his face. "I've got you, sweetheart," he murmured.

When his lips finally reached your inner thighs, he took his time, kissing and nipping gently, making you squirm with need. Eddie felt his knees bruising against the tile floor, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as you let out a desperate moan, your hips lifting slightly in a silent plea.

Eddie's hands slid under your thighs, holding you in place as he settled between your legs.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin.

Before you could respond, Eddie's lips were on you, his tongue exploring your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers down your spine. The sensation was electrifying, each touch igniting waves of pleasure that coursed through your body.

You couldn't suppress the moans that escaped your lips, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair, pulling him closer.

Eddie's tongue moved with expert precision, finding every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He skillfully alternated between slow, languid licks and quick, intense flicks that sent jolts of pleasure through you. Your hips began to move in rhythm with his mouth, seeking more of the delicious sensations he was creating.

You whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of rushing water.

Eddie's gaze lifted to meet yours, a glint of determination in his eyes as he understood your unspoken plea. Without hesitation, he shifted his focus, his lips closing around your clit in a firm yet gentle embrace.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Eddie began to suckle and tease, his movements synchronized with the rhythm of his tongue. Your fingers tightened in his hair, earning a deep moan from him.

His hand left your thigh and deftly found its way to your entrance. His fingers teased the sensitive skin there, circling slowly before gently pushing inside. The feeling of fullness felt intoxicating, making you arch your back and cry out.

His fingers moved in a rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue, each thrust and curl inside you amplifying the sensations and pushing you closer to the edge.

“Eddie, please…” you begged softly.

“I know baby, I know” he said as he rose from his knees.

Eddie’s lips crashed against yours once more, your taste still lingering on his tongue. His hands lifted you slightly so that he could position himself at your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as you felt him begin to push inside you.

The sensation of him filling you was almost overwhelming, the pleasure intense as he slowly buried himself to the hilt. Eddie groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment, giving you both a chance to adjust.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You moaned in response, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him even closer.

Slowly, Eddie began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. The sound of the water hitting the floor mixed with your gasps and moans, creating a symphony of desire that echoed off the tiled walls.

Eddie's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent as the need to bring you both to the edge took over. You clung to him, your body arching in response to each thrust. The steam-filled bathroom seemed to shrink around you, the world outside disappearing as you lost yourselves in each other.

"Eddie," you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "I'm close."

"Me too," he replied, his breath hot against your ear. "Come with me, sweetheart."

With a deliberate move, he shifted his hand, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in circles. With a final, deep thrust, Eddie sent you over the edge, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your body convulsing with pleasure as he followed you into ecstasy, his own release filling you completely.

For a moment, the two of you just held each other, the only sound in the room the gentle patter of the shower and your ragged breaths. Slowly, Eddie lowered you back to the floor, his arms still wrapped around you as you both tried to catch your breath.

Just as you began to relax into the warmth of the afterglow, a sudden shock of icy cold water hit you both.

"Eddie!" you shrieked, jumping away from the freezing stream. "The water!"

He laughed, his eyes wide with surprise as he fumbled to turn off the faucet. "Looks like we used up all the hot water."

You both scrambled out of the shower, dripping wet and shivering. Eddie was still chuckling as he rubbed his arms to ward off the cold.

"Not exactly how I pictured this ending," he said, his grin wide and mischievous.

You couldn't help but laugh, despite the chill.

Eddie quickly wrapped you in a warm towel, as you snuggled into him. "Still love you, even if you did turn me into an icicle," you muttered.

"Love you too, popsicle," he replied, pulling you closer.

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #39

[bbieangel]

Sticky

Joel Miller x F!Reader (18+)

mdni please

You and Joel find another way to make the summer heat more bearable.

tags: smut (duh), food play (popsicle), anal play, creampie, unprotected p in v (do not! do this! pls!), kind of? oral (f receiving), praising, dirty talk (joel doesn't know how to shut up and we love him for that), mentions of gagging (once), reader is abled, afab reader. joel is 20 years older. idk if I forgot anything else.

word count: 9.2k

a/n: this is just another level –for me, at least– of things I wouldn't normally write. please take my phone away? thanks. I think I was possessed when I came up with this. anyways! hope you enjoy.

this was inspired by If You Like Piña Coladas by @gutsby ! it was amazingly written, I loved it and after reading it I came up with this idea. <3

as always, please enjoy and lmk what you think! reblogs, likes and comments are always deeply appreciated 🫶🏻

It all started when you were out on patrol, scavenging and rummaging through abandoned places, looking for supplies to take back to Jackson.

"Anything, really." Maria told you, as the warmer weather was approaching and you needed anything that would help keep people cool. Especially the elders, kids and babies.

Could a horse carry a whole fan back to Jackson? Not possibly. So Joel got to disassemble it while you took the opportunity to look through every drawer, cabinet and box.

"Joel, look!" You said, holding up some molds. They were the kind that you would fill up with juice and fruit, then put the sticks in them to make a popsicle. Maybe it wouldn't keep you cool, but it was a nice distraction.

Joel chuckled as he saw them. He remembered making those with Sarah every summer in a desperate attempt to keep his daughter in a somehow manageable mood, as she hated the heat and made her irritable. You could see the shimmer in his eyes, the kind that showed up every time he thought of his daughter. He has recently started to open up about her, and you didn't really push him to do it: just let him.

"We should keep those." He replied. "Maybe try making some back at home."

The idea sounded fantastic, and there were more molds as you kept scavenging. Maybe you could even make them and offer them at the town hall for people to feast on while they fought the intense rays of sun.

Once back home, you got to work. Joel helped by squeezing the oranges as well as cutting up strawberries and apples, the kitchen ending up a fruity mess. But you didn't mind, if anything, it made your heart flutter at the sight. It was domestic, tender, to be cooking together. Making a snack to make the summer heat a little more bearable for the both of you.

You set them inside the fridge and honestly, forgot about them until two days later until Joel brought them up. The two of you were plopped on the couch, fanning yourself with magazines as you tried to pay attention to the TV with that old DVD player plugged into it, playing a movie Joel had made you watch more times that you could count on.

You were distracted, and you knew it. And he would be a liar if he said he wasn't. Your cause of distraction? The way Joel's cheeks were slightly flushed, sweat trickling down his tanned neck, how the popsicle would drip down his veiny hands. How he would lick it, God, why couldn't he lick you instead? And he was suffering from the same twisted thoughts. The way your lips would wrap around the popsicle.. he was almost sure you were doing it on purpose. Pushing it inside your mouth and pulling it out with a plop! He could think of the times you'd done that with his cock before, the image being burned inside his eyelids.

He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend he wasn't affected by you.

"It take you that long to finish that thing?" He spoke up, his voice slightly hoarse from hiding his desire for too. damn. long.

"What do you mean?"

You asked as you bit into it and chewed a smile piece of the ice thing, then swallowed it. His eyes followed the movement of your throat and oh, you knew.

He wanted to erase that shit-eating grin off your face with the tip of his cock, smearing his precum all over your—

"You know what I mean. You're doing it on purpose."

"And you aren't?" You leaned forward, and that made him feel like he'd been caught red-handed. Truth was that, yes, he had been slurping at the thing like he would swallow your juices whenever he found himself on his favorite place on earth: between your legs.

"What if I am?"

"What if I am too?"

The silence between you grew thick, like a string that was taunt with too much tension. Until he snapped it, grabbing the popsicle and shoving it into your mouth. You tried to protest by whining his name.

"Shut up." He spoke as he quickly worked to take off your shorts. He pushed them down and immediately placed his head between your legs, making you open your mouth so much that the popsicle almost fell. He caught it and put it back into your mouth.

"Keep suckin' it, sweetheart. Don't stop 'til I tell ya so."

And you obliged, a small smile on your face as you loved experimenting new things with your man. He licked a long stripe over your damp underwear, making you close your legs around his head. He was quick to separate them and nuzzle his nose against the cotton of it, inhaling your scent. You would be embarrassed if he hadn't done it like a hundred times before. It was nothing new.

"Joel.." You whined, almost pleaded as you gripped his hair. You kept eating the popsicle, licking and slurping at it to provoke him even more. And did he notice.

He looked up at you, eyes dark from his pupils occupying almost his whole irises. He took a finger and pushed at your entrance, penetrating you with your underwear.

"You take what I give you." He reminded you. Your mouth felt open at the sudden contact, aching to be filled. Some of the juice spilled down your chin and onto your chest, and he looked at it like it was the most attractive, sexy thing he'd ever seen. He pumped his fingers a couple of times before his patience broke.

"Damn it, darlin'. I swear I'm tryin' to take my time but today just won't be the case." He spoke, before pushing down his own clothes and your underwear flew God knows where.

He sat you on his lap, pressing you down against the evidence of the effect you had on him. Gently, never being rough, pushed your legs open with his knees and held you like that.

"Oh, look at 'er.. Already cryin' for me, baby?"

He teased, and brought two of his fingers at your slick. You squirmed on his lap, breathing ragged as you tried to find something to hold onto. But he didn't let you.

Instead, with those two fingers, he parted your lips open and looked down at your glistening cunt. It was gaping, closing around air as if it was already preparing itself for the stretch that Joel's length would be.

But.. he didn't do it. Not yet. He pulled the popsicle out of your mouth and pressed it against your hole. Your eyes widened and you gasped for air at the cold sensation, telling him that he couldn't do that, that it was wrong, that—

"Beggin' to be filled, isn't she?" He murmured, hot breath against your ear. He didn't really care about you trying to be cautious, he knew that deep down you didn't care about that either. You wanted to be filled, and he was a man that took your wishes seriously. He placed the popsicle in front of you so you could see it before he slowly trusted it inside of you. You cried out and he hushed you softly.

"Oh, I know, I know." He cooed at you. "She'll get used to it. Now take it."

And you trembled, fighting the internal battle of pulling his hand away or letting him fuck you senseless with a popsicle. The sticky, orange, freezing cold stick was melting inside of you. And every time Joel pulled it out and pushed it back down, some would drip out of your hole. Juices mixed with whatever blend of fruit you poured into those molds, all dripping down to the floor.

You could sense Joel's eyes locked on it, his breath becoming more labored than he would like to admit. He would beg to clean up that mess with his own tongue if it meant tasting your tangy, slightly sour slick.

"Takin' it so good, princess. Look at you. 's it feel good?" He asked, whispering against your ear. You couldn't see him but you knew that he looked pussy drunk, that grin on his face that told you he was high just from watching you take a popsicle or whatever he pushed inside of you.

You were a mess. Hair sticking to your forehead as the old ceiling fan wasn't strong enough to cool down any of you. Your own back felt sticky and hot against Joel's chest. But did he mind? No. He loved every liquid that would come out of you, even your sweat. He had eaten you out after being hours on patrol, sweat pooling in every fold of your body. But he just couldn't wait until you showered. That summed up how little Joel cared about any of that stuff.

Your head fell back against his shoulder and you shut your eyes closed as he stretched you further with the popsicle, the sounds were almost enough to make you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. They were almost pornographic, and you felt Joel's cock twitching underneath your ass.

"Joel—Please!" You cried out. "I want it. Please. I can—"

The popsicle was shoved into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and making you gag softly as he went a little too deep. You could taste yourself in it, and it turned you on even more. Joel was tired of your cries, he would give you what he wanted when he wanted it.

"Hold it." He commanded and you held the popsicle, drool dripping out of it and into your chest, making an orange mess.

With his hands now free, he pushed your hips forward and up, lining the red, unattended tip of his dick against your entrance. You squirmed and cried, voice muffled by the long, cold stick.

"Shh, sh, sh. I got you, sweetheart."

I whispered and pulled you down against it with one swift move, having little to no mercy with your aching hole. He pushed on your lower back and you leaned forward as he started moving his hips deliberately, kissing your cervix every time he went up. He moaned at the sight of orange juice still pouring out of you, coating his cock along with your slick.

"What a sight, baby. I bet.."

He took the popsicle out of your mouth, and you panted for air. Your moans and soft cries filled the room as he filled you, stuffed you full to leave you limping for a week.

"..It'll look prettier like this." You almost didn't hear him, the pleasure overtaking you.. *almost*. But he made sure you did, at least, feel him when he pushed the popsicle into your rosebud, making the small hole stretch around it. He whimpered at the sight, something he never did. You gasped, holding onto the coffee table in front of you for dear life as you could swear you saw your soul leaving your body for good.

The squelching sounds, juices dripping everywhere making a mess around you two, was enough to make you near your orgasm. He pumped the thing in and out at the same rhythm as he raised his hips. You swore you'd never felt more full in your life, warm and cold at the same time in different places. He stared in awe, watching both of your holes swallow both him and the popsicle smoothly.

When Joel noticed that you were near, he picked up the pace of both: the popsicle that entered your anus with ease, melting and filling you to the brim, and his cock that you could swear you felt on your stomach.

"Thatta girl.. milk my cock, sweetheart. Yeah, good fucking girl."

He babbled nonsense, an indicator that he was close too. With not one, not two, but three thrusts he gripped your hips, biting down –gently– onto your shoulder as he painted your walls white with his seed. You could feel your legs twitching as his body trembled, your name coming out of his mouth in soft prayers. You followed quickly after him, closing your walls around his length in a way that almost got it hard again. You stayed there, bodies still intertwined and covered in fruit juices, panting for air until you both came back to reality.

He then scooped you up into his arms and carried you upstairs. He would clean up the mess later, he said as he guided you both into the shower. Once there, he made sure to clean up every dip and crevice of your body while you felt your eyelids drooping. He caressed your back gently and pressed soft kisses against your forehead and shoulders while rubbing you dry, making sure you were taken care of and never felt like any encounter was just to please him. Then, he carried you to bed and cuddled up against you, placing your head on his chest and running his fingers through your hair gently, like he always did to soothe you.

"We gotta make those more often. You know.. to survive the heat."

He murmured with a smirk as you drifted off to sleep. And all you could wonder was how the fuck did a man twenty years older than you have the stamina of a beast.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

could you do finnick odair giving you head? i loved your last fanfic!

of course! thank you so much <3

forbidden fruit | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick was your mentor; intimacy was strictly prohibited. but he just couldn’t help but succumb to your sweet taste. in the training centre, no less.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, orgasm, finnick is a swallower!!!, swearing, kinda exhibitionism

notes: i just know finnick would be like a god at giving head. sorry it was a bit short; i had another wip going on as well. definitely enjoyed writing this though ;)

word count: 1.3k

This was wrong. So very wrong. Finnick was supposed to be your mentor. You were supposed to be doing one-on-one training. But, God, if you said having his tongue lapping between your thighs felt anything but perfection, you would be lying to yourself.

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Fuck, Finnick.”

His muscular arm had swung your leg over his shoulder, allowing him even deeper access to devour you against the wall of the empty Training Centre gymnasium. The lower half of your body had been stripped bare; your clothes discarded to the floor by the man kneeling beneath you.

He traced tight circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue, only stopping to suction his mouth around it and suck. A cacophony of shocked cries and desperate moans left your mouth. You should have known he would be able to make you feel this good. He had a wicked smile and a wicked mouth that could do filthy things.

Teeth nipped gently at your clit, causing your hips to jerk forward with a startled gasp. “Oh my God.”

Finnick removed his head from between your thighs, peering up at your expression with sinful sea-green eyes. Your mouth was slightly agape, brows were drawn together, and cheeks were flushed with a warm pink. His chin and lips were drenched with your juices. He really was devouring you whole.

“Gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he purred, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh. “I know it feels good but…” His lips trailed up your thigh, getting closer to the place you needed him most. “…we wouldn’t want anyone to find you like this, would we?”

Oh, you knew what would happen if they did. However dangerous the consequences might have been, the idea of someone walking in on Finnick with his face buried in your pussy was exhilarating. Downright arousing.

You weren’t even sure how you ended up in this situation. One minute, you two were practicing hand-to-hand combat and the next, his tongue was exploring your body as you cried out his name in pleasure.

“I’ll be quiet. I—” Suddenly, his tongue was dragging from your soaking hole to the peak of your clit. “Promise.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, dampening the pleasured noises that threatened to escape. Another hand dropped into his hair, fingers interweaving with the messy bronze strands as you tugged him closer. He groaned into your pussy, sending a wave of euphoric vibrations through your body, stimulating the muscles in your stomach that pleaded for a release.

“Sweet girl. Taste so good,” his voice muffled into your skin.

Your heart fluttered at his praise.

And then, before you could even think, Finnick had pulled your other leg over his shoulder, holding you against the wall with pure muscle. He immediately continued his movements, leaving you only seconds to be baffled by his strength.

He flicked his tongue back and forth over your clit, his tongue rough in pressure and wild with speed. Tears were forming in your eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving you. Your stomach was tensing and caving uncontrollably; chest rising and falling with fast, uneven breaths.

Even Finnick seemed to be gaining gratification from getting you to your high, obvious in the frenzied enthusiasm and moans that vibrated against you.

Somehow, he had managed to shift your weight onto one shoulder and dropped a hand to your core. His finger teased at your entrance as he continued working your swollen sensitivity with his tongue. He sunk his long finger into your pussy, instantly curling upwards into that deep, heavenly spot that had you biting your palm and your eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck!” you cried into your hand.

Multitasking wasn’t a problem for him. He sucked, lapped, and tongued, all while curling and pumping his finger in and out of your hole, knuckles probing at your inner walls as he did. Then he added another finger, and you could feel its effects deep within your stomach.

Clit being assaulted and dripping-wet hole stuffed, your orgasm came creeping into the light. It was building slowly. First to be affected was your mind—your thoughts were utterly immoral. You were light-headed and blood buzzed in your ears.

Next was your lower half. Your thighs clenched around Finnick’s head, hips grinding against his tongue which only encouraged him further on. Then your breaths became shallow, a whine or whimper occasionally escaping with each exhale.

His mouth left your heat, fingers still pumping. “Are you close, sweetheart?” he asked in that carefully crafted seductive voice of his. You nodded frantically, pushing his dishevelled hair from his forehead as he gazed up at you. “Let me hear.”

Your hand fell from your lips. “But you said—”

“Forget what I said.” He leaned into your heat, his words fanning warmth against your pussy. “I want to hear my name coming from that pretty mouth of yours as you come.” An unhindered broken moan echoed around the room as he forcefully plunged his fingers into that spot deep inside you. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

The sound of your pleasure filled the gymnasium. You couldn’t even think about the possibility of someone walking in. Not when a white-hot heat was consuming your entire being.

He returned to your throbbing clit, hungrily sucking it in his mouth as if he were tasting a foreign delicacy. The pressure of his suctioned mouth had the heat feverishly spreading around your body, filling you up before it had the chance to explode. And with another pump of his fingers, a blaze erupted in your stomach.

“Finnick!”

Your moans rose an octave, head falling back against the wall as you repeated his name and strings of curses over and over. Sparks trickled down your legs and to your toes. Immense pleasure crested over every inch of your pulsing body, rendering you immobile in Finnick’s arms. Still, he didn’t stop.

Unbeknownst to you, just the sound of you reaching your climax had him coming undone as well, groaning into your gushing slick as his cock twitched and spurted white ropes in his pants.

He licked a long stripe up your slit, collecting your juices with his tongue. Fuck, he had never tasted anything sweeter. Anything more delicious.

As the wave of bliss began to pass, your tensed body began to relax. Finnick noticed, slipping his fingers from your hole and removing his mouth from your overstimulated clit. He watched as your fatigued body started to crumple in on itself, thankfully having the right idea to help you off his shoulders.

He settled you onto his kneeling lap, creating a wet patch on his pants. Not that he cared—it kind of turned him on again.

You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. How were you supposed to face him after… that? Much to your discomfort, Finnick turned your head to face his with a finger. The dry one, of course. His eyes searched yours with a look you couldn’t quite describe. Worry? Anxiety?

“You regret it?” he asked.

It took you a moment to decide; ultimately, you shook your head. That was the most exhilarating thing you had ever experienced in your life. Saying anything else would be a lie.

He smiled.

“But we shouldn’t do it again,” you said softly.

“No…” he sighed, the smile dropping from his face. “But we will.”

And there it was again—that devilish smirk. You couldn’t resist returning it with a sheepish smile because you knew he was right. You would do it again.