#there’s a pocket on the underside of the tongue. its very little but there’s a tiny piece of paper with a doodle of a frog in a crown on a

[trollbreak]

Ough *is struck with ship thoughts and has to lay on the floor*

#kit makes laambe a lil plush frog with a mouth that’s like a lil pocket and the tongue rolls up so it’s hidden till u wanna unroll it and #it’s on a silver ring so it can go on a necklace #there’s a pocket on the underside of the tongue. its very little but there’s a tiny piece of paper with a doodle of a frog in a crown on a #doodled castle. the prince frog has sparkles in his eyes #thinks abt solare making food for sky dance and humming to themself #thinks about miss watching the clock for the end of Orion’s shift #thinks about archon at the bottom of a cuddle pile of xyr partners #thinks abt archon and his boys having sky dance over for dinner #thinks about kit trying to teach himself crochet to make laambe some cute soft mittens with lil Pom Pom animals and it keeps getting set #aside because he has much less fun with crochet and is having trouble keeping it secret while they’re struggling to learn smth new #thinks about kit picking up laambe in a very big hug #nunc scio amorem

[ellsbclls]

i've been seeing a trend in dacryphilia content lately and its got me thinking about ellie —-

              ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆

ellie who's crowding you into the memory foam; who crunches your hand into the slim pocket between you, and your arm is but a flightless thing that bends and paws at the rise of your own chest, dumb to the fact that it isn't hers. she's devolved into something base, or at least scratched so close to that very surface that she can taste it, sudden and alkaline like pennies in your mouth — the tips of her ears pinched pink, hunched over your entire frame, panting across your face — she's simply her own cage, a test of her own self - discipline, locked behind the round of her ribs.

you've never seen her like this, at least not here. sometimes, in the hot stroke of an infected swarm, you'll catch her in a state that you can only describe as natural.

in those instances she is an apex predator, unmerciful and rapt. regardless of her choice of weapon, of the environment she stumbles upon, she adapts. it doesn't take long before she's cracking the magazine of her gun against her palm, slicing clean through the ripe peel of emaciated flesh; there is no end, no silence, until the room is thick with the taste of iron.

soon, all the bodies will roll and dance into one another until they look like a pinched nerve, and one will bleat out this sound, broken and wobbly, until it starts to crescendo. one trailing out from the other, like an expulsion of gas, they'll all trickle into the inevitable, growing limp and obedient as they decay.

and you'll watch it all with your clinical hands, hoping that if you separate yourself just enough you'll cut off the sickness straight from the source, and the slice will be so clean that you won't have to hear the screams trapped underneath.

you've been here before, and you'll be here again — bound to the mercy of her hands, her fingers, as they pry you apart. with the way she's balanced above you, each time she ventures further inside you, her palm crowds against your clit, and you welcome her even further. fighting against her hand, leaving veins of slick behind each time her hand pulls away.

it doesn't take long for her to find something soft and hidden deep within you, and because her face is pressed into yours, her teeth catching at the apple of your cheek, she giggles at the sweet little sounds you make when she bullies it. it's almost like you're overwhelmed, choking on her, and yet you tilt your hips up for more, making something long forgotten snap back into place inside of her.

she swipes the rough pads of her fingers back and forth, and the heat of her laughter taunts your cheek into a blush, and her knee kisses the underside of your own, and yeah, well, yeah, you are officially overwhelmed.

but then she says something so mean — says "can't believe how greedy this little cunt is tonight," and you whine, snifflng into her shoulder. she tssks, "oh, don't get shy on me now, baby. open up."

so you spread your thighs a bit farther and she scoffs, entertained by the gesture, and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, deepening it. there's a ribbon of saliva that forms at the corner your mouth as she mashes her palm even harder against you, catching at the bottom of your clit with circular little nudges, forcing you to gasp into her mouth.

now you're open. now you're nice, and ready, and pliant for it. her tongue climbs up the length of your own because you let her, choking on the sound of your own whines as her free hand steadies the back of your neck. now your mouth is just another pretty little hole for her to play around with, already messy and twitching from the way her tongue is playing with yours, and that's when she feels it. suddenly her nose is wet with it, salty and warm, tears fall straight down and pool at the bridge and she blanches.

"does it hurt?" neither of you fail to notice how a string of spit follows when ellie pulls away.

"no," you blink to a few more tears, visibly troubled by the sudden lack of her. instead of answering, she slides her nose up the curve of your cheek, letting her tongue lap up the remainder of your tears like a fucking animal.

"do you want it to?"

and, well, "yes," you keen, brightening at the idea. but it's almost like she doesn't hear you because she doesn't react, and even above the rush of your own ears, your voice is thrown somewhere distant. you grow desperate, your need scratching up the walls of your throat, bearing claws.

she doesn't mean to hurt you as much as she means to leave a mark on you, to fill you until you wake up with the bruising memory of her nestled inside your cunt, to brand herself into the meat of you.

you turn your head until she has no choice but to see you. "please?"

wiping your tears, a grin blooms over her features, beguiling. an ample distraction for when her other hand thrusts, reminding you where she is, nestled at the very brink of you, and murmurs "then relax," teeming with humor when she says "and don't make any sudden moves."

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Hey! Could you do a snippet from the engagement series? I loved the last post you made about that one :D

I am LOVING all the people asking for the engagement series— I’m having a blast with it ❤️ here’s a little bit of a longer chunk, because I got carried away.

The first nip of autumn could be felt on the night air over Ketterdam— the breeze was crisp and light. The steep roofs and crumbling gables of the Barrel rolled out before them. It was its own type of beauty, even with no stars and the clouds of city smog leaving a soft purple haze in the streets below. Street lamps glowed amber and gold, the light catching on Jesper’s profile as he looked out over the city.

It was their city. Their home. Even now, with a fancy estate on the other side of town with their portrait over the mantle, and a mercher black suit hanging on Wylan’s side of the wardrobe.

The Crow Club was home.

“Kruge for your thoughts?”

Jes sighed out a long breath, frosty with the cold, but his smile was genuine the moment he heard his voice, and he turned to Wylan. “Just thinking.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He chuckled, stepping in closer.

Jesper leaned against the stone ledge of the roof and watched him watching him, his eyes a warm flare of streetlamp gold and gunmetal grey. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, shoulders drawn in a little. He shrugged.

“Getting a little air, I suppose.”

Wylan hummed, noticing he’d not put on his jacket and his hair was curly and wild, free of his hat.

“Maybe a little more than you ought to— aren’t you cold?”

He was answered with a familiar, knowing smirk that simmered in his chest as soon as he saw it. Jesper took his hands from his pockets only to reach out for Wylan. “Why don’t you keep me warm, then?”

Wylan let himself be reeled in, happy to be pressed flush to his lover’s chest and smell the bright, woodsy smell of his cologne. Feel that heart beating against his own. He couldn’t have helped his grin if he tried, and why would he?

In an optimal position, he nuzzled the tip of his cold, rosy nose into the crook of Jesper’s collar, soothing it with a kiss when he got a squirm in response.

He kept the touch of his lips lush and soft, suffusing heat all the way up his throat to the underside of his jaw. Jesper hummed, with head tilted back and his broad hands resting heavily around the small of Wylan’s back. He simply let Wylan do what he liked, just enjoyed the moment. His short, fluttery eyelashes brushed the very tops of his cheekbones with his eyes shut, closed blissfully, with a smile on his face.

Saints, he was the most beautiful thing Wylan had ever seen.

In his own pocket, the simple band of engraved gold felt like it was about to burn a hole in his trousers.

He kissed Jesper one more time, just for good measure. He needed it. He cupped his cheeks with his hands, and held him there, just to warm up the chilled skin. As he rolled up to his tip toes, he tilted Jes’s face down to do the job properly, pressing their lips together until he could taste the hint of Kaelish whiskey still on his tongue.

Those hands smoothed across his back, under his jacket to grip the fabric of his shirt.

They didn’t stop until they had to. Until the calls and cries and laughter of the Barrel had faded to nothing but their heartbeats in their ears.

It was more feeling than sound, when Jesper broke the hush. His lips still brushed his cheek, feather light, as he said the words. “I really have been, y’know— thinking, that is.”

Wylan pulled back enough to see him plainly, fixing his eyes on him like there was something he needed to study in his face.

“Hm,” Jepser’s fingers were fiddling absently with his braces against his back, and there was something tense in the corners of his eyes. They made his smile look tight. Nervous. “What have you been thinking about, then?”

“You.” He was smiling, he was looking over Wylan’s face like he was trying to commit him to memory. “Us.”

He thought about the ring in his pocket again, looking at the golden halo of lamplight outlining his lover’s curls. And the smile on his perfect lips, and the nervous fidget of his hands.

“Oh?”

Thanks for playing! If you like this, or want to know more, feel free to hit up my inbox, or keep playing ❤️❤️

#wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone netflix #ask games #thanks for playing!

[inazuman]

My Queen (let me confess my lust to you)

The pro-hero event features an exclusive pre-viewing of the royalty display at the museum. The party is a success, and the crowd oohs and ahhs over the marvellous jewels. As the party moves from the display to the bar, you go to shut off the lights and make sure all the security is running perfectly when your boyfriend, Aizawa, decides he’d like to keep you company – and you both get a little… distracted.

Words: 4.4k Content and warnings: Aizawa Shouta x Reader, smut, reader-insert, reader identifies as a woman with a vagina and goes by she/her, THRONE SEX, Aizawa is your boyfriend, he calls you his queen, Dom!Aizawa, sub!reader, though I think the dom/sub tendencies are medium to lowkey, not an au – he’s a pro-hero, oral (both f and m receiving), you ride Aizawa on the throne, semi-clothed sex, plot what plot / plot no plot, use of a variety of other nicknames as well: baby, baby girl, kitten, not proof read Author’s note: thank you so much for your support my last fic! I hope you enjoy this one and I hope to be writing more <33 cheers!~  

“You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.”

What a wonderous and successful event. You are the incredible go-to event planner for all hero events, with a keen eye for graceful colour palettes and an expertise on luxury. And no one could deny how well this event has gone. The theme is royalty, and the ballroom is filled with displays and high-security casings of the most expensive jewels and jewellery made fit for kings and queens. The crowns and tiaras are placed softly on plush cushions. People filter through to see each displayed item and gawk at the price of them. Heroes and their helpers fill the room. You’re proud of the event, and proud to be here with Aizawa Shouta, a pro-hero and your ever-loving boyfriend. You’re wearing a beautiful, midnight blue gown with a thigh slit and gold jewellery. The velvet material is soft at touch and comfortable. The main event ended about an hour ago and all the guests have now left, moved on to the open bar downstairs to drink and dance. You lead all the remaining people out and guide them to the bar, and your boyfriend joins you to check up on all the items and lock up the room. The ballroom is stunning, and the displays are even more luxurious. Without the crowd filling the room, you can see each detail in all its glory. Delicate moulding scatters the walls like a gentle breeze, and the jewels sparkle under the chandelier like the night sky. There sits a grand throne at the back of the room. You take the opportunity to fully enjoy each display now that the room is empty. When you grace in front of one of the crowns, you take the crown from the plush cushion it sits on and place it over your head. It balances precariously on the top of your head, and you turn around to show Aizawa with a pose and a large smile on your face. He chuckles and smiles back lovingly. “Fit for a queen like yourself.” He says. You walk up the stairs at the back of the room and take a seat on the throne, sitting with your back straight and crossing your legs whilst looking at your boyfriend, who somehow looks both happy and serious all at once. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he’s watching the way your thigh exposes itself to him when you cross your legs, knows exactly how it would feel in his mind when he runs his finger up and down the area and squeezes the supple flesh with his fingertips. Your heels trace around your ankle and elongate your legs, and the skin glimmers softly in the moonlight. It does something to him, the sleek expanse of your leg and the crown on your head, and he can’t help but think it’s both absolutely adorable and breathtakingly sexy all at once. The room dresses you in a hazy glow, and in that moment he realises he doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have the most stunning woman he’s ever seen right in front of him, fully loyal and belonging to him and him alone. His forearm and hand tenses, almost imperceptibly but enough to illustrate he’s bothered. You look at him curiously, and when you make eye contact you notice that he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know what to do with you. Aizawa comes to the edge of the bottom step, smiles at you and bows deeply to you, and you giggle. He slowly waltzes up the stairs with each graceful step, the noise of his dress shoes echoing across the room, to stand right in front of your throne. He places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up at him, and bends down to kiss you softly. It’s gentle, loving. Perfectly shows the utmost love and respect he has for you. He pulls away, and then kisses you again, deeper this time. He places a hand on the armrest of the throne so that he can more fully bend over you, and runs his tongue over your bottom lip before kissing you again. Your heart starts beating faster, and your hands move to his neck to pull him closer to you. You breathe in his scent – musky and deep. You feel the way his skin moves over the bones of his jaw as he kisses you, the way he swallows when he takes a moment from the kiss to breathe – like he’s just slightly hesitating. Like you’ve taken his breath away. He moves his hands to your hair, and you go to move the crown off your head to give him more freedom with the action. “Keep it on.” Aizawa says as a demand, and the tone sends warmth down your spine. His voice is deep and rough, and the short statement sends something straight to your core. You look at him curiously. You know this tone means he’s serious, and there’s no room for disobedience. You put your hands down from where they were in the middle of the action. He kisses you again, placing his hand on your waist. “My queen.” He states it simply, but sees the way your pupils dilate at the name. He smirks, glad it has the effect he wants on you. He kisses your neck, leaving a mark at the base of your scalp so that it’s easily hidden by your hair. He continues to kiss down your neck and moves down to your cleavage, where your breasts are pushed up oh-so-prettily thanks to the dress. He places a kiss on each breast, and carefully pulls the straps of the dress down to flip over the material and expose the white lace material underneath. He carefully reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, throwing it over the backrest of the throne. You spread your legs to give him space between them as he focuses his attention on your breasts. He swirls his tongue around one of your now-exposed nipples, then uses the tip of his tongue to flick it. He notices the way your hands tighten around his strong triceps when he does so, and does the action again. He places his other hand on the cool skin of your other, unoccupied breast, and rolls that nipple slightly between his thumb and pointer finger. He then engulfs the nipple he’s been toying his tongue on into his mouth and sucks, whilst his other hand gropes your breast. You run your hands into his hair to move his face closer into you at the sensation, feeling yourself getting wetter. He then swaps to do the same again to the respective breast, tonguing at it whilst his fingers pinch and pull at the other now-wet nipple, the slick of his spit giving him the lubrication for him to be more aggressive with it. He takes the nipple between his lips and sucks harder than he did the first time, until he hears your quiet whimpers above him. He then moves to place kisses and hard sucks on the underside of your breasts. He makes his way down your body, kissing your navel until he’s down on his knees in front of you. He spreads your legs so that one is over the arm rest of the throne and the other, the leg with the thigh slit, is gently thrown over his shoulder. He turns his head to place a kiss on the inside of your knee, then another at the bottom of the inside of your thigh, another one a little higher. He keeps going up slowly, looking up at you and making perfect eye contact as he teases you. He places a kiss on your clothed core, breathing in the scent of you, and the way he’s looking at you is as if it trances him. It makes you feel like the world is tilting on its axis. He notes that the fragile material of your underwear does nothing to hide how wet you are. Or the sweet scent of you. Or the ridges of your labia and cunt, which are now blossomed open due to the arousal you were feeling. He runs three of his fingers up and down the garment, pressing into it with each finger individually over and over again like a wave. He slides the underwear down your legs and over your heels, then pockets it into his suit jacket. Your legs presume their previous position. Aizawa sighs at the sight of your pussy in front of him. He runs his hands up and down your thighs, pressing his thumbs into your inner thighs. “Shouta...” you start to say, wondering why he’s just looking and not doing anything, “what are you-“ “I’ve always wanted to know what royalty tastes like,” Aizawa says, and then takes a long swipe of his tongue from the bottom to the top of your slit, moaning at the sweet and salty taste of you on his tongue. It reminds him of strawberries and a sea breeze, and he just can’t get enough of you. “Oh,” you speak, your voice airy and breathy as you immediately coast your fingers through his long locks, lightly scratching at his scalp, “oh, fuck. Oh, Shouta.” He runs the tip of his tongue over the outer lips before moving back to the inner portion, then swipes his tongue up and around your clit, careful to avoid your clit so that he could tease you just a little bit. He’s very much the brat tamer, and if you were both at home he would be edging you over and over and over again for the public indecency you’ve led him to right now, but you’re still in public so he’ll save that for later. He zigzags his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way to the top, making you wait as he gets closer to your clit and does a singular swipe over it, the anticipation making the sensation all the more extreme. Then he repeats it again, loving the way your body is getting frustrated at him. He lets you off on it and changes tactics before you get too frustrated. He moves his tongue towards the part of you that’s tensing around nothing, and you feel the warm muscle enter your canal. He takes a short pause to take his fingers and put them into your mouth, and you can smell yourself on him from when he was touching you over your underwear. He then inserts one of those fingers inside of you slowly, and you feel every inch of his long finger slide into your tight hole. He very gently and slowly curls his finger towards himself, catching on an area that has you gasping and moaning. He returns his mouth to your cunt to lick around his finger as it plummets into you, still purposefully avoiding your clit. He finally, finally, pays some attention to your clit as he traces the tip of his tongue around the nub. He’s taking his time, wanting to feel every crevice of your pussy glide over his soft muscle. He circles again, and then again. He then takes a soft kitten lick at your clit. He varies pressures as he continues to kitten lick slowly over and over again, testing to see your reaction to it so that he can give you the right pressure without overstimulating you. He finds the perfect way, and slowly increases his pace. You moan louder for him, nails digging into the back of his head and pulling his face towards your hot core as the pace increases and the pressure gets just a little bit harder. He’s listening carefully to the way your breath catches each time he licks the sensitive bundle of nerves. He looks up at you and sees the way your back arches and your neck is thrown back to expose so much of your decolletage, breasts exposed out of you dress. Your nipples are hard and aching, with light stimulation from the breeze. Aizawa is unbelievably hard under you, enamoured by your soft thighs and the way that your breaths and whimpers sound. He’s unconsciously rutting just slightly into the air, craving for stimulation that he won’t let himself have until he makes you cum hard over his tongue. Which he knows he’s close to. He can feel the way the thigh that’s over his shoulder is tensing and releasing over and over again, how you’ve now moved the other leg that was previously on the armrest to instead rest on his other shoulder as you can’t resist from closing your thighs. He can practically see your heart beating out of your chest as your breathing becomes harboured your breaths coming hard and fast like the way he’s ceaselessly lapping at your clit, your hips tilting towards his mouth more. He takes your clit between your lips and sucks lightly, making you moan at the sudden feeling. Your thighs fully tense, your head tilts up and into the back of the chair, your knuckles grip hard in Aizawa’s hair and moves to grip the armrest. For what feels like almost a whole minute your mind is blank as you hold your breath for a moment before your orgasm crashes into you and you’re crying out his name. Aizawa smiles slightly at the sound of his name bouncing off the walls. He is relentless underneath you despite the fact that you just came all over his mouth. He’s lapping into you from your tensing hole to your throbbing clit, collecting as much of your slick into his mouth as he can as you’re coming down from your high. The feeling ebbs away slowly, and you begin to register the sound of his mouth’s actions as they continue, as well as your own harsh breaths. You start to feel the stimulation on your oversensitive pussy oversensitive pussy. “Ah, ah…” you begin to say softly as you come back to yourself, moving Aizawa’s hair out of his eyes, smiling euphorically at him from your orgasm. And then you realise he’s still not slowing down. “Ah, Shouta… Shouta! Sensitive, so sensitive, too sensitive!” you start, and move the palm of your hand to push his forehead back a little. Aizawa continues regardless, but eventually lets up, smirking at the way your legs are still shaking a little and your pants are slowing. He shifts his weight from his knees to the bag of his heels and looks at you. The length of your dress is draped carelessly away from you and he can see the whole expanse of both your legs. He stands up and scoops you into his arms, sitting on the throne with you on top of him straddling him, crown still placed on your head. Your cheeks are flushed, matching the rubies on the crown that are reflecting the soft starlight coming through the windows. You unbutton his shirt to expose his muscular figure, fingertips raking down his abdomen to feel the muscles there. You run your hands back up his arms, sinking your fingertips into his triceps and watching the way the dress shirt glides over it. You move your hands from his shoulders to either side of his cheeks and jaw, and place a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. You move down his body to kneel in front of Aizawa, similar to how he did to you earlier, taking note of his thick thighs that shift under his dress pants. You unzip his pants and take his cock out, smiling as it springs towards you. It’s girthy, and you wrap your hand around it and move it up and down his shaft with a few strong, slow strokes, listening to his breathing deepen at the sensation. He has a masculine scent, and the hair is trimmed back and well-kept. You almost wonder if he was planning for something like this to happen tonight. You lick the slit at the head of his cock, and Aizawa lets out a groan above you. You lick either side of it a couple times and feel his hand at the base of your scalp tightening. You then take the head of his cock into your mouth, pull away, and then take more of his cock – again and again, until you’ve taken as much of it as you can. You take the base of it into one of your hands, and run your hand up and down his member as you bob up and down it. You can feel Aizawa’s thighs tense around you. All Aizawa can think is that it is such a sight to see his queen, crown and all, looking up at him and taking his cock so well under him. He’s so aroused by this that you don’t do this for long before he’s pulling you back up and over his lap. He gives you a deep kiss, and you feel his tongue swirl in your mouth. As he kisses you, he swiftly takes a condom out of his wallet that he swears is just for emergencies that he didn’t think he had to prepare for, chucking his wallet to the side of the throne. He breaks the kiss for a moment to slide it over his hard member, and you watch the way the edge of the rubber slides over each ridge of the veins wrapped around delicately. As soon as it’s fully down, he smashes his mouth back onto you, running his tongue over the gums right behind your teeth, which has you moaning into his mouth and grinding over him. He can feel how wet you are over his cock, and as you grind again your clit catches onto the head of it, making you gasp. He’s gripping your hips tight, his self-restraint slipping as his urge to just be inside of you increases. He pulls you back from the kiss for a second to lift you up so that he can press the tip of his cock against your cunt. He slowly pushes it in, and you both gasp at the feeling of just the head being inside of you. Your breathing shallows as you sink inch by inch, lower and lower onto him until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. You stay there for a bit, adjusting to his size, and he takes this pause as an opportunity to grab at your butt cheeks, stroking the smooth skin there before gripping hard. “Gods, you look incredible.” He says, and you look down at him and make eye contact. You gasp, as you see so much emotion in his eyes, so unlike what most people think they know about him. He looks at you with love and lust, like you’re a wondrous beauty he caught from the sky. It brings a pang to your heart, to be the reason for it. His eyes are encompassing the view before him, dark blue velvet dress shimmering in the moonlight, your breasts spilling out of the dress from when he pulled the straps down. He can’t help but run his thumb over your erect nipple, making your legs tense and causing you to grind just a little onto him.You can’t take it anymore. You use the armrests of the throne to start to raise yourself up a couple inches, relishing in the way his cock inside your velvety walls, and drop yourself back down, moaning as you feel the head brush your cervix – the pain-pleasure of it feels like a shot of electricity in your veins. And then you do it again, Aizawa watching you the entire time, enraptured by the way you look on top of him. He can feel your slick all around his dick, the way it moves and trickles down as you ride him. He grabs the back of your neck to set a steady pace, nails digging into you as he grits his teeth. “You just had to do all this and look like that, didn’t you?” Aizawa starts, his voice deep and his breaths shallow. “Looking so fucking hot in that dress and that crown, and you expect me to look at you like that and not take you right here.” It amazes you, to listen to him say this. Aizawa, a man of restraint and infinite patience, and yet you did this to him. It spurs you on, making you pant as you continue to ride him. “You know this isn’t my style, baby girl,” he grunts, “fucking you whilst we’re out. But since we’re here, I’m going to give it to you like you deserve. My queen.” And with that his hands move to your thighs, nails digging into your skin, moving you up his member and slamming you back down. He momentarily takes one hand and pulls your face towards him so that it’s right next to his, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re mine.” He says roughly into your ear, his breath ghosting over. “You’re a queen, but you’re my queen. Mine to touch. Mine to give pleasure to. Mine to make cum. Mine to fuck.” He emphasises the last word with a considerable thrust of his hips upwards towards you, causing you to arch your back and push your chest towards him. He takes the opportunity to take one of your nipples into your mouth, sucking it roughly. You feel the cold air as his mouth unlocks from it. He’s tightening his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. You turn your head into the crook of his neck, encompassing yourself in the scent of his musky cologne as you near your peak. He can acutely hear your soft whines, he can tell purely from the sounds you make when you’re close to your orgasm. He knows it like he knows the back of his hand, like he knows how each strand of your hair falls on your head and wraps around his face as he pulls your face a little away from him. He pushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, and places his hand at the base of your scalp. “Look at me.” He says, and you open your eyes to look at him. You can see a slight sheen of sweat covering his neck. Despite how much impact is being made as he’s fucking you, his voice is calm and even. And he’s looking right at you, honeyed gaze fierce and desperate. “You keep your eyes on me the entire time, you got it?” His demand sends a feeling down your spine and you nod feverishly, unable to speak from the stimulation of how hard he’s fucking you, focusing on making both him and yourself feel good. “I expect a response when spoken to, kitten. Don’t tell me you’ve dumbed out so much you can’t even respond with a simple ‘yes’.” You don’t even fully process what he’s saying. Nevertheless, you softly say “yes”. And then you say it again, and again. Yes, yes. You touch foreheads with him as you say this, and you can feel his breath against your mouth. “Good girl.” He shows a soft, genuine smile at your obedience. He rewards you by taking his thumb into his mouth, and then moves it down to your clit. You whine at the extra stimulation, moving one arm to around Aizawa, fingertips digging into the bottom of his scalp and twirling into his hair. You press the other into the top of the throne, using it as leverage to keep riding him. You can feel your impending orgasm, the way your mind blanks out to just the stimulation. All you can hear are Aizawa’s grunts and moans, and your own heartbeat getting faster. You can hear each gasp and deep groan that you elicit out of him. You can feel the way he’s throbbing inside of you each time you lower down onto him, the pace getting faster. You don’t even register the sounds you’re making as your own, but every whimper and moan spurs Aizawa on. He can feel your soft, velvety walls tensing around his hard member every time he twirls his thumb a little over your clit. “Please, Shouta. Please. Please,” you whimper, the last please almost sounding like a whine, letting him know you’re about to reach your peak. “Yeah? You wanna come, queen? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. Come, my queen. Come for me.” Aizawa says, and you finally let yourself go. You take one deep breath in, fingernails dig into him hard. And then you clamp around him, back arching, letting out a scream as your orgasm hits you. Your body feels like it’s finally releasing days of tension that it’s been holding on for so long, and you feel his large member so noticeably as you release. At the feel of your tight cunt squeezing him, his thrusts start to falter and slow, and he comes with a grunt. Both of you breathing hard into each other, hearts beating heavy as you slump down over him. He takes your face into one of his hands and pulls you towards him, kissing you softly. You giggle at the intimate action, mind still floating with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the dopamine running through your veins. Aizawa smiles at this. “Thank you, my queen,” he says into your mouth. He looks up at you, and notices how the crown now sits slightly lopsided on the top of your head due to the force of your encounter. You both laugh softly at the predicament whilst taking time to catch your breaths and come down from your high. After a while of being held by your loving boyfriend, his soft cock still inside you, you begin to raise yourself on your knees, placing one foot on the ground with wobbly legs. Aizawa holds you up with his arms to help you stand properly. You take your bra from where it’s been precariously thrown over the throne, and loop your arms back into it. Aizawa removes the condom to discard downstairs later. As he gets up to buckle back his belt and button his shirt, you sit back on the throne to put on your heels. You both laugh and chat as you skip arm-in-arm back to where the crown once was. You go to place the crown back on the plush, velvet cushion it sat on, and lock up the ballroom. You both go down to spend the rest of the party with your now very drunk friends, whilst the both of you are drunk on something else entirely. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s end note: Thank you so much for reading! This is very much self-indulgent, I love the idea of throne sex. Also my ex-fwb called me his queen all the time, and he’s very good at giving head and had an oral fixation and used to eat me out for hours so this is lowkey reminiscent of the sex I used to receive irl lol

#aizawa shouta #aizawa smut #aizawa shota x you #aizawa #aizawa shota #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x you #bnha smut #bnha #mha #mha smut #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa shota smut #shota aizawa smut #shouta aizawa smut #shota aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x you #shouta aizawa imagine #mha shota aizawa #bnha aizawa #bnha aizawa smut

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

#blackreader #black y/n #demon slayer smut #muzan x reader #anime smut #muzan smut #muzan x black reader #demon slayer x black reader

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

#third part may take longer heh #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collector x reader #the collection #slashers #horror #fanfiction #writing #reader insert #tw: torture #dark fic

[aenaxes]

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

#hm. i want to peg him now #i still dont know how to tag posts but. i do write better when im significantly inebriated #anyways hehe hope u enjoy!! #i'd also like to send a special thanks to those ppl on youtube who make reverb/slowed playlists *chefs kiss* phenomenal #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #bobathots #yaej.writes

[littlesniggy]

Establishing Dominance

Anon: Hiiii hope ur doing well 💗 I was wondering if I could get Zoro with a easily jealous female crewmate who also a yandere. She not afraid to show how jealous she is. She sweet when she is around the crew and other people but she's actually dangerous when it comes to other females approaching Zoro. Maybe The crew stop by an island and Zoro talking to a girl about swords and reader see this and ask zoro to leave cause she want to talk to the girl alone. When zoro returns the girl is gone. Reader tells him she left but in reality she laying face down in a ditch.

Since your a fan of dark content you can make this as dark as you want tbh the darker the better.

Have a nice day ❣❣❣❣

Hey Anon! I'm doing great, thank you! Also thank you for your request! First time writing Yandere Reader and I had a lot of fun! I was thinking about making it darker but I wanted to see if people liked it first. Please, let me know!!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, Yandere reader, mention of blood, violence, jealousy

Pairing: Zoro x yandere fem! reader

Word count: 1.3k

You narrowed your eyes, anger boiling inside your stomach, slowly rising up until it would eventually erupt. You clenched and unclenched your fists, watching as Zoro talked to this tramp. You saw her eyes lit up whenever he said something, small touches to his hand when he showed her the handle of his sword, her admiring the handicraft.

Your whole body was on edge, ready to jump at this bitch and rip her apart. But Zoro would get mad; he wouldn’t understand. He almost never understands the way you feel, when you get protective over him when some innocent looking witch tried to seduce him, when you tell him to not talk to them because you feel a little jealous and you wanted him to pay attention to you! He always said you shouldn’t be worried, that there was nothing and that he didn’t even recognize them as women. Liar. After all, he was simply a man, looking for a quick fuck and then get out. You needed to make sure he knew you’d always be there for him.

With a sweet smile you walked over to them, linking arms with Zoro who looked a little bit confused but kept on talking to that woman. With a slight nod in her direction you let them continue their conversation about swords, waiting for the perfect moment to get him to leave. But the first step in establishing dominance was made: you had made clear to her that he was yours.

“Zoro?” You asked him when there was a short break in their conversation. He looked down at you, one eyebrow raised. “What is it, Y/n?” he questioned. “Franky asked me if I could tell you to come and help him with something on the ship. The others all left and I wasn’t strong enough. When you have time, could you go check on him?” The green haired man blushed a little at your warm smile. “Sure.” he looked at the other woman, apologizing to her. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Then I’m gonna show you their blades, okay?” he said and the woman nodded, smiling at him. “Sure! But don’t worry. If you can’t make it I won’t be mad. I’m glad I even got to see such a great sword!”

You both watched him leave (after walking in the wrong direction twice), silence lingering between you two. When he was out of sight, she turned to you, smiling a genuine smile. You smiled back, looking just as genuine.

“I’m (Name). Nice to meet you.” She introduced herself. “Nice to meet you, too, (Name). I’m Y/n, Zoro’s girlfriend.” The witch didn’t seem to mind that you were his. She has no shame flirting with someone else’s man.

“Do you want to walk around a little before he comes back? I know a cute café not too far from here.” She suggested. Your expression became more menacing, smile turning creepy as you followed her to said café.

“Where did she go?” Zoro looked at you confused. It had taken him longer than (he) anticipated, mainly cause he got lost multiple times. Turned out Frank didn’t need any help.

“Huh? What a surprise. I must’ve misunderstood it then.” You said, cleaning a knife with a soft cloth.

“She left. She said she had some important things to do. I think you were just taking too long. Did you get lost again?” you asked teasingly, following the sharp blade with your fingers, admiring the sharpness.

Zoro huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t get lost! It’s not my fault that Franky moved the ship to another place!” he defended himself. His eyes caught you cleaning your knife, something you only did when you had fought against someone. “Who was it?” he asked, nodding towards the knife. You smiled at him, shrugging your shoulders as you put it away, back into its pocket.

“Just some guy hitting on me and when I rejected him he got angry. Nothing to worry about.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him with you.

“You have some time? Cause I wanna show you something.” You winked at him, turning the corner with him. Zoro grinned, knowing exactly what you were up to.

His grunts were low, his hand was fisting your hair, guiding your head to his thrusts. Small gagging noises joined his deep grunts, making you all teary-eyed. You braced yourself against his thick thighs, clawing at the muscular flesh as you took him in all the way, swallowing around his thick shaft, making him choke out a moan.

You were fingering yourself while you sucked him off, four fingers inside of you. Lewed sounds filled the air around you, the smell of sex clouding your senses.

Your tongue glided over the underside of his shaft, feeling the prominent vein that had always had him twitching whenever you touched it.

“Fuck, Y/n!” What’s gotten into you?” he gasped, opening his eye to look at you but regretting it immediately when he saw you staring up at him, teary eyes, his dick buried inside your mouth to the brim. He was throbbing and you felt him holding back, not wanting to cum just yet.

He pushed you off his dick, panting heavily, a heated expression on his face. You removed your fingers, getting up to your feet. “I love you, Zoro.” You whispered into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck and jumping on his hips, wrapping your legs around him as well, pressing against his erect member. His hands supported you by grabbing your ass, kneading the flesh under his rough palms.

“You seem hornier than usual. Did anything happen?” he panted but you captured his lips with yours, starting a messy kiss with tongue and teeth. He turned around, pressing you against the wall, his dick brushing against your core. “Stop talking….just fuck me.” You hissed in pleasure when his dick pressed against your clit.

Zoro didn’t have to be told twice when he pushed himself inside of you, making you moan in pleasure in the process. You pulled away from the kiss, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, an almost wicked smile on your lips.

Blood. So much blood. Her screams in pain and agony, her pleas and her seemingly lifeless body, lying face down in the very same alley Zoro was fucking you right now. Not even 20 feet away she was, hidden behind a container.

You lifted your head, your eyes looking over to the container. You could see a hand on the ground, unmoving. You knew she wasn’t dead but you whished you had killed her.

“Harder!” you moaned when he hit your sweet spot, your nails digging into his muscular back, leaving bloody scratches. Zoro grunted, picking up the pace, ramming himself inside of you. “Harder.” You repeated, feeling him hammer into you as if he wanted to tear you apart. You loved it.

The sound of skin on skin, dirty and harsh, filled your ears and you felt your orgasm rushing closer. A little more.

You saw the hand twitch a little; a sign she was still alive and you pressed your body closer to his, wanting to feel him with every fiber of your body. He was yours and you were his. She would never come between the two of you, would never have what you had. You wanted to hurt her more, wanted to make her bleed until she was a bloody mess, not to be recognized again.

“Zoro!” You moaned when you came around him, feeling him fill you up right after. Panting and sore, you hung in his arms eyes closed in the afterglow of your orgasm. He had filled you up with his semen, had marked you as his – only his.

“I love you, Zoro.” You repeated, inhaling his masculine scent. Your eyes caught another movement from the hand, indicating she was coming to her senses.

“I love you, too, Y/n.” Zoro panted but you didn’t hear him.

I will kill that bitch.

#one piece #op #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #Roronoa Zoro x reader #x reader #one piece x reader #op x readerr #ns.fw #sm.ut #yandere #Yandere reader #request #franky #op franky #one piece franky

[angelz-dust]

cheaters always win (jason todd x reader)

summary: uh... you fuck red hood. that’s it. happy kinktober.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni) - smut, unprotected sex (no condom, no pulling out),  clothed sex, masks, mild roleplaying. bad writing. terrible, actually. enjoy tho.

minors/ageless blogs who interact will be blocked - read rules before interacting

you laid in bed, comfortable underneath your soft blankets, head rested against a fluffy pillow. you had just taken a nice shower and took your time getting ready for bed. it was starting to get colder, the crisp october wind not being very forgiving, but you managed to maintain a decent temperature that goldilocks would approve of. this was a perfect recipe for slumber and you plan on indulging in that. it didn't take long for your tired state and environment to lull you to sleep.

unfortunately, though, nothing could ever be that perfect.

after getting about an hour and a half of sleep, you suddenly were brought out of dreamworld and back to reality. you wanted to close your eyes and continue your dream where you and your old friends from high school were international super spies, so you did just that. you let out a deep exhale, trying to find that sweet spot of unconsciousness again but something was tingling in your mind. you felt like something was off.

you kept your eyes firmly shut as you tried to feel for anything, the paranoia starting to settle in. was it the boogeyman coming to get you out in some inception like dream sequence or was someone in your apartment? you kept your breathing quiet as you tried to listen in for anything. you couldn't see it, as your eyes were still closed, but you could feel the that the door to your bedroom was now ajar. you were afraid to look, unsure of what you'd see.

you slowly opened your eyes, turning your head and sitting up to see someone sitting in the chair next to your dresser. they were illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the blinds of the window next to you. you let out a gasp, flinching and gripping your sheets and you felt your back press into the headboard. the person just stared at you while you panicked.

your eyes were blurry and filled with sleep. it took you a moment in your now petrified fear to realize that you knew who was sitting in the chair, unflinching at your scared noises.

"jesus fucking christ," you breathed out, pressing your hand on your chest as you felt your heart hammering back against it. "oh my god, you scared me."

silence. no response. not even a nonverbal one.

as you attempted to regulate your breathing, you stared at jason. well... not jason. you were staring at red hood. he must have just gotten back from patrol. sometimes he would stop by to spend the night with you. he must have broke in, as he always did, while you were asleep.

"goodnight, asshole," you pouted, laying back down in your little cocoon. you expected to hear a response or at least the sound of his boots hitting the floor while he shuffled around to get ready for bed. you didn't, though, which prompted you to open your heavy eyes once again.

"jason," you called out cutely, turning over to look at him. your pout returned after a yawn fell from your lips, glistening your eyes with sleepy tears. "hurry up and come to bed."

you weren't sure if there was something wrong with him or not. was he upset? hurt, maybe? these scary thoughts were starting to bring you out of your sleepy stupor. you sat up, deciding to try to throw some humor his way to get a reaction. you wanted to try and see where his head was at without having to ask specifically.

"excuse me, red hood?" you started, rubbing your eyes softly. "have you seen my boyfriend, jason?"

you watched as he shifted in his seat, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. he went and placed his chin in his palm, looking at you.

"i don't think i have," he responded, his voice distorted because of his voice modulator.

you smiled, glad that he was talking now. you hoped this meant that nothing was wrong. "he's very tall and solid. silky black hair, pretty green eyes, ruggedly handsome. very hard to miss."

red hood drummed his fingers on his lap with his free hand, pretending to think. "it's not ringing any bells."

"oh no," you sighed jokingly. "do you think something bad happened to him?"

"he's probably dead."

your face fell into a blank stare at his stupid joke. thank god you couldn't see his smug face under the helmet. was he giving you his signature smirk? were his eyes sparkling, overshadowing the sadness that always seemed to linger behind them or had their beauty been plagued by it, along with the rest of his handsome face? it was incredibly hard to tell. you hoped for the former.

"my boyfriend is too strong to die," you told him with a small smile. "i bet he could take you. he taught me everything he knows so... i bet i could take you, too."

"i seriously doubt that," you heard him retort, sitting up straight in the chair now. he viewed your claim as a challenge he was going to accept.

"then try and fight me, red hood," you said, sticking out your tongue at him.

you watched him stand up and walk towards you, not realizing how menacing he actually was. not seeing his face was unsettling enough but his stature made him even more intimidating. you knew he wouldn't hurt you so fear was replaced with confused arousal. it definitely was not the goal of the interaction, so you quickly pushed the thoughts away.

you stood up on the bed, wanting to have height advantage. he looked up at you for a moment before reaching out to start tickling you. laughter pearled out of your mouth as you were brought back down to your knees out of shock. “cheater!” you called out through your laughter.

you tried fending him off, pushing his hands away and weakly punching his chest and arms. it was obvious he was trying to possibly let you win. even in his state of not trying, you'd still lose.

the two of you went back and forth for awhile, taking jabs at each other while you laughed along the way. at one point, jason hooked his finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling it back as far as he could before letting it snap back against your skin. you let out a little yelp, promptly giving him a very careful punch to the crotch. it was a fake fight, after all. you didn't want to actually hurt him.

he instinctively flinched back, quickly breaking your guard by smacking your hands away and reaching out and pulling his sweater up over your head, just enough to cover your face while he softly jabbed at your soft skin. you sputtered as you tried to pull it back down but not before he used both of his hands to give your breasts a squeeze. he must have gotten bored with play fighting because as soon as you pulled his sweater back down, he quickly pinned you to the bed by your wrists. you stared up at him, eyes wide as he hovered over you.

"oh," you breathed out, blinking up at him. "o-oh! ouch!"

"what?"

"i think i've been injured," you said with a little smile as he loosened his grip on your wrists, letting you free. "do you think you could take a look at it? i mean, it's the least you can do considering it's you're fault."

you could feel him rolling his eyes and it only made your smile grow. you sat up and pressed your back into his firm chest. you could feel his steady breathing starting to sync up with yours.

"show me where it hurts," he told you and you took one of his hands, slowly guiding it up your stomach underneath his sweater. you stopped when the side of his thumb was pressed against the underside of your breast.

"it's somewhere over here. i'm not exactly sure where," you explained coyly as he began massaging your breast, looping his other arm around your waist as he started rubbing himself on your ass. you pushed back against him, letting out a mewl of satisfaction.

the two of you stayed like that for awhile, slowly but surely getting each other worked up. you hadn't expected him to be so receptive. you were just going to tease him a little in hopes of getting him to drop the red hood act so you could get some sleep. you assumed he'd want to finish what you started as jason but the fact that it appeared you'd be getting it on with red hood felt much sexier and a lot more fun.

"i'm not feeling any problems, sweetheart," his distorted voice rang in your ears as his movements stopped.

"oh, well, that's good," you said softly, placing your hand over his and pulling it away from your chest. "but i have another problem now."

"yeah?" he questioned as he watched you take his glove off, carefully stuffing it into his jacket pocket. "what's that?"

you silently led his hand down to your soaked panties and he let out a chuckle. "oh, i see. that is a problem."

"can you fix it?" you asked, letting out a moan as his fingers had already gone to work.

"i can certainly try."

while his fingers worked at rubbing you over your panties, his gloved hand made its way to the breast he had neglected earlier. you whined softly as you rubbed back against him while rutting against his fingers. eventually, your panties were so wet to the point where he might as well have been touching you directly, which prompted him to get them off of you. it took some maneuvering but he eventually got them off and he kindly tossed them into the hamper before continuing.

he teased you first, ghosting his fingers over your outer lips and slit before spreading you open. he repeated this motion a few times, making you whine in frustration. once he was satisfied he slipped his middle finger between your folds, softly rubbing you. you took matters into your hands and started rubbing yourself against his finger, desperately wanting more. the more you moved, the less pressure he applied.

"stop it," he finally said, his voice firm. you pouted, complying with his request and quickly being rewarded. he teased your clit right before gently dipping two fingers inside of you, making you moan out in surprise. he began pumping them in and out of you, bringing your juices back up to your swollen clit.

your back arched, surprised at how sensitive you were. it was a little embarrassing, actually. jason clearly didn't care, continuing to exploit your sensitivity and get more pretty moans to fall from your lips. not being able to sit still any longer. your hips began bucking again. jason let you move for a little while before removing his hand completely.

"i think i might be making your problem worse," he teased, palming himself over his pants. "and causing one for myself."

you heard the clanking of him fiddling with his belt buckle and you turned around to help. you quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, giving him the space he needed to pull out his hard cock through the opening. you dipped your fingers into your wetness, using it to help slick his cock, focusing on the head. you started stroking him with both hands, one firmly gripping the base while the other was teasing the head.

jason's moans encouraged you to move faster. he moved his fingers to your lips, making you taste yourself while you stroked him. you sucked on his fingers, closing your eyes as you moved both hands to the tip of his cock. he pulled his fingers away and you let them go with a pop, making him sigh deeply.

"i have to fuck you now. right now," he said seriously, stroking himself in front of you. "i hope your boyfriend doesn't mind."

"i'm sure he will," you said honestly, giving jason a lazy smile. you turned around on all fours, bending to with your chest pressed against the mattress and your ass in the air. you felt him lining himself up with your entrance and you braced yourself for the initial stretch. you gripped the sheets tightly as he pushed gently himself in. he slipped in easily, thanks to your seemingly infinite wetness.

you felt him press his fingertips on lower back, making you sink down so your hips were against the bed. that was when he tightly gripped them and began fucking you from behind. he rolled his hips into you, his movements slow and deep initially before he picked up the pace.

"you're so tight around me," he praised you, moving his hands to grip your ass.

each thrust was met with a moan from you. you were still very sensitive and it was starting to effect your entire body. jason's shameless fucking wasn't helping. he took a moment to remove his other glove, putting it in his pocket before dragging his hands up your sides, thumbs pressed into your back for better balance and access.

eventually he flipped you over, watching your now exposed breasts bounce while he rolled his hips into yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him deeper inside of you. he obliged, snapping his hips faster and pushing himself deeper.

"you like being fucked by me?" he asked between thrusts.

you nodded sloppily, gasping softly each time his hips slammed back into you. "y-yes. i love being fucked by you, red hood."

the room was filled with a symphony of your shared moans, along with other lewd noises. you weren't sure how much longer you would last with jason's nonstop thrusting. you felt your leg starting to cramp up and give out, the sensations of pain and pleasure starting to blend together to the point where it almost felt good.

"i'm getting close, baby," jason panted, finally slowing down. he rubbed circles into your hips, looking at your blissed out form below him. "so fucking close."

"please, keep going," you begged him, rolling your hips with his slow movements. "i'm almost there."

jason picked you up, taking you back to the chair. he sat down and wrapped his arms around your waist before harshly bucking his hips upward, hitting your sweet spot. you let out a loud string of moans and whines, using the arms of the chair as support as you tried to match jason's wild hip movements. you could feel your release coming, the pressure that had built up inside of you ready to dissipate.

"i'm gonna cum," you choked out, prompting jason to hit you with deep and deliberate thrusts, finally pushing you over the edge. you clenched tightly around him, feeling his cum spill inside of you while you both rode out your highs.

the both of you took a moment to catch your breath, bodies tingling in the afterglow. you felt like you were gonna pass out at any second, but not before you saw jason's face. you refused to lose consciousness before then. you reached out, hands caressing his helmet. you heard a click and sharp hiss, talking it off of jason's head.

"there he is," you said sleepily, setting the helmet on the dresser beside you. you carefully peeled off his domino mask next, tossing it next to the helmet. "my jason."

jason's cheeks were flushed and his sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead. his eyes were shining, just like you had hoped they would. he gave you a lopsided grin, leaning in to finally give you a soft kiss. "i can't believe you cheated on me with red hood."

“the real cheating was when you tickled me,” you laughed against his lips, stealing another kiss as you held his face in your hands. "can you blame me, though? he's really sexy."

"given the opportunity, i would fuck red hood, too," he admitted jokingly, peppering kisses on your cheeks and down your neck. "sorry for scaring you. i didn't mean to."

you looked at him with a worried expression, recalling the events that got you to this place to begin with. you pushed his hair back from his forehead, carding your fingers through his locks. "are you alright? did you have a rough night?"

jason sighed before nodding softly. "yeah, kinda. but i'm alright now."

"we can talk about it. only if you want to," you offered and he shook his head, giving you another kiss.

"tomorrow," he compromised, slowly standing up with you attached to him like a koala. "we need to get cleaned up and go to sleep."

"i had that handled until you came along," you teased him as he headed for the bathroom. "but alright. sounds good to me."

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd smut #dc x reader #kinktober

[oogaboogasphincter]

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: Staying in a hotel on Puggart Bench while in between expeditions has given you and Ezra a lot of time to develop your relationship both emotionally and physically. On your last night before you depart for your next trip together, you decide to try out one of Ezra’s kinks. Your heartstrings aren’t the only things that will be getting tied up this evening. 

Word Count: 6.8k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! because this is like 80% smut

Warnings: mild allusion to a rocky relationship from this oneshot (both partners have made up and are now in an established relationship), smut, soft-ish bondage (f gets tied up), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl please), dirty talk, swearing, a hand on a throat but no choking, one (1) instance of ✨spitting✨, questionable kink shaming??💀(a joke is made about daddy kinks), comma splice, atrocious metaphor and repetitive sentence structure galore. also no beta reader, and reader uses she/her pronouns and is afab. 

Author’s Note: this is my first smut fic! i really appreciated all of the positive feedback that i got on my first fic (💚), so i thought i would do a smutty follow-up to it! if you haven’t read it and you’d like to, you can read it here. i tried my best to make this fic readable as a standalone oneshot though, so if you’d like to do that, that’s cool too! :) i think the only things new readers need to know are that Ezra’s nickname for the reader is Goose, and The Blue is a moon, like The Green, that Ezra, Cee and the reader traveled to in my last fic. also i reference the traffic light system a lot more in this fic than i have personally read in other fics, just because i feel like it’s a great way of checking in on your partner during sex. i know it might get a lil annoying after a while, but i think it’s important to keep it up. i also wanted to include it in my first fic bc even though i might not use it explicitly in my next fics, i want it to be understood that I think it’s super important to continue to check on your partner, etc. also i apologize if the smut isn’t “realistic”, as your writer is 100% a virgin skjfskdj💀 i don’t think that means that i don't know/can't learn how to write some smut though! however i would just keep that in mind💀, and i hope you enjoy it! :)🍀💜

p.s. i'd like to say thank you to @martinsmomo​ one more time for giving me the amazing request for my first fic! 💕

gif by @skyshipper

“Go to the bedroom, strip to your underwear and wait for me.”

The patch job of your relationship with Ezra on The Blue was a success. Spending an equal amount of time with him alone, alone with Cee and as a trio boosted your strength as a group. The awkward silences and argumentative expeditions around The Blue were no more, and were replaced with friendly banter and jovial hikes. You and Ezra had made up so much that you had started to express your affection for one another physically. 

On every third day or so, Cee would go out on a trip alone, needing some time to herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stand the two of you - although you and Ezra occasionally found joy in pushing her buttons - but she enjoyed doing activities by herself. It made her feel like she was fortifying her transition from teenager to young adult. You and Ezra couldn’t have agreed more and supported her independent decisions. 

And on every third day or so, her absence from the pod allowed your courage to physically engage with Ezra to grow. The two of you had kept it to a minimum, not wanting Cee to notice any blushing cheeks or sweaty foreheads or panting chests when she would return. The majority of your time was spent just cuddling in positions that were a little too sexually charged to be considered platonic: a leg wound around a waist here, a hand gripping an ass there. The heaviest moment you had had was during a makeout session. 

While lying down in Ezra’s makeshift bed and mingling tastebuds, you had hiked one of your legs up and over his hips. Soon after, you felt the tip of his cock poke the underside of your thigh. He couldn’t have been harder. You dared to relieve some of his pent up arousal while still maintaining some semblance of innocence and released your grip on his hair, slid your hand down his broad chest and slipped it underneath your leg to get to his erection. You held it and ran your fingers over the tip of it, then along its length, hoping to get a good idea of what your pussy would have to take on at some later time. The moment Ezra felt the light weight of your hand, he moaned deeply into your mouth. He had then broken your kiss and warned, “Goose, in all seriousness, you should highly consider concluding your investigation unless you want to throw me into a pit of agonizing embarrassment.”

You teased, his clothed cock still in hand, “Ezra, I think we should stick to swallowing each other’s tongues and not speaking in them.” 

He had hummed in delight and grinned at you, then sighed, “Okay then, in your plebeian lingo: if you don’t stop rubbing my cock, I’ll cum in my pants.”

You both erupted in laughter, and you had snaked your hands back up his body and entangled them in his hair, taking his tongue in your mouth once again. 

After your departure from The Blue, your gang had decided to stop on Puggart Bench and decompress for a while. Cee wanted to hang out with her friends before they all went their separate ways in their new adult lives, Ezra wanted to repay the loan he had taken out for his prosthetic arm and you wanted a real bed to sleep in. Not a pilot’s chair, not a bundle of blankets on a metal floor, but a real bed. With a mattress, a comforter, a nice set of sheets, a plethora of blankets and pillows. A two bedroom suite in Puggart Bench’s most prestigious hotel was what the three of you had booked for two months before another orbiting moon made its way into the Bakhroma System for the three of you to explore. Your group had engaged in some nice, familial-like activities, nourishing your found family dynamic. 

You and Ezra had also spent quite a bit of time getting to know each other physically. While Cee would spend the day with her friends, you and Ezra never left your bed. Well, technically Ezra left the bed when he would stand, pull you to the very edge of it and subsequently use his newfound balance to pound into you with abandon. Your body hadn’t left the sheets, even when you knelt on the floor and took Ezra down your throat; your back pushed against the side of the mattress with every one of his thrusts. 

Fast forward to the present day, and it is the last day you are on Puggart Bench before you leave for The Indigo, the new moon in town. Cee is spending the night at her friend’s house, where she will be having one last sleepover with all of the girls she won’t have the chance to connect with for an undetermined period of time. You feel guilty for looking forward to her leaving because you can only imagine what your bedroom will see of you and Ezra tonight. 

While he washed your hair after a particularly exertive romp, Ezra had hinted that he had a kink that he wanted to try out with you. Without a definite return date from The Indigo, he offered that the two of you try it before you left for the moon, his desires getting the best of him. He never elaborated on what the kink is, as the both of you got entranced with washing the rest of your bodies. You plan on bringing it up tonight in the hopes of coming to a decision of whether or not you two have the patience to wait to test it out or not. 

The two of you are now putting on a facade of patience as Cee packs her things in her room. You sit in between Ezra’s legs on the couch, back to his torso, both of you reading a different book. The text fails to retain your attention, so you place a finger on the page you are on and fold it over. You shift your head against Ezra’s chest to look up at him, pupils dilating immediately as they take him in. Black thick-rimmed reading glasses grace his face, the only indication in his rugged appearance that he would be a bookworm. He glances down from his book to meet your eyes, smiling at you. He brings his right hand down, brushing the back of the dark grey metal against your cheek. You smile back at him, and a naughty thought pops into your brain. 

With your free hand, you find Ezra’s cock in an instant and palm it through his pants. His mouth drops in blissful surprise, but he’s quick to sit up and yank your hand away from his now hard dick. He snaps out a whisper, “Patience, Goose,” and places a light kiss to your temple. He gets up and walks away, afraid that you would just try to place your hand right back where it was. He was also afraid that he wouldn’t have the strength to stop you the next time. 

Suitcase clips clap from Cee’s bedroom, and moments later she walks into the living room. You look up at her from the back of the couch: still pouting that Ezra shooed you away, and he looks up at her too, standing behind the kitchen counter: hiding his erection. You both fight through your mutual embarrassment and smile at her, noticing her excitement. She beams at the two of you, suitcase in hand, and raises her shoulders, “Well, I’m going to go now.” 

She starts to walk to the door and Ezra follows her, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Have a good time, Sparrow. We’ll swing by and scoop you up tomorrow afternoon.” 

Cee smiles up at him, “Will do.” 

Ezra retracts his hand and puts both in his pockets, “We hate to bar you from seeing your friends and leading a more stable life, but we really do find solace in your company on our travels. It keeps us grounded, as much as one can be on an orbiting moon.” 

She turns so that she faces both of you, “No, that’s okay. I really enjoy being with you guys. You’re like a family that I got to pick.”

Tears threaten to run down your cheeks as you get up and rush over to her to give her a tight hug. She returns your embrace and Ezra follows shortly behind, encasing both of you in his arms. He draws giggles from his girls by placing a kiss on each of your heads, and after a moment of relishing in your found family, you all release one another. Cee says her final goodbyes, opens the door and closes it behind her, giving you and Ezra one last final smile of departure. 

You feel ashamed by the amount of heat that floods your genitals as soon as you hear the lock of the door click closed. Ezra, ever sensitive to your every mood change, pulls you in close and presses his forehead to yours, “You know we have to wait, Goose.” You nod, all too familiar with your routine once Cee left. You would wait and listen for her to walk down the hallway to the elevators, press the down button, wait for the doors to open, walk inside the chamber once it arrived, wait for the doors to close and finally start to descend to the ground floor. You did so out of respect for her; you and Ezra would never be able to forgive yourselves if she were to, for example, forget something and come back to find the two of you in the middle of some heated relations. 

Ezra’s fingers massage your shoulder blades as you anticipate the sound of the elevator opening, fully aware that he was not only dissipating any nerves you have but spurring your arousal on as well. He knows that thoughts of his fingers traveling elsewhere swarm your brain as he alternates the pressure his fingertips give you. With this knowledge, unbeknownst to you, he’s thinking about what his first order for you will be tonight. Would he introduce the kink that he alluded to the other day? Does he just want a night of repeating your default, mind-blowing agenda? How would you feel about reversing roles, and have you be his dominant and him your submissive? 

The ping of the elevator down the hall snaps him out of his trance. You eagerly await the whir of the elevator going down, and seconds later your wish is granted. Ezra lets go of you and steps back, eyes raking up and down your body twice before telling you, “Go to the bedroom, strip to your underwear and wait for me.” Such straightforward instructions to come from such an elaborate man. Ezra doesn’t waste a second in giving you seductive orders the moment he hears the elevator descending, his hunger to devour you reaching unbearable levels. With your appetite consisting of the same ferocity, you follow his instructions and go to your bedroom. Plopping onto the bed and laying on your back, you kick your shoes off, shimmy out of your pants and slide your shirt up and over your head, tossing the items to the chair in the corner of the room where you and Ezra kept your clothes. You found it humorous that he, like you, implemented the “chair of discarded clothing” into his life. 

Now in just your underwear and socks (Ezra had relayed to you that it is statistically easier to orgasm while wearing socks), you reach over into the nightstand and pull out a necktie. You had been rewarded with such powerful orgasms at the hands of Ezra - literally - that you often couldn’t hold in your cries no matter how hard you tried. The necktie’s usual resting place was in between your teeth, tied around your mouth in an effort to muffle yourself out of courtesy of your neighbors. Ezra’s mouth remained ungagged; the neighbors must’ve thought that he was trying out some new rigorous exercise regime with all of those heaves, grunts and... moans? What sort of move would cause his headboard to repeatedly knock on the wall? 

You sit and rub your thumbs on the buttersoft navy silk of the tie, patiently awaiting Ezra’s entrance into the room and later your cunt. A few moments later he comes in and shuts and locks the door behind him, an emergency precaution to protect the eyes of Cee or any intruding employee. He comes over and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You glide over to him like a magnet and figure out a part of his kink after taking a quick glance into his hands, seeing that he’s holding rope. Black rope, to be exact, of varying lengths. He notices your quizzical brow and asks, “Spill your thoughts, Goose.” You gingerly reach out and touch the rope with your index finger, your vision moving in loops as you trace the coils. You look up and meet his eyes, those warm, curious, assuring windows to his soul that you love ever so dearly. You question, “Do you like to be tied up or do you want to tie me up?” 

He displays a faint smile, “I’d find great satisfaction in tying you up. However, I would be a liar if I claimed that the thought of you restraining me and having your way with me never joyfully crossed my mind.”

You sit there in silence, taking in his desires. You are most definitely up for this, you just approach every new romp with hesitation. You hadn’t been a virgin the first time you slept with Ezra, but no one had ever made you feel so good. So open, exposed, on display, in all the right ways. You had been set ablaze by his confident maneuvers, calmed ever so coolly by his doting ministrations. He had drowned you in his passionate love, and you had loved every single fucking second of it. It just got a bit overwhelming at times, which he would take notice of and promptly give you your time and space when you needed it. 

The rope intimidates you. It was smooth to the touch on the pad of your finger, but you could already imagine the uncomfortable burns it could give you. The tightness and thickness of the coils add to the fantasy of being completely immovable, but it also plants doubts in your mind. You voice your concerns to Ezra, “I’d love for you to tie me up, but I don’t think I’d like to start with rope.”

He cups your cheek lovingly, “Always one step ahead of me, Goose,” and picks up an end of the necktie in your lap. He rubs it with you, “I don’t want to start with the rope on you, either. I want us to work up to it.” He pats your cheek and holds up the rope in his hands, “I mean, it does look a little scary, doesn’t it?” Your newfound ease lets itself out of your lungs with a giggle, mirrored by Ezra. He turns and puts the rope on the seat at the foot of your bed, and you climb into his lap as he turns back around and cover his mouth with yours. Falling back onto the bed, his arms wrap around you like a snake and constrict you to his body. You grind your pussy onto his clothed torso, desperate for some friction, your soft moans tumbling down his throat. 

He has to pull you away from his mouth by the back of your neck, “Let me take my clothes off, sweet girl.” He gives you a chaste kiss before you roll off of him and let him stand to strip. As he gets naked, you remove your panties in a flash, and he quizzes you, “Color system?”

“Green for when I’m enjoying it, yellow for when I’m being pushed to my limits, red for when I’ve reached my limit and need you to stop.” 

“Good girl. What’s our safe word?”

“Magpie.”

“Excellent. Are you ready?” he asks as he pulls his underwear down and repeats your earlier action of throwing the discarded clothes onto the chair in the corner. 

You nod fervently, “Yes sir.” 

He sighs as he walks over to the edge of the bed and kneels, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Goose, you don’t have to call me that. I feel fulfilled enough in my domination with the heavenly noises your precious body emits.” 

You shrug, “It’s just natural. It’s a good girl formality, Ez. Aren’t I a good girl?”

He raises an eyebrow as he hooks his hands behind your knees and pulls your legs over the bed so you’re sitting on the edge, “I don’t think good girls let their neediness get the best of them and just fondle cocks out in the open.” You let out a devious laugh, noting his reference to your sneak attack on the couch, and he takes the necktie from you.  Your fingers run through his hair for a moment before he gently takes your wrists, smiling up at you. 

He reaches up to kiss you, and after your lips part he mumbles against them, “I’m just going to tie your hands together now, okay?” 

You nod, “Okay.” 

He gives you another wholehearted kiss before sitting back on his feet, beginning to tie your wrists to one another. You admit, although it’s incredibly arousing to watch his thick fingers twirl the smooth fabric into a knot, you grow a little bit anxious at the loss of movement. He can read it on your face after he finishes the knot, “I want you to lay back while I eat you out. I tied your hands in front of you so that you can pinch me if you want me to stop but can’t find your words.” You nod, appreciating the simplicity of his instructions. 

“I need you to use your words now, Goose.”

“Okay,” you reiterate, “Safe word is magpie. I can pinch you if I can’t say it.”

He nods, “Good girl,” and eases you onto your back. As he’s moving down your body to your core, something dawns on you, “Wait a minute.”

Ezra pauses and looks up at you with a caring expression, “What?”

“How am I supposed to stay quiet with the tie on my wrists and not in my mouth?”

He answers simplistically with a smirk, “Don't.”

You laugh, “What about the neighbors?”

“Fuck them. They should be grateful that tonight they will be an audience to one of the most beautiful symphonies that has ever been composed. And I’m not stepping foot off of this planet until I’ve heard my good girl’s clear, unabashed screams.” 

A rush of hot air leaves your mouth, enticing Ezra to come back up and push it back into you with his tongue. A moment of clashing teeth later, he retreats back down to your core and lightly knocks your legs apart. You shift your gaze downward to find him admiring your cunt, his left hand capturing his dick and pumping it a few times. He leans forward, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and then runs his sharp nose over the spot, up your leg, across your hip and back down to your wetness and inhales deeply. You can’t help but laugh at his display of rapture, his sniffing audible. He threatens you in disbelief, “My indulgence amuses you, Goose?” 

You meet his eyes with yours, twinkling with mischief, “Yeah, kind of.” 

He puts his tongue in his cheek and shakes his head, “Goose, you are being a bit of a brat.” He pushes your knees to your chest, his hands on the backs of your thighs, keeping them in place, “And you should know by now how much I love taming my little brat.” 

You are very aware of how much he enjoys brat taming, hence your acting up. His tongue licks a wide stripe up your core and a gasp escapes your mouth. He moans into you, sending vibrations through your cunt and shivers up your spine. He buries his tongue in you, his lips fornicating with your southern set, his fingers gripping your soft flesh tightly. Your anticipation of this moment has made your cunt oversensitive, so every little tickle of Ezra’s facial hair, every small movement of his warm tongue, every faint nudge of his nose and chin against your vulva makes you moan loudly. The pattern that his tongue is following suddenly picks up speed and your body involuntarily adjusts to it. Your hips buck up into his mouth, your clit weeping to be drenched in his saliva. Your tied hands lower until your fingertips are able to find his hair and intertwine with the thick brunette strands. The stability that gripping onto his hair gives you makes you hyperaware of just how close you are to cumming already. You whimper, “Ezra, please.”

This tone of your voice has been permanently ingrained in his mind thanks to your daily fucks over the past couple months. If the tightening of your hamstrings isn’t a large enough hint to him that you are close, your breathlessness is a blatant clue. He releases you from his mouth, lines of spit keeping the two of you connected, “That’s my girl, come on.” His egging on is more than you need to be shoved into your orgasm. As his tongue returns to lap at your clit, your neck arches up and your eyes roll into the back of your head. A groan rips through your throat that drowns out his muffled moans, his mouth working you through your orgasm. Your sharp intakes of air start to stagger out as your heart begins to calm down, your cunt pulsing with aftershocks. Ezra reluctantly removes his mouth from you, wetting your inner thigh with a line of his spit and your slick before pressing a kiss to the same spot he kissed earlier. The blackness of his pupils overtakes his chocolatey irises when he catches your eyes, dopamine flooding his nervous system. 

He presents his wrist, does some math on an imaginary watch and jokes, “That must’ve been a record, Goose.” You giggle and pull your hands up to your mouth, trying to hide your embarrassed smile. He reaches up and pulls your hands back down to tangle your fingers in his cowlicks, “But my desire to drink pools of your cum has not yet been satiated.” 

You swear under your breath as he dips his head back in between your legs, your voice catching in your throat when his hot breath cascades over your folds. This time, instead of licking stripes and lapping, he opts to draw shapes and trace circles against you. It sounds stupid, but man does it feel fucking good. Before you lose all self control, you give his scalp a massage, the best one you can muster with conjoined hands, as a way of telling him I love you. Simultaneously, he switches his tongue’s clockwise motion to counterclockwise and hooks his hands around the tops of your thighs, pulling you deeper into his mouth so he can devour you even more thoroughly than he already was. You brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead with your knuckles, seeing that his eyes are closed and brows are furrowed in concentration. He’s been moaning this entire time into you, blissfully lost in the heaven that is your pussy, and as his tongue picks up its pace the vocal vibrations boost your toward your release. You beg of him, “Please don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he heightens your arousal one step further than you thought possible. He notes your utter wetness and decides to fill your wanting hole by snaking his left hand down to your entrance and slipping two fingers inside you. A heated orgasm pumps through your every artery just like Ezra’s fingers are pumping in and out of your cunt, his tongue keeping a delicious pace. After your body is done convulsing with pleasure, he moves up it and stops in front of your face. 

“Open.” 

You are all too familiar with this command and obey. Ezra spits a combination of your cum and his saliva into your mouth. He presses a hand to the underside of your jaw and you close your mouth. 

“Swallow.” 

You do as he says while he keeps his hand against your neck, feeling his love concoction make its way down your throat. He groans and gives you a quick kiss before asking, “Color?” You smile and bring your hands up to scratch at his scruff, “Green. You?”

“Green.” 

Pulling your body tight against his, he hauls the two of you to the middle of the bed. He sits up and back atop your hips, pulls your hands closer to him and begins to untie your wrists. Your eyes can’t help but fixate on his hard dick, standing erect in front of you, as he speaks, “Now Goose, once you’re untied I want you to get on all fours for me,” he notices your distraction, “and if you try to pull any shenanigans, there will be consequences.” You shift your gaze up to his eyes and you swear that there’s a deep sparkle in them that is daring you, begging you, to disobey him. He liked to punish you as much as you liked to be punished by him. So, once untied, you throw him a curveball and take his orders, flipping over and propping yourself up on your hands and knees. You look over your shoulder at him to see that his face is mangled in baffled confusion, making you laugh, “What?” 

He mounts your ass and teases your entrance with his cock, “If you had attempted to grab what your eyes were drooling over, I would’ve spanked you.” 

“But I didn’t.”

He leans over your back and places his hands on either side of yours, “I wanted to spank you.” 

“I know. But I’m not a naughty girl.”

He raises his eyebrows and chuffs out disbelief, “Maybe if you continue to tell yourself that delusion, you can convince yourself that it’s true. But there’s no fooling me. I know my girl is infatuated with misbehaving in order to spite me,” he stuffs his cock inside your pussy, “Isn't that true?” He lifts his left hand to wrap his fingers around the arched column of your throat, forcing you to look up at him. 

You dismantle his lie, “I don’t do it to spite you, I do it to delight you.” 

He pulls his hips away from yours in order to prepare for a thrust and hums, “That’s one reason why I love you, Goose. You see right through me.” 

The two of you groan in unison as he fucks forward and bottoms out inside you. As he establishes a steady pace, your quivering fingers find purchase on his wrist. Even though you had slept together a countless number of times in the past two months, his girthy penetration still overwhelmed you at first, and you benefitted from at least a few seconds of adjusting. He knew this and was why he untied you; his brutal rhythm coupled with the binding of the tie would be too much for you without a little warming up. While he’s stretching you out, he murmurs encouragements into your hair, “That’s it, just like that... You’re taking my cock so well... Good girl.” 

After your muscles relax, he asks, “Color?”

“Couldn’t be greener. You?”

He grins at your response, “Green.” 

He gives your cheek a kiss before proposing his next instruction, “Why don’t you be a good girl and lay down and put your arms behind your back?”

He pauses his thrusts as you lean forward and press your cheek against the sheets. You turn to ask him just how he wants you to move, and he reads your mind, “Touch the pits of your elbows.” You twist your forearms behind your back until they are pressed against each other and the tips of one hand’s fingers graze the opposite side’s elbow. He snakes the silky tie in between your spine and wrists, the fabric gliding easily over your sweaty skin. He ties your wrists together again, this time much looser than before. He color checks you when he finishes the knot. You wiggle your arms, the amount of resistance being just right, “Green.” He hums in enjoyment and runs his fingertips down the backs of your arms, sending a pleasant shudder through you. 

Lining himself up, he places a steadying right hand on your lower back. The contrast of the cool metal of his prosthetic limb to the fire that barrels through you once he pushes himself back into your hole is divine. Both textures of his hands slip against your skin as they try to find a solid grip on your hips in order to allow him to begin pounding into you. Your whimpering spurs him on, and once he’s able to to lock you into place you both swear under your breath in anticipation. As he embarks on his ferocious rhythm, an orgasm takes you by surprise. 

Well, not really by surprise, because Ezra has proven time and time again that he can coax you to cum at a moment’s notice. 

Out of courteous instinct, you bury your face into the bed to muffle your cries of ecstasy. Ezra turns your face to the side and tuts, “Uh-uh, Goose, I need to hear you this time, remember?” 

You can barely him him, let alone understand him, while an astronomical burst of white oxytocin smothers your poor body. Unable to gain control of your composure to stop yourself, you indulge Ezra and let your screams fill the bedroom. The numbness of your mind fades away, effects of your orgasm bringing feeling back to you: the hot tears that spot your bottom lashline, the sweet soreness that the tensing of your muscles left you, the sweat that gathers in the line of your spine, the aroused slick that coats your inner thighs. 

You pant as Ezra unties you, “Good girl. Flip over and face me,” and he tenderly places your forearms to your sides. 

You’re exhausted. You can most definitely take more of his loving, but you need him to do the work, “I can’t.” 

He rolls you over onto your back, his muscular arms giving you the comfort you need to go on. A frantic, worried expression takes over his face, “You okay? Still green? I didn’t push you too far, did I? Was the tie too tight? Did I-” 

You shut him up with a kiss. You reassure him, “Yes, still green. Just fucking tired.” 

You both laugh, and he asks, “Do you want to stop?” 

You shake your head no, “I’m not sure if the neighbors heard all of that scream. I think they need another one.” 

Your dirty talk contorts his mouth into a grin of sly allure as he gets up off the bed, “I concur.” He opens a drawer of the nightstand and takes out another necktie, this one made of black wool. He gets back on the bed and says, “Let’s give them a musical to remember.” 

You snicker as he pushes both of you farther up the bed, giving you more room to mess about in. He places the second tie next to the blue one and a hand on each of your ankles, “What this next position requires in flexibility it will pay for infinitely in pleasure for you and I both, okay, Goose?” 

Your wariness is excited, “Okay?” 

He pulls your legs together and picks up the blue tie. He wraps the fabric around both ankles, beginning to tie them together, but pauses and interjects, meeting your eyes, “You’re okay with me tying you here, right?” 

You smile at his concern and mock, “Ezra, you could tie me any way you’d like and I’ll be more than happy.” 

His nose crinkles in satisfaction and he resumes tying you up. After he’s done, he pushes your thighs to your chest, bending your knees so your feet are in the air. You can’t stop the laughter that erupts from you, “Ez, what in the Bakhroma System are you scheming?” 

He gives you a wickedly teasing laugh back, “A fun time, Goose.” 

He momentarily cups your face with his left hand, “If at any point it gets too much, for whatever reason, just say the word and I’ll stop everything.” 

You take his hand and kiss his palm, “Okay.” 

He smiles, boops your nose with his thumb and pulls your arms so that they rest in the pit of your upside down knees. He picks up the black tie and does a different knot on your arms than he had done previously. He puts the binding on them higher up, which makes you hold your legs up, keeping your cunt on display for him. The wool of the tie scratches where the silk had soothed you, but you savor the friction. Ezra wastes no time in entering you again, plunging his cock deep into your fluttering walls. You brace your forehead against your shins, panting wildly. With every thrust, he hits something deep and sensitive in you, but you know you could make the experience more intense for the both of you. 

“Ez?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you look at me?” He angles himself so he can look around your legs and meet your eyes. As you are projected into the depths of his eyes, engulfed by the lust-blown ink of his pupils, enhanced by the dark coffee that surrounds them, an “I love you” slips out of your lips. 

He compresses your body further by leaning down and capturing your mouth, “I love you too.” 

When he pulls back and his hands find the backs of your thighs, he asks for a color check. You answer green, giving him permission to ravage you. He does just that, putting every ounce of his might behind his thrusts, eliciting growls of the same magnitude from you both. The gradual construction of an orgasm starts to warm your body, your moans getting louder and louder with each passing second. In an effort to put it off, you bite down hard on your lip. Ezra notices, running a thumb across your lipline, “Goose, please, allow me to be privy to your every stuttered breath.”

“Every gasp of delighted surprise.”

“Every involuntary whimper.”

“Every lustful yelp.”

“Every plea for me to keep going.”

“Every unhinged beg.”

“Every feral scream that only I can rouse out of those magnificent lungs. Indulge my deranged wish and let me hear it all, Goose.”

His words whisk you onto an expressive whirlwind of slow-building passion. You close your eyes and watch as your orgasm transforms from a cozy snuggle to a captivating explosion; behind your eyelids, amorous red transitions to a lustful magenta. It lightens to a flirtatious and giggly bubblegum, intensifying to a vibrating, barely-there pink. Then, all at once, buckets of slumberous evergreen, pure Ezra energy, submerge you into your release. Any bit of any other color is eradicated as he pours his soul onto yours. Descending from your chameleonic trance, you open your eyes to meet his. He can see that he has torn you apart in a most satiating way, which catapults him to his peak. He pulls out of you and pumps his cum onto the backside of your thighs, his heart collapsing with joy. He smears his stickiness across both of your hamstrings and then quickly gets to work to release you from his necktie binds. The bind that he has made of your heart to his, though, is infinitely knotted, forever unbreakable. 

Your limbs untangle themselves and fall to the bed, every cell in your body pooped from the session. He asks for a final time, “Color?” 

You sigh, “Green. You?” 

He smiles, “Green.” 

He brushes the now cum-stained ties to the side and pats your stomach, stamping a handprint of his seed, “I’ll be right back, Goose.” You nod once and he gets up and exits the room, leaving the door ajar.

You flip onto your stomach, your muscles yearning for a change of position after getting pummeled into the mattress. You bend your arms to lay in front of you, elbows sighing in relief for being contracted instead of stretched. You close your eyes and rest your head on his pillow for what seems like a millisecond, but when you open them back up Ezra has returned with two glasses of water, a washcloth and a juice box. 

He folds the cloth into a triangle, dips a corner into a glass and then brings it behind you. The icy water feels good on your overheated skin as he wipes away his cum before it has the chance to dry. Once he cleans you off, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to your depleted frame. He sets the cloth down and picks up the other glass of water, “Drink this, sweetheart.” You prop yourself up on your forearms and gulp some much needed fluids down as Ezra holds the glass steady against your mouth. You hold up a weak hand when you’ve had your fill and he finishes off the drink. You never thought you would find sharing a drink like this with someone stomachable, let alone wildly attractive. But Ezra had changed you; you wanted to exchange cells, germs, bodily fluids with him, no matter how nasty it sounded when put into words. 

Ezra trades the glass for the juice box and pops the straw into the opening, holding it up to your lips, “Drink some.” You curiously eye the juice box: apple flavored, the carton decorated in bright and childish cartoons. You tease him, “You know, when I said I might have a daddy kink, this is not what I meant.” 

You both laugh, and he pokes after a moment, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” 

As you take the straw into your mouth and drink, he places a hand on the back of your head and pets your hair, “That’s it, babygirl, do as Daddy says.” An air of laughter blows through your nose and you choke on the liquid as Ezra cackles. You drop the straw and cough, “Stop!” 

He continues to laugh at you while you whine, “Why do I have to drink this anyways, can’t I just have water?” 

He calms himself down and shakes his head, “No, I want to replenish your blood sugar. Otherwise you might feel faint, and not in a good way.” He shoots you a wink and you take another sip of the juice. 

When you’re done, he puts the half-empty box back on the nightstand and lays on top of you. You joke, “You’re crushing me and you told me I have to pee right after.” 

Since sleeping together, Ezra had realized how little knowledge of aftercare you had. He had advised you to go to the bathroom as soon as possible after the deed is done in order to avoid urinary tract infections, among other pains. He nuzzles into your shoulder and protests, “In a minute.” 

Taking into account the history of his comment and your increasingly heavy eyelids, you rebut, “You know that never happens.” More often than not, when Ezra trapped you in a cage of cuddles directly afterward like this, the two of you would fall asleep and you would skip the trip to the bathroom. He grunts and moves his weight off of you, “Fine, but I’ll only let you go if I can carry you in there.” You barely have time to begin laughing before he’s swooping you up into his arms. 

After you both use your respective time in the bathroom, you and Ezra dress in matching pajamas and climb into bed. Coddling you into his broad chest, his fingers dance on the back of your neck and your lower back. You turn your head up to face him and when he returns your gaze you reference the whole night, “Thank you.” 

A smile crinkles his tired eyes, “The pleasure was all mine, Goose. Thank you for taking it all so well. Get some sleep, okay?” 

“Only if you will too.”

“Sure thing, my love.”

He gives you a kiss before you retreat back into the sanctuary of his embrace. Right as you’re drifting off to sleep, he adds, “I would like to ravage you one more time, in the morning.” 

Your smirk pulls at the fabric of his shirt, “Okay. But no daddy kink. We have to save some things to explore when we come back.” 

He hums, pressing his cheek into the top of your head before the two of you succumb to the temptation of sleep, “As you wish.”

💘taglist: @pascalpanic

#ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra x f!reader #ezra smut #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x fem!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #prospect 2018

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 10 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11. Smut incoming. Like, I don't know how to prepare you for how much smut is coming.

Feyre had watched Rhys leave and then sat in her living room, perturbed.

A little angry, in fact, although that was down to a killer combination of being told no, of Rhys second-guessing her own decision making, and of being riled up on the couch and then left cold. She had thought it over for all of three minutes, then got up and drove to Rhys' hotel, asked at reception for his room number, and then arrived at his door while he was still walking.

"I thought about it," she said to him, once he had arrived and pulled up short at the sight of her. "And I'm sure."

Rhys raised and eyebrow, and his mouth curved slyly.

"You're sure?" he asked. Feyre leaned her head against the door.

"I feel I've been pretty clear. I'm thinking that maybe it's you who's feeling uncertain."

Rhys scooped his arms around her lower back, and pressed her backward. "About you? Not at all." He leaned his head down and started moving his lips under Feyre's ear.

"Then am I to understand," Feyre said, struggling to get the words out now, "that I want you, and you want me, but you walked out of my apartment because you made an assumption about how I would react?"

Rhys tugged her hips against his as his mouth made its way down toward her shoulder. "I was scared and I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry." "You're an idiot," Feyre said. "I'm an idiot," Rhys agreed, and picked Feyre up off the ground by the undersides of her thighs, thudded her back against the door, and kissed her finally, finally without restraint.

Feyre moaned in his mouth and kissed him back, wrapping her legs around his waist and interlacing her fingers behind his neck. The air was pressed out of her with the wood at her back and Rhys' chest at her front, and she inhaled just Rhys into her lungs.

Rhys' fingers gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise. Feyre just tightened her legs round him. His tongue was hot against hers, and she could still taste the sweet liquorice tea they had shared in his mouth. He rolled his hips against her, and she was gratified by the hard press of his arousal through his jeans. She shivered closer to him, and warmth spread through her belly like maple syrup.

"Not that I'm not thoroughly enjoying kissing you in this hallway," Rhys said roughly, "but I wonder if it might be just as good on the other side of this door." "One way to find out," Feyre murmured.

Rhys pulled the swipe card from his pocket, without taking his eyes from Feyre or untangling their bodies at all. Feyre drank in his wide, black pupils, kiss-bitten lips and flushed cheeks. His gloriously ruffled hair. And wondered if she looked the same.

The door beeped softly, and Rhys slid the card back into his pocket before taking Feyre's weight in one arm and pushing the handle with the other. He walked them into the room, let the door close, and then pushed Feyre back into it so they were an exact mirror of their position before. Kissed her deeply, and then said, "yes I think this side is good too."

Now in the privacy of his suite, Rhys seemed to shed a little more of his carefulness. Moaned a little louder as he kissed her, ground his hips a little harder against the heat of her. He braced one hand on the door, and kept his other arm tight around her waist, holding her firm to his body. For her part, Feyre let her hands roam over him, over the hard muscles and black tattoos and smooth, luxurious skin. Down his arms, under his shirt, across the planes of his chest. Eventually managed to pull his shirt off entirely.

"The bed?" Feyre got out. "The bed," Rhys echoed, but after he let Feyre's feet hit the floor she only managed two steps in the right direction before Rhys was dragging her back against him, circling his arms back around her and curving himself around her to get his lips at her neck. Feyre laughed breathlessly, leaning her head against Rhys shoulder so she could kiss him back. His fingers stroked at her throat with one hand, and squeezed over her breast with the other.

They staggered another two steps forward, just enough for Feyre's hands to hit the chest at the end of the bed, when Rhys pulled her hips back so she could feel the press of his hardness against her backside. Feyre moaned and pushed back against him, relishing the knowledge of how much he wanted her. Then his fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans and suddenly she was oversensitised all over. The chafe of her clothes was unbearable and she helped Rhys pull them off. He knelt to the floor and kissed her from hip to knee as he went.

"Mmm that feels good," Feyre murmured. "Oh yeah?" Rhys asked. "How about here?" He put his teeth on the swell of her ass, while he squeezed with both hands. Feyre exhaled sharply, and arched her back more. "Mmhmm." "And what about..." Rhys pulled her underwear down so it dropped around her ankles, and then kissed her pussy from behind.

"What about here?" he purred. Feyre could only moan in response. "I'll take that as a yes," Rhys muttered, and hooked his hands over the front of her thighs and started licking broad strokes of her until her legs started to shake. And then he sped up his pace and zeroed in on her clit, and the sounds coming from Feyre got higher in pitch until she was silently keening and rocking herself against Rhys' tongue.

And then just as her climax shimmered into view, Rhys pulled back.

"No," Feyre moaned, arching back toward him. Rhys just chuckled, and licked very slowly up the centre of her. She shivered, but he moved away.

Before she could protest, Rhys rubbed his fingers against her aching wetness instead, and then slid two fingers inside her. Feyre gasped and then melted, the tightness in her abdomen starting to build all over again with the change in sensation. She became vaguely aware of Rhys getting out of his own jeans, while he worked her with one hand, and then she was aware of nothing at all but the knife edge of the orgasm she was balancing on. Rhys had found that spot deep inside her and was rubbing his fingertips back and forth against it, and any moment now...

Then Rhys pulled away again, and Feyre near howled in anguish.

"Rhys!" she yelped. He slid his lips up her spine and over her shoulder. "Yes?" he asked silkily in her ear. She snapped her teeth at his nose and he laughed. "Little worked up are we?" he teased.

"You have all of five seconds to get the rest of the way naked or I swear..." Feyre growled. Rhys grinned. "Don't need to threaten me twice," he said, and then his boxer briefs were on the floor and he was pulling a condom from his wallet.

"You know you could be a little more naked too," Rhys said. Feyre stuck her tongue out at him and pulled her shirt off. Dropped her bra on top of it. Rhys' eyes glazed over and then he was back behind her, hands on her breasts and lips on the nape of her neck. The heat of his skin was amazing.

"Now where were we," he murmured. "Ah yes." He bent her over once more, hands back down on the timber chest. He exhaled through his teeth at the view, and ran his hands up and down her back, over her backside before nudging her feet wider apart with his knee and plunging is tongue inside her again.

"Rhys," she begged. "Please." The aching emptiness was unbearable. "Please what?" he asked innocently. "Please," Feyre moaned. "No more teasing." "As you wish," Rhys said darkly, and then stood to his feet and pushed his cock into her.

Both of them gasped at the contact, and for a moment they didn't move. Adjusting. Rhys gave her a little more, and little more, and then Feyre was arching back to get him all the way in and Rhys was gripping her hips hard as if trying to control himself.

"Shit Feyre," he breathed out. He withdrew, and then pushed in again. Feyre's eyes slid closed, as he did it again. Did it again. Did it again. And then as strung out as she already was, suddenly she was coming on the slow, lazy rhythm of his cock.

Some part of Feyre realised she was now one of those obnoxiously loud hotel lovers, who made the respectable guests turn their TVs up and pull pillows over their ears. But it was just so hard to care, when she could feel her orgasm down to her toes and Rhys was only just beginning. Had only just started this gentle, rocking pulse and maintained it while her climax shook them, and now that she was coming down, was not slowing but speeding up.

"God, Rhys," she ground out. "God."

Rhys said nothing. Was now starting to lose himself a little, as his hand came up to tangle in his hair and the other brushed over her clit. The sounds sliding from Rhys' throat, telling her that she made him feel like this, were enough to set her heart racing even faster, and her first orgasm slid into her second as Rhys picked up a pounding pace.

"That's it," he crooned. "Come right on my cock. How many times do you think I can make you come?"

Feyre didn't answer, just focused on catching her breath. But Rhys had other plans. He gave her just a moment's reprieve before returning to his blinding pace. He slid his hand down the front of her, feeling her drip between them and then circled over her clit relentlessly.

"Fuck you're wet, Feyre," he said, and the shake in his voice had her wondering if it was him that was going over the edge this time. And then impossibly, her third climax was creeping up, and Rhys did come but not until she was already screaming his name and struggling to see through her tears.

Finally, Feyre dropped to her knees in exhaustion, and Rhys did the same, leaning his head on her back.

"Well," he said, still panting lightly. "We never did quite make it to that bed."

Feyre shrugged. "Bed can be for round two," she said, and then Rhys had picked her up in his arms and was lifting her onto the mattress, and Feyre was shrieking with laughter and Rhys was pressing kisses to every patch of skin he could reach.

****

Thank you for your patience lovers, we finally got there!! One more little epilougey bit to come. With some extra smut because y'all deserve it xx

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #mine

[vocalyunho]

Strawberry Kisses

pairing — Yunho x reader (fem, referred to as ‘she’)

genre — fluff, smut

word count — 3k

warnings + tags — third person narrative mode, this fic portraits a hypothetical reader, all characteristics & traits are used incidentally, Yunho’s hella whipped and soft for reader + Yunho with butterfly hair clips, finger sucking, inexperienced reader, handjob, fingering, clit play.

synopsis — Yunho will never forget the first time he heard her needy voice, the one that proved everything she wanted without having to say a word.

Yunho thought she was a work of art, one he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Regardless of how many times he had told her, she could never control the pink blush that creeped up her cheeks every single time. He wanted her to accept it, he wanted her to know he meant it, but she never did. She belittled herself and Yunho hated it.

Every little flaw and every (in)significant trait of hers was precious to Yunho. They were the reasons why he fell for her in the first place. Later, though, he found more of them and now he can even make a list, preferably on papyrus, -for dramatic reasons- like those you see on cartoons. He already knew she’d make fun of him for even thinking that, but he knew exactly what he’d put on that list, one by one...

Her lips were always plump and cherry colored, though if he kissed her, she tasted like strawberry and Yunho could never get enough of it. The way she’d nibble on her bottom lip after they kissed, like they shouldn’t have, made his head spin uncontrollably. Even the wrinkle of her nose whenever she laughed had his heartbeat increasing in a matter of seconds. But what he admired most was the hope and the million little galaxies that danced in her eyes every time she looked at him. Yunho could easily get lost in them and he had noticed that he had, a couple of times before. The galaxies only disappeared the times she was upset. Then, the disappointment or anger were all he saw in her in the form of a soft gaze. Her cheeks would turn red and her eyebrows would either furrow or raise, each time forming little wrinkles on her forehead that Yunho wanted to caress. Her lips would pout and, maybe, tremble if she couldn’t control her emotions, but these were, always, only temporary.

When she talked, her hands would fly everywhere, gesturing, showing, bringing the conversation into life as if what she talked about was the most majestic thing someone would hear. Yunho cherished her for that because she made him love the little things. She talked about them like they were the most important thing ever and the way her eyes widened and her body tensed, proved it.

When she walked, sometimes it seemed like she did it hesitantly, not really wanting to go anywhere, as if someone had forced her to go. Other times, she jumped around while walking, little legs moving fast, backpack bouncing up and down on her back and phone struggling to stay in the little pocket of her pants. However, Yunho always managed to keep up with her and her pace.

As for her fashion, it wasn’t stable. Though, she did have a fair amount of mom jeans she wore on a daily basis if the occasions let her. Yunho didn’t know they were called ‘mom jeans’. In, fact, he didn’t know jeans had names. When she first told him about ‘mom jeans’, ‘boyfriend jeans’, ‘bootcut jeans’, he felt like his entire life was a lie. So many different types and he had no idea! After he got a hold of her taste in fashion, he started noticing other small details about it on her. She liked tucking her shirt inside her pants, she loved colored cardigans and oversized sweaters and he couldn’t help but notice the way she rolled up the bottom of her jeans. Her ankles and socks were on full display most of the time, and even if she had told him this was just a fashion statement, he knew this was her way of letting the world know of her bisexuality.

Necklaces were her favorite accessories. She had hundreds of them and Yunho didn’t complain because he found them hot. He always had a thing for necks and especially hers, so seeing her decorating it with pretty necklaces did something to him and his newly discovered kink. The rings were her second favourite accessory, Yunho had found out. Just like her neck, her fingers were always decorated too and, sometimes, she’d even lend some of her dearest rings to Yunho. Not the one her grandma had gifted her, though. This one was always on her index finger and no matter what, it never left its spot.

Her voice was soft and when she talked it was like honey was dripping from her lips right into Yunho’s ears. He’d figured out it was the timbre that made it so special, not the tone neither the words she used. When she talked about her day, Yunho would zone out sometimes not because of boredom but because he gave more attention to the vibrations of her voice and its rhythm, unintentionally. He loved listening how it changed depending on how she felt, one moment she was happy and it echoed like a melody, the next minute she was disappointed and it came out in whines through pouted lips, but he never found it annoying. However, she had a terrible singing voice and even if she knew it, she liked singing her heart out in karaoke’s or during showers, making Yunho make fun of her afterwards, which always led to giggles from them both and occasional make-out sessions on the couch of her small living room.

You can tell, he loved the variety of emotions she showed only through her voice, but his favorite one was her desperate voice, the one that proved need and the one only he had ever heard. He’ll never forget the first time he heard it. It was a night they had decided to stay in and watch movies instead of going out in the coldness of winter. They were cuddling, after having watched Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone. The ending titles were lowly playing in the background as they talked about the books and how she loved them but Yunho hated, because he found them boring. She was a pouting mess from the disappointment that her boyfriend didn’t like the books she’s been reading since she was young but Yunho couldn’t stop staring at her lips, not giving a damn about the books and the movies.

“how can you prefer the prepared world of the movies, instead of the one you can create by yourself while reading the books?”

Her eyes glistened and the pouting revealed a dimple on her chin, Yunho had never seen before.

“the prepared world entertains me more”

He shrugged with heavy eyes, and moved his hand up to take her chin between his fingers. His thumb brushed the dimple, pressing on the small dent before resting on it. She didn’t respond to his previous answer, instead she remained silent and after a while Yunho travelled his thumb up to her lips which stayed closed. Her eyes were on his, totally leaving their previous conversation in the past, and as he pressed his thumb on her glossed lip she let it fall open slowly.

Yunho didn’t think much of it and after playfully pulling her bottom lip with his thumb, he pushed the digit inside her mouth. She whimpered and her eyes fluttered but before Yunho could pull it out, afraid that he shouldn’t have done something like this, she wrapped her lips around it. Her tongue brushed hesitantly the underside of it, her nostrils expanding to exhale through her nose in an attempt not to let his finger leave her mouth and Yunho only stayed there, watching her closely. His lips opened agape loosely, the feeling was new both to Yunho and her but they loved it.

He felt himself starting to lose control of his body. His bulge had already started creating a tent on his grey sweatpants and he could do nothing to stop it. She moved her head backwards to take his thumb out of her mouth only to lick the tip and press it in again. Yunho groaned at the sight, momentarily picturing his cock replacing the finger between her lips and as she kept bobbing her head, ever so slowly, soft moans vibrated his thumb.

She was sitting on his lap with her back against the couch and Yunho’s back against the sofa arm, their bodies creating a cross and, at a sudden moment, he felt her pressing her legs together. Everything was so new. His free hand rested on her exposed thigh, but no one’s eyes left each other’s. She was in her underwear, with only a yellow t-shirt -that was his- covering most of her body. It wasn’t weird, she’s usually dressed like this when they stay in. His fingers trailed the flabby skin on the inner side of her thigh until he stopped it right under her panties and when he squeezed it, she flinched with a louder moan getting trapped inside her closed mouth.  

“fuck”

She left his thumb with a pop and the pouty lips were back, tempting him to sin.

“I…don’t know what that was, I’m sorry”, he had told her but he knew exactly what that was, both of them knew.

“Yunho, I need you”

Her voice was small, similar to the one she used when she whispered into his ear during class, but not similar to the context. Her eyes became puppy-like and as he was about to think this was the cutest state he’s ever seen her in, her hand moved to rest on top of the small tent on his crotch. Yunho’s breath hitched, her palm was on top of him, slowly closing her fist and taking him in her hand as she did. He needed her so bad, too.

She noticed the sudden difference in his body language “is this okay?” she asked hesitantly, ready to stop her action, if needed.

“y-yes please keep doing t-that”

She wasn’t very experienced, neither was he, but it was like her hand was moving magically on him. She mentally decided that his sweats were too much of an obstacle, so her hand went slowly under it and under his underwear too before grabbing him with her entire palm. A worried lip got trapped between her teeth because she had no idea of what to do next, but the friction she offered, felt like heaven to Yunho.

In a moment, he giggled and she looked at him worriedly, a pink blush already creeping up her cheeks. Yunho pecked her lips and gave a caress on her thigh to reassure that he loved all of it but he never told her what he giggled for. He never told her that he found it too cute that her hand was too small to wrap around his length completely. She seemed to forget fast about it though as he groaned close to her lips and, at that, she gave him a squeeze that made him jolt. His pre cum had already spread through her movements, giving her the chance to go faster and she did. Only a tad bit, though, because she wanted him to feel it all. Her thumb stopped on his slit after a few strokes and Yunho moaned loudly, feeling his body getting weaker. His head fell back as she massaged it and the rough texture of her digit against the little opening had curses slipping out his mouth in whispers. The moment she pressed particularly hard on the tip, he brought his head back up so fast that his hair fell on his face.

Now it was her turn to giggle, her confidence boosting, and before he could push the loose strands back, her free hand grabbed one of the butterfly clips on her hair and placed it on Yunho’s. With a small clicking sound, it stayed there, the bright blue color of its wings contrasting the pink of his hair. It felt surreal. One of her hands did something so innocent while the other sinned.

Yunho felt his heart skipping a beat. It was going too fast, anyways, but seeing her being thoughtful even in this case, sent the butterfly from his hair right into his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to pin her down and make her see stars right that instant, but instead she was the one who was leading him to that.

Yunho grunted loudly. She changed her movements into quicker and shorter ones, pumping only the middle part of him and making the lewd sounds echo louder. Her short nails got barely dragged over the sensitive skin of his cock and Yunho hissed, letting his face take an unreadable expression.

“do you-do you like that?”

“baby girl y-yes, keep doing that”

Shock waves were sending electricity throughout his body, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with force and the slight sweat that glistened on the side of his neck proved he was close.

A weird feeling travelled all the way from where her hand was pumping him to his ears, turning them the same hue of red, his tip had. He felt like his entire body was burning, a burn that had his mind spinning and his legs trembling. He knew exactly what that was and how close to release she had brought him, but he didn’t want it to end like that.

He tried his best not to give into it and with a move slower than her strokes, he rested his hand on top of hers and her gaze met his “I’m sorry baby b-but...” he inhaled sharply “...I’d much rather come inside you than on your hhand”. Her eyes widened and her little shenanigans stopped but Yunho got the chance to calm his breath and move the hand that was on her thigh, upwards, closer to where she needed him the most.

“Yunho-”, she gasped. Her legs closed, trapping Yunho’s hand in between them and her own hand that was on his member found his wrist. He pressed a finger against her panties, making her tighten her hold and bite her lip. Yunho had noticed from moments ago the little circle stain of wetness that had formed on her underwear. He knew he was the reason behind it but he also wanted to be the reason behind her relief. Just some inches above the stain, he found the magic bud and pressed on it, receiving a low moan from her. Her head fell against the couch and her hand, even though on his wrist that was between her legs, didn’t stop him. Yunho circled the bundle of nerves, feeling it swollen against his thumb as her moans became more frequent, and progressively more loud “does that feel good?”

She didn’t dare to open her eyes or bring her head up “y-yes”

He chuckled but his concentration was on how her expressions changed in a matter of seconds. Just before, she was giggling, leading him to his climax, yet now she had given into him and his touch and Yunho couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this is how she’ll look when he’s inside her. He was still hard, but tried his best not to touch himself. His middle finger pushed the fabric of her panties to the side slowly, and before giving her a warning he pushed the digit in.

“ohmygod Yunho-”, she cried out and her legs fell open. Yunho brought her head up by the nape until their faces were inches away from each other’s, their brows were furrowed, their noses were already touching and Yunho could feel her heavy breath against his lips. Only when he kissed her, did he realize how dry her lips were. It was the first time they felt like this, like all the moisture had left them, though the strawberry taste was still planted on them.

“I’m gonna c-cum”, her eyelashes fluttered close and her voice was barely a whisper.

“will you do it for me?”

“y-yes”, he twitched.

Her hips started moving against his fingers, the friction becoming more intense and the wetness increasing. Yunho was sure that if he detached his hand from her heat, he’d see a string of her soft silk connecting them, but he didn’t stop. He needed to see her falling off the edge for him, because of him. She convulsed and he felt it, but Yunho added his index finger in her warm hole too. Moans filled his open mouth and high pitched cries he couldn’t get enough of, as he pumped them slowly. The whole place was spinning for her, Yunho being the center of her attention, and the only colours she could tell apart were the ones of his hair and the butterfly clip’s. Her upper body was trembling too, now, and Yunho wrapped his free hand around her waist to keep her steady, but she cried out louder “pplease don’t stop-”

“come for me honeybun”

They hadn’t realized how their foreheads never left each other’s, nor how the entire couch was shaking. The pumping of his fingers quickened and so did the circles on her clit. Her eyebrows were furrowing and unfurrowing on their own and the squelchy sound of her wetness getting fucked into her, echoed in the almost silent living room.

Electricity travelled throughout her, when her high reached her and her body stopped functioning almost completely except for the sudden flickering of her muscles. Her jaw went completely slack and her notes were as high pitched as before, only now the waves of her voice were trembling too. The hold on Yunho’s wrist tightened sensibly and as she came, he pulled his fingers out of her seeing the thick, white liquid glisten on them.

Her moans were weak but full of need and her chest was rising and falling fast, until her body stopped jerking and she moved her hand from Yunho’s wrist to his palm to intertwine their fingers. Her release got spread between their hands but she didn’t mind it and bit on her lip in an attempt to stop her sounds, before resting her forehead against his again “Yunho-”

“take me, right here...pplease”

#ateez smut #ateez fluff #yunho smut #yunho fluff #jeong yunho smut #ateez yunho smut #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop fics #bias tag: ♔

[laequiem]

Cheek to Cheek in Hell - Chapter 5

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 1,508

Cardan is an idiot. That is the only explanation for this clownery.

fanfiction masterlist • ao3

Chapter 4 • next chapter • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

Chapter 5. no man's land

Jude POV

Cardan is an idiot.

That is the only explanation for this clownery.

Surely, he knows I have seen him high before. He is always intoxicated, I fail to see how this is any different. Yet, he let himself be poisoned slowly, simply because he did not want me to see him consume.

Idiot. Idiot.

I repeat it to myself as I hear the telltale sound of him inhaling the powder.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

I look towards the man he has put to sleep. If he hadn’t been so stupid, we would be rid of him. I hate seeing one of the folk using glamour on unexpecting mortals, but we can’t have this man wake up here. Cardan should have sent him to get lost in an imaginary maze and told him to forget everything.

Instead, we’re stuck with a sleeping man who knows he has been put to sleep by some pale teenager after crossing a brick wall straight to no man’s land.

I sigh. Should we throw him out of the alley, put the glamour back up and hope he forgets?

Bribe him? We certainly don’t have the money for this.

Threaten him? Would I kill someone to keep my freedom? No. I have done horrible things, but I would not kill someone again unless they deserved it.

The person who deserves it the most stirs behind me. Cardan hobbles towards the sleeping man, kneels and starts emptying the man’s pockets. I rush to his side.

“What are you doing?” I ask, appalled.

“We need money, don’t we?” he replies matter-of-factly, not even looking at me.

I cross my arms. “We can’t just steal from him.”

He turns to me now, lifting a perfect brow. “Oh, so now you’re a preacher of virtue?”

My lip pulls back in a snarl, and he snorts. He takes out a thick leather wallet from the man’s pockets—thick with bills. Cardan gets back up and hands it to me.

“He followed you here, Jude,” he tells me as I grab it. “I doubt his intentions were good.”

“What do you know about good intentions?” I bite back and he rolls his eyes. I nod towards the pizza box, “Now that you’re well enough to be a jerk, eat.”

Cardan walks back to his little corner behind the dumpster as I open the wallet. I stare at the thick stack of green bills, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

Don’t get your hopes up, I tell myself, maybe they’re all one dollar bills.

Except they’re clearly not.

“What is that?” Cardan asks, and I turn to him.

He is staring at the open pizza box, his head inclined to the side as he inspects the contents.

“Pizza,” I reply. “Just eat.”

I take out the bills and start counting.

This man has a few hundred dollar bills. I have never seen those in my entire life.

1500$.

I cannot stop the smile that forms on my face as I turn back to Cardan.

And when I see what he has done to the pizza, I laugh and he looks up from his work.

“What?” he asks, and I just laugh harder.

Tears prick at my eyes. It’s the kind of hysterical laugh that only comes from your life being completely absurd. From finding the money you need to rent a place, then seeing the boy you hate remove all the pepperoni from a pizza and stack them like a reconstituted sausage. Cardan takes a bite out of the thing.

I start to calm down as he finishes up his strange pepperoni mille-feuille.

“There’s over a thousand in there,” I tell him between long breaths.

“I assume that’s good?”

I grab the newspaper I had before I went out to the get the pizza, flipping through it to find the apartments, “It’s enough to rent a place.”

I spend hours looking through the papers, tearing out the ads of places we can afford. At one point, the man stirs and Cardan goes up to him. As if it were second nature, he orders him to leave and forget he ever saw our faces. The man, in a daze, follows his orders and leaves the alley, straight through the illusionary brick wall.

Cardan sits in his corner most of the day, sometimes staring at me, sometimes tearing small chunks of pizza to eat. I find it too endearing to show him how to eat it properly.

When the sun is at its highest, I rehearse the speech I will give the landlords on the phone.

“Hello, my friend and I would be interested in visiting the place you are renting.”

The words feel so strange. They should feel mundane to my human tongue, but they are words I never thought I would utter. Not when I thought I would spend the rest of my days in Elfhame, fighting for my right to be there.

I do not know how to define my relationship to Cardan. I try so many different options, and I can’t bear to look at him as I say the things that can only be labelled as lies.

My roommate. My boyfriend. My husband. My… partner? They’re all lies, all wrong.

My worst enemy is not something a landlord would want to hear.

When I finally make the first call, I don’t mention Cardan.

“Hi, I saw your ad and I wanted to know if the apartment is still available.”

By the time the sun comes down, I have a good schedule of places to visit in the Bronx tomorrow.

When I am done, I join Cardan by his dumpster to finally eat some of the cold pizza.

Cardan reaches for a piece after I do, his dark eyes watching my every movement intently. He copies the way I eat it, holding the crust and supporting the underside of the slice as I bite into it.

It’s still delicious, even cold and pepperoni-less. Unconsciously, I let out a small content sigh.

“What is your favorite mortal food?” Cardan asks, breaking the thick silence.

I purse my lips as I think. Pizza is really high up there. Otherwise… There are very few things I remember from my time in the Mortal Realm. Except for one that never left me.

“My mom used to make these pastries,” I say, nostalgic, “pastéis de nata. They’re little tarts filled with egg custard. I haven’t had them since…” I trail off. Since she was murdered. “I’d like to try them again, see if they’re as good as I remember them.”

“Perhaps we can find a place here that makes them,” he offers.

I don’t know why, but the proposition makes me smile. “Perhaps,” I repeat after him.

When I reach for the last piece, I notice Cardan was also reaching for it, but he pulled back before grabbing it.

We don’t do much for the rest of the night. We don’t talk either. We just sit in silence, the thrum of the bustling city a constant melody outside our dirty alleyway.

After relieving myself behind a dumpster and making a mental note to buy tampons tomorrow, I make my way to my makeshift bed.

I climb over the dumpster Cardan sleeps behind, then swing myself over the railing of the lowest landing of the emergency stairs. The corner I have been sleeping in for the last week is nothing fancy. Flat cardboard lines the cold metal and I have stuffed my dirty clothes in a garbage bag to use as a pillow. No blanket, since I only found one and Cardan needed it more than me.

I lay down on my cardboard and try to tune out the sounds of the city. Faraway, an ambulance blares its song. Cars honk, streetlights buzz, people talk and yell and cheer and—

The landing shakes as silent feet land next to me.

I turn on my back and open my eyes, only to be met with Cardan’s tall, dark form standing over me like Death incarnate.

“What are you—” I start asking, a little panicked until I see the blanket in his hands. I frown. “Keep it. I’m fine.”

Cardan rolls his eyes, then swings the blanket over me.

“You’re cold,” he says. A corner of the blanket lifts and he slips under it too, “and I have been told I am burning.”

I had not noticed how much I was shivering until his warm arm snakes around my waist and he shifts closer to me. The other one slides under the garbage bag I use as a pillow.

His hips are flush against my backside, sharp hipbones digging into my cheeks. He tangles one of his legs around mine.

“This is just for warmth,” he whispers to himself.

I breathe deeply.

“You are very warm,” I confirm.

“Does it make up for the burden of bringing me along?” he asks me, and I feel him smile against my hair.

“Just an idiot,” I say softly as I drift away to sleep, “not a burden.”

-----

tag list: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet

#the folk of the air #jurdan #judecardan #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #fanfic #fic #jurdannet #add to masterlist

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

#MountainLife

Summary: When a typical winter storm sends her car into a snowbank, Y/n finds herself face to face with her favorite actor. Will Jensen be able to dig her out or will the day have other plans for them?

Pairing: None, purely platonic

Word Count: 2.7K+

Warnings: Language, very minor car accident (no injuries)

Author's Note: Single-digit temperatures, lots of snow, and one wily Brit (@winchest09) gave me the idea for this mess. Also, Jensen in those damn sweats didn't help either. But in all honesty, I don't think I've been warm for three weeks. This helped make me smile through the shivering and I hope it does the same for you. xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra's Library for more works by yours truly!

The chill that had settled in her room overnight roused the woman before her alarm had the chance. Y/n tucked herself further into the heavy blankets that she adorns her bed with every winter, but it was no use. The cold had successfully awoken her for the day, and not even the pocket of heat her body had created under the mountain of cotton could protect her now. 

With a huff, she climbed from the fraction of warmth her bed provided and slipped on her heavy robe. Her feet shuffled as she made her way to the large bay window on the south side of her bedroom and tugged open the curtains. The expanse of her backyard and the woods that lay just beyond was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, large snowflakes continuing to fall as she observed the scene in front of her. Y/n smiled at the undisturbed white that shone brightly against the beginnings of the early morning sunshine, her tired eyes trailing to the back porch and the pile of snow that rested against the beams. From the sight, she could guess they had accumulated a foot so far, a little less than the evening news had predicted. 

Since she was young, she had always had a loved winter and the unique beauty and serenity that heavy snow would bring. Some of her best memories were playing in the snow all day only to come home, chilled to the bone and pink in her cheeks, to a piping hot mug of cocoa. But as she grew older, that love had turned a tad sour when snow days turned into digging her car out and stressing the whole drive to work about the idiots on the road who act as if they have never seen snow before. She still basked in its wonder and beauty, but she hated having responsibilities that forced her to deal with its less than fun side. 

Considering where she was located, the woman knew she would need to give herself extra time to get to work this morning, seeing as her drive and the main road would not be plowed by the city. Even though she had woken early, it still wasn’t enough time to pull out her snowblower and do the entirety of her drive. It was up to her SUV to get her into town in one piece. 

With that thought in mind, she was quick to make it through her morning routine. She made sure to cut time wherever was possible. A shower that didn’t include washing her hair which allowed her to leave it down to frame her face, lighter than normal makeup, and one cup of caffeine instead of her normal two. Y/n decided against packing a lunch today and made sure to bundle up in heavy layers. 

With enough time left to nearly double her commute, she headed out the door and into the SUV. The cabin was warm, the heat running full blast from when she started it ten minutes earlier and she sighed as she settled into her seat. The driveway met her with instant resistance to the spinning of her tires, but it was nothing the rubber couldn’t handle. The woman was cautious, taking the gradual incline of her drive at a slow pace to give her time to react to any sign that the tires were slipping. 

Once she hit the main road, things were not much better. It seemed that most of the blanket that covered the mountainside had remained untouched, making her drive the first to lay down tracks. She could hear the snow brushing the underside of the vehicle, causing her to slow her pace even more to avoid any possible damage it may cause. At this point, the car was crawling down the hillside, barely rising above 25 miles per hour as she reached the valley. 

Y/n made her usual left turn towards the city and where she worked, the back road winding up through the mountains before leveling off in town. It could be treacherous this time of year, but it wasn’t a path she hadn’t taken before. Having grown up in the area, Y/n had learned how to handle the slope and the snow from the moment she walked out of the DMV with her license at seventeen. In fact, the night before her driver’s test, they received over a foot of snow. If she could pass under those conditions, she was set. But not even the years of experience could have prepared her car for the hidden patch of ice that had settled beneath the snow. 

The tires slipped against the smooth surface as she turned the corner, sending the rear of the SUV fishtailing to the right. Instinct had her correcting the path of the car before she could think about it, the turn of the steering wheel flipping the direction the vehicle was careening in. 

“Fuck,” Yn hissed as she worked to fix things, making sure this time to not overcorrect her car. Her grip on the leather wheel was tight as the realization that she had to let whatever was going on happen, bracing herself as the car continued to slip into a snowbank on the side of the road. Luckily, at her low speed, the impact was minimal and she prayed the damage to her fender would reflect that. With a sigh, she pushed slowly on the gas, attempting to see if her car would get back onto the road, only to feel the familiar slip of the tires. The vehicle was only able to find enough traction to give her maybe an inch, but the incline was unforgiving. 

“Well, shit,” she grumbled, pulling her phone from her purse before shutting off the car and hopping from the heated cabin. The snow crunched under her boots as she rounded the car to see if there was anything she might be able to do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the tools in her trunk that would even come close to digging her out of the trouble she had gotten into. The frustrated woman kicked the rim of her tire, knowing full well it wasn’t her car’s fault she was in this mess, but it made her feel a tad better. She rounded back to jump back into the waning heat of the car to make the necessary calls to work and a tow truck. A voice rising behind her halted her hand on the handle. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” The deep voice carried across the open street and to the troubled woman. Y/n spun her head to the sound, certain she recognized that distinct timber of the person calling out to her. Sure enough, as she blinked through the thick snowflakes falling through the air, she was greeted by the visage of the very last person she had ever expected to see. He wasn’t wearing much for a cold snowy day, just a pair of heavy sweats and a thick green henley topped off with snow boots, a beanie, and a pair of gloves. The tall man skidded to a halt a safe distance from her, a snow shovel hanging from one hand. 

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” the return of his voice snapped her back to the reality that he was indeed standing in front of her. She was quick to straighten her features, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way her jaw had dropped. 

“Uh, yeah… I mean no, I’m not hurt at all,” she fumbled over her words and silently cursed her lack of finesse. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and a small smile gracing his lips. 

“I didn’t think anyone would try and get into town today,” his brow rose as he attempted to hide the amusement on her face. Y/n was a good sport though, nodding her agreement to his assessment. “I heard the commotion from my porch and came running.”

“I can see that,” the woman took in the flush to his nose and cheeks and the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the hot air from his mouth swirling into a white mist before disappearing above his head. With a giggle, she pointed to the shovel in his right hand. “Is that for protection?” 

“No, I was clearing my porch thank you very much,” he tilted his chin at her. “You want some help getting out?” Y/n turned to look back at the mess behind her, a grimace returning to her face. 

“You can try, but I’m pretty sure it’s hopeless.”

“Start her up, I’ll shovel,” and with that, he scooted past her and began to dig out the snow around her tires. Y/n suspected it was useless to argue and went back into her car. Most of the heat had faded by now from the inside, allowing the bitter bite of the mountain air to creep back in. She turned the engine over and waited for his signal. He appeared back at her door, slightly out of breath from his exertion and Y/n had to fight biting her lip at the sight. 

“Try her out, let’s see if that helped,” he panted, his lips parted as his chest heaved. With a nod, she put the car in gear and pressed against the gas. The vehicle rocked underneath her, but the tires still struggled to gain any traction. He disappeared to the rear, attempting to push the car to give her the extra power needed. But it was no use. The snow was too deep and too heavy. 

“It’s over,” Y/n sighed and put the car back into park before turning it off. The annoyed woman hopped back into the cold morning air. “Seriously, thank you for helping but I think my only option is calling for a tow.” 

“You might be right.” Y/n watched the gears turning in his head through the faded green eyes she had dreamed about many times before. He pursed his lips, still trying to come up with a way to get her out and the woman wasn’t sure her nonchalant demeanor would last much longer in his presence. She bit down on the tip of her tongue and fished her phone from her pocket, looking up the number for the local tow service. 

“Thank you though, for helping out a total stranger,” Y/n lifted the phone to her ear. 

“No problem, honestly. I’m Jensen by the way,” he indicated, not offering his hand to her considering the state of the country, and to be honest most of the world, at the moment. 

“Oh-” An automated machine picked up after the first ring, halting her reply. The message indicated the state of emergency the governor declared meant they weren’t taking calls until the weather let up. The shivering woman grimaced and hung up the phone. Jensen raised a brow at her, taking in the clear downstroke of her mood. 

“The governor declared a state of emergency,” she answered his unasked question. “I guess I better call work and let them know I won’t be in, I hope it does leave them too shorthanded because with the state of the roads that wouldn’t be good. And I should probably call my insurance company, but we will see if they even answer considering,”

“Ma’am?” Jensen interrupted her ramblings.

“Y/n, please,” she corrected. “I was rambling wasn’t I?” The worried woman hadn’t realized the words were coming out of her mouth, the anxiety over her current situation overtaking her mind for that brief moment. 

“A little,” he confirmed. “Listen, do you live close?”

“Not exactly. I’m about five miles down Sierra Trail.”

“Join me then?” Jensen suggested, indicating the drive that assuredly led to his house. Panic rose in her gut at the suggestion and her instant reaction was ‘that’s not happening’. The man standing across from her, no matter how many times she blinked, remained, and yet she still didn’t believe this wasn’t all a dream. 

Of course, she had recognized Jensen as soon as his voice registered in her brain. He was only the one man she had spent more time watching on her television or scrolling past online. The man had saved her life and he had no idea. The last thing she could do was just waltz into his home when he didn’t have all the facts. He deserved to have all the facts.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” 

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything. My wife and kids are doing some finger painting in the kitchen as we speak and we haven’t left the house in weeks,” The man’s face softened as he looked at her, trying to convince the wary woman.

“It’s not that,” Y/n chuckled, earning a confused look from her favorite actor. The woman chewed on the inside of her lip, contemplating how to phrase the next thing she wanted to tell him. 

“I-” A smile spread on her face as she got an idea. Y/n held up a finger to him and stepped to the rear of her car. She raised a gloved hand to brush away the accumulation of snow on the small side window to reveal the anti-possession decal that clung to the glass. She turned back to him with a sheepish grin, “I’m actually a huge fan. I just thought you deserved to know that before you invite me into your home.” 

The numerous expressions that flickered past his features finally settled into a soft smile. “Well, thank you, that’s very kind. If you are a fan then you probably know that even if you planned to steal my underwear and sell it on the internet later, or even keep it, that I can’t let you stay out here on the side of the road and in the freezing cold for who only knows how long.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, her heart glowing in her chest at his offer. The fangirl inside her was losing her mind and trying to piece together what specific alternate reality fanfic she had fallen into. “I promise not to steal your underwear then.”

Jensen let out a snort, his head rearing back in laughter. “Well, I’ll make sure to count them before you leave, just in case.”

“Deal,” Y/n grabbed her belongings from her car and secured the vehicle before following Jensen. They crossed the road and dredged up the gentle slope of the Ackles’ drive. Y/n was finally beginning to feel the bite of the winter against her exposed face as the house came into view behind the heavy trees. The design was typical of the area and not much different from her own, well besides the sheer size of it. 

The stairs were sprinkled with salt and half the porch held evidence of his attempt to clear it, only for the still falling snow to already destroy his efforts. The sound of children’s chatter filtered from the house as Jensen pushed open the front door. He toed off his boots onto a matt behind the front door and Y/n moved to follow his lead. 

“Here,” he held his hand out to take her bags as she copied his action. “I’ll find something for you to change into and we can put your wet clothes into the dryer.” 

“You really don’t have to do that,” her instinct to refuse anything offered to her was too strong to stop. 

“Y/n, just relax. You are not sitting in wet clothes all day and that’s not just because I want to protect my furniture,” Jensen joked, also taking her coat as she shrugged it off. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled, following behind him further into the house. The voices of his family grew louder as they went and the woman was sure even at his distance, the actor could hear her heart thumping inside her chest. 

As he passed under an archway, the tiny shriek of ‘Daddy’ met their ears, halting her in her steps. Y/n let her eyes close and took a few gulping breaths in one last-ditch attempt at steadying herself before she would spend her day with the Ackles’. 

Somebody should pinch her...

Forevers: @22sarah08 @440mxs-wife @akshi8278 @anathewierdo3467 @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88​ @jbsgirl4ever11 @jensengirl83 @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tatted-trina6​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @tranquility-or-chaos​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural rpf #supernatural real person fiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn rpf #spn real person fiction #spn #real person fiction #rpf #alex writes #mine #mountainlife

[feral-ella-flynn]

PAYING THE TOLL - Teaser | Troll

Male Troll + Female Human

SFW (so far)

tagging @feralprose (please comment if you want to be tagged in updates)

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge...

The day had begun commonplace enough–the fires to be lit and oatmeal to be boiled, eggs to gather and pigs to feed. Chores, the same as yesterday and the day before, so that it seemed you could look back at your life and see an unbroken chain of monotonous labor. You’d jumped at the opportunity to take a basket into the brambles lurking at the edge of the woods. A few scratches seemed a fair exchange for sweet jam for the winter and an afternoon to yourself in the fresh air. You’d even promised your nicest pair of stockings (not new, but with only one small darn) to Mathilde if she traded tasks and let you go.

She’d rolled her eyes as she dumped the berry basket into your arms. "Oh very well, if you want to get sliced to ribbons on the thorns, who am I to stop you? I’d just as soon keep the church yard between me and that wood, anyway."

You’d laughed at her exaggerated shudders and almost danced up the path, lifting your face to the cool breeze. Except now the air was choked with smoke, great black clouds bringing the smell of death and the shrill, uncanny cries of the invading barbarians--goblins, their skin sickly pale like the underside of a mushroom, their teeth black and sharp. They came to plunder and destroy, burning villages to the ground and leaving no one to bury the dead. You’d heard stories, but all of them were from far away, and you never imagined that your quiet inland town could be in danger. It is only when you come dawdling down the path, a full basket on your arm, that the distant screams reach you, and you see them. Four goblins, laughing in high, snorting bursts as they chase a terrified goat around its pen.

You turn on your heel, sprinting toward the trees, but it's too late. Over the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears you hear a snarling yell and know that they've seen you, that they will catch you, and then--it's better to die than let them catch  you, that was what the women of the village said in hushed whispers.

So despite every instinct, every memorized skipping rhyme, every superstition, you plunge into the shadows of the uncanny wood without hesitation.

Unfortunately the goblins don’t know the reputation of the gnarled trees, and they don’t hesitate to follow. Their mocking laughter gets closer. It makes the skin at the base of your neck itch with gooseflesh, makes your stomach twist as you push your aching legs to run a little faster and your burning lungs to take in ragged gasps of air.

The cold mist you inhale tastes like bitter memories on your tongue, before something tugs at your skirt and your mouth fills with the acid bile of panic. You twist, trying to yank free of the goblin claws–but it's a thorny branch snagged in your hem. You curse the close-woven linen for refusing to tear as you fight to pull free. Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears that you can't hear your pursuers. Every moment you expect them to emerge from the inky dark shadows where no light penetrates the dense leaves above, baring yellow teeth in awful, lustful grins as they laugh--and there it was again, a sniggering giggle that echoes from the tree trunks and sounds far too close.

Your skirt comes free and you stumble, slipping on the damp leaf mold underfoot and landing on your backside, your head jolting up--and your eyes meeting the eerie green gaze of the goblin crouched in the tree above you.

You scramble up, running, looking over your shoulder, seeing the laughing creature launch itself out of the branches to follow--and then there is no earth under your feet.

The world tilts, spinning in jerky, uneven revolutions as you half roll, half slide down the muddy hillside. Only an obstinate sapling saves you from plunging into the black currents of the river below.

Dizzy, your palms scraped raw and cold mud coating your dress, you find your feet. The goblin is still above you, hooting, but he hasn't followed you down yet. As you watch, he tries a step and his foot slides out from under him, but he pulls it back before it can send him down the way you’d gone. He turns away–not back toward the town, where black smoke is staining the sky like funeral ash, but along the top edge of the slope, toward a place where it levels out and he can descend at his leisure. He walks like a gentleman out for a stroll, glancing over to smirk, and your heart sinks as you realize you're trapped between the slope--too steep and slick to climb--and the swiftly moving water. It's impossible to run. You can only trip and scramble between rocky outcrops and treacherous mudslides.

If there were a bridge--the goblin is not far behind you, but far enough that if there were a bridge, or a fallen tree, anything that could take you across the river, you would have a chance to escape into the trees and find a hiding place before he caught up. If only, you wish numbly, fighting to keep moving one foot ahead of the other (the mud is so cold your toes ache with it, and you barely even register that you’d lost your shoes), if only there was a bridge.

And then there it is. Rough gray stone, stacked tightly like an ancient fence without mortar, and yet arching up in an impossibly high, impossibly narrow curve. Staring at it, you half expect it to collapse in on itself at any moment--but you scramble toward it just the same. Maybe it will last long enough for you to reach the far bank, and then fall apart under the goblin’s feet when he follows. Or maybe it will plunge you into the water, frothing angrily where the river narrows between the stone feet of the bridge. They seem as good a pair of options as any you are likely to get. 

No matter what happens, you decide, the bridge will decide your fate. 

You reach the first stone step. There is no rail, no wall of any kind between you and the edge. The belly of the bridge is so high that you drop to your knees, crawling, the stone below you barely wider than your shoulders. It's impossible to tell if the bridge actually shudders in the wind or if it's just belfry-giddiness making everything dip and sway. You dig shaking fingers into the pitted stone beneath you and risk a glance back.

The goblin isn’t laughing anymore. The black fangs are bared in a snarl as it picks its way toward the bridge–and it isn’t alone. The others that had helped chase you out of the brambles and into the forest are making their way down the slope from the treeline, guttural voices raised in outrage when one of them slips, rolling in the mud.

You didn’t mean to laugh. In fact the noise startles you, and only the raw raspe in your throat as the peals of laughter tears themselves out of you makes you realize that sound comes from you. But the closest goblin hears, and snarls at you. Clawed fingers grasp obscenely at his loincloth, waggling the bulging shape beneath, while the short spear in his other hand makes jabbing motions. This is what I’ll do to you, the gesture says, as clearly as if the goblin’s foul breath was in your ear. We’ll see you impaled, in more ways than you can imagine.

The sight is enough to make you get to your feet, ready to run across the second half of the bridge–

–but you hit a wall instead.

The wall grasps your arm and glares down at you. The eyes are blue, shockingly brilliant, sapphire blue, but the face around them is grey and rough, blunt features with hard angles the color of stone.

"Toll," it says.

You step back, stumbling a little, torn between terror and fascination. "Please," you gasp. "Help me."

"Pay toll. Toll for the bridge."

"What?" Patting helplessly at your pockets with your free hand, you search for something. Anything. But your handkerchief is gone, your little purse of coins was left behind at the house, and even your basket of berries was abandoned long again. There’s not a single ring on your fingers. "I don’t have anything, but please–"

"No toll? No bridge."

"Please!" Your whole body hurts, your stomach is knotted with fear and anger. "Please, I have to get to the other side of the bridge. They’ll kill me when they catch up!"

"Toll."

"I don’t have anything!" Hot tears spill down your face as you struggle against the grip on your arm. "I was only supposed to gather berries," you sob, "and I have nothing, nothing except myself."

A huge hand cups your chin. For a horrible moment you think that he intends to crush your jaw. It would be just like cracking an egg for him, you think. Barely any effort, just a squeeze, and then--

"That will have to do," the troll rumbles, and flings you over the side of the bridge.

The rest of Part 1 is now posted here!

#Feral Flynn Fics #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #terato #troll lover #troll boyfriend #m monster x female reader #pay the toll #teaser

[tyraj24]

    You were among the very few people who knew of your boyfriend's secret status. After Sukuna held him hostage, and basically killed him, you immediately knew he was alive from Gojo. However, you were advised to keep his secret from your friends. The two months he spent in hiding was very draining, truly because you wanted to hang out outside of the only dark room you two were permitted to have. Gojo only gave you certain hours to see him to ensure his secret was kept under wraps.

     The candles on the vanilla cake made shadows dance along the light wall. Itadori smiled with his head resting against his palm, his elbow on the table holding the weight, as he watched intently as you lit each candle that numbered your age. One candle in particular was being especially stubborn, and you tried several times in trying to light it before giving up. The boy sitting across from you chuckled.

     "Give me the lighter since you suck as this," you reluctantly tossed the lighter to him, which earned you a click of his tongue. Itadori stood from his chair and angled the tip of the device against the candle, lighting it almost instantly.

     He placed the lighter in his pants pocket before scooting the cake closer to you. You watched the shadows on his face flicker, highlighting the high points of his perfectly structured face. The way his brows furrow with concentration and the hint of a smile dancing along the edge of his lips had you staring at him. You wondered what he was thinking about if it was the same as you.

     You wanted him to shove a handful of cake down your throat with two skillful fingers. You wanted him to bend you over the small table and shove himself deep inside you until you could no longer walk. You wanted him to kiss your entire body and leave hickeys that would never fade. You wanted him inside you for the whole night. Fuck, you needed him.

     You squeezed your legs together instinctively. You had hoped he noticed, but it might have flown over his head as he sat back down in his chair. You shifted your weight in the chair when you finally tore your gaze from the male. The candles flickered and you smiled warmly, already reminding yourself of your wish.

     The moment he began singing, you snickered. Itadori looked at you and pouted, trying his best in making you feel guilty for interrupting his singing. You waved your hands, ushering out quick apologies before he could refuse you of the cake. He gave a sweet smile.

     "...Happy Birthday to Youuuu~."

     You closed your eyes, smiling.

      'I want Yuji to fill me up.'

     You blew out the candles and slowly opened your eyes to see Itadori already slicing into the cake. You yelped, trying to stop him from taking the first piece. He picked up the cake between the knife and his thumb and threw it onto his plate. He scurried into his seat before picking up his fork and taking a savoring bite. He melted into the chair, a low moan escaping his lips.

     You clenched your thighs together before taking a piece for yourself, "So what did you wish for?"

     You looked up at the male and felt your cheeks become increasingly warm. You gave a sly smile and sat your plate down. You licked your lips and trailed your dominant hand to your heat. You placed the entire palm of your hand over it, feeling the heartbeat between your thighs as you slowly ground against yourself. Closing your eyes, you let out a soft mewl.

     "Y-Y/N?"

     You slowly opened your eyes to see Itadori sitting still. He had a bite of cake in his mouth when he stopped chewing, and his hand was holding his plate. You bit your lip, "Fill me up, please."

     Itadori could not help but to stare at you masterbating across from him. He visibly gulped down his last bite before gently placing his plate down. He stood and walked over to your side and loomed above you. You whimpered.

     "Stand up."

     You hesitated; his dominating aura completely caught you off guard. He pulled you up by your shoulders and turned you around so your back was flush against his chest. His arms sneaked their way around your waist. His right hand trailed up your torso and chest before all five fingers were wrapped around your neck. He felt you swallow hard against him.

     "I will make sure you wish for my cock instead of those pretty little fingers."

     Your eyes widened at his words and you could feel your core become increasingly slick. Your stomach churned with fire and butterflies simultaneously as you watch his eyes grow dark. If Sukuna did not have have his signature tattoos, you would have convinced yourself it was the curse that fueled your desire.

     The hand that was not around your throat trailed down your burning skin and began to play with the waistband of your skirt. Itadori's breath was hot and heavy against your nape as he slowly ground himself against you. Your body reacted to his movements and mirrored them. You could feel his hard erection that was retrained behind his tight pants and you moaned out.

     "Please, Yuji," you whimpered. The male only growled behind you and began to kiss along your shoulder. You felt him sucking on the sensitive skin and could only hope he would find your sweet spot.

     You threw your head back against his shoulder when he found it. His hand then snuck its way underneath your skirt and panties. Your breath hitched when one of his fingers grazed over your clit, your body jolting against his touch. Your hands found his thighs and you subconsciously dug your nails into them as his fingers rubbed at the sensitive nerve.

     He rested his head in your neck and peaked over your breasts at your lower body. Even with you arched into him, he knew you were not satisfied.

     He abruptly removed his hand from your skirt and turned you around to face him. You opened your mouth to protest, but his soft lips halted your speech, your arms wrapping around his neck. He placed his hands on the underside of your thighs and squeezed, signaling for you to jump in his arms. You gladly did so before wrapping your legs around his waist. He took a step forward and sat you on top of the wooden table, the coldness making you gasp into his mouth.

     The kiss became increasingly fervent as time seemed to have no longer mattered. Itadori's touch was too intoxicating; you could no longer think straight. The heat between your legs overwhelmed all other senses. Even with Itadori flush against you, the desire building within you needed him most.

     "Fuck, Y/N," he breathed when his head dropped into your neck. Your hands roamed his muscular back as he took the time in removing your shirt.

     His soft lips found yours once again when his hands began to feel your chest. His fingers wrapped around each hardened bud as his mouth caught your moans. Your back arched into his touch and he growled. You knew you could not last any longer if he continued his attack.

     His hands trailed down your skin and found your skirt still attached to your body. Without breaking the heated kiss, Itadori swiftly pulled your skirt away with your panties soon following. He dropped to his knees abruptly and spread your legs. You watched as he only stared at your glistening folds under the dim lighting, relishing in the sight before him before he would devour you. He licked his lips in anticipation and looked up at you for some sort of signal. Your gaze was practically begging him to continue his assault. 

     Both of his thumbs separated your lower lips. You jerked your hips towards him for something. However, in response, Itadori only smacked the inside of your thigh as a warning. He looked up at you once again to make sure you would not disobey him. You whimpered in disapproval, but you continued to obey his unspoken orders. Even when he investigated your dilated E/C orbs, he wanted to veer off his course and devour you. But, of course, he already planned this out.

     When he deemed the time appropriate, he slowly licked a strip from your clenching hole up to your clit. However, he caught you off guard by taking your clit into his mouth and began sucking harshly. His tongue swirled around the sensitive nerve and your entire body convulsed. A loud moan, practically a scream, escaped past your plump lips. Your body fell back against the cold table, just barely missing the cake. Your hand found Itadori's hair and you gripped onto it for dear life while the other was slapped against your mouth to halter any lewder sounds escaping through your mouth. 

      He continued sucking on the nerve until you no longer had a grip on reality. Your head was spinning and drowning in pleasure that you had no idea he was watching your expressions. The way your back arched and your breasts bounced around on your chest had Itadori palming his constricted erection. The occasional moan that resonated to your clit had you a moaning mess above him. 

     When he finally slipped his middle and ring fingers past your slick opening, all while he continued his attack on your clit, your hips ground against his face instinctively. His fingers began pumping tantalizingly slow to see if your body would react just by the simple movement. He pulled away after giving you one last long lick. His fingers, however, were still inside you. He stood in between your legs and rested his weight on his other hand, beside your waist, on the wooden table. At this point, you honestly had no idea how you had not came. 

     He pulled his fingers out of you, only to shove them right back in. With every few thrusts, he would curl the digits upwards and graze your g-spot, "Fuck! Don't fucking stop!"

     As Itadori continued to finger you, your abdomen was filled with a tightening coil that could snap at any given moment. One touch of the spongy spot inside of you would send you over the edge; your body is essentially trembling. That is how close you are. When the male placed his thumb over your clit and applied pressure, you were pushed over and into euphoria. You were screaming his name at the top of your lungs but they were drowned out by your boyfriend's mouth.

     Itadori gave you no chance to come down from your orgasm as he removed the rest of his clothes before pumping his hard-on and shoving himself into your still pulsating hole. A broken moan left your lips as you tried to grip onto the table for the upcoming ride. He had not let you adjust to his size before pulling out and slamming back into you at an unforgiving pace. 

     He grabbed ahold of your legs, placed them over his shoulders, and leaned down where his face is nearly touching yours. Your voice, now growing incredibly sore, could only let out a high pitched noise at the new angle.

     "Don't tap out on me now, sugar," his thrusts showed no mercy on your squelching pussy, "Look, you take me so well."

     Itadori grabbed a handful of the vanilla cake and shoved it down your throat. You coughed, choking from the sudden intrusion. His fingers stilled inside of your mouth to ensure you would eat all he gave you. He removed the digits and allowed you to lazily chew, as you were essentially in a new dimension. There were still frosting on the edge of your lips and the male reached down and licked up the remains. Once he knew for sure that you swallowed your birthday cake, he gave you a savoring kiss.

     The familiar knot grew quickly. Although most of his thrusts were inconsistent, but still at an in humane speed, he was grazing the spongy sweet spot inside you numerous times at this particular angle. He could tell you were nearing you orgasms once again. The way your body trembled and the way your pussy were clamping around him were both signs you were nearing your release.

     "I-I'm cumming! Please, please, please!"

     You screamed his name once again, although it most likely came out barely above a whisper by your hoarse voice. Your legs were shaking before your body fell limp against the table. Itadori was on the verge of his orgasm, but his pace still continued. An uncomfortable feeling invaded your senses and you were beginning to feel overstimulated. 

     Reality was setting in, and before you could shove the male away, he pulled out and came on your stomach. The pool of his cum burned your skin and he immediately grabbed his shirt to wipe you clean. Sighing, you rested your head against the table with your arms crossed over your stomach. Your boyfriend began to redress himself. 

     "What's the matter?"

     You sat up on both elbows, licking your lips and tasted a hint of the frosting. You smiled up at him, to which he could not help but to return.

     "Best. Birthday. Ever."

#jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuji #itadori smut #itadori x y/n #nsft