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hazelfoureyes · 4 days

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A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage.

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly.

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock.

You might have hit the man on the back of the head.

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him.

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face.

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.”

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap, hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles.

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours, still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.”

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse.

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.”

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it.

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag.

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking, you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help.

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly.

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic.

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course.

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest.

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with.

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would.

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.”

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry.

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all?

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?”

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance.

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught.

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you.

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though?

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic.

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind.

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.”

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.”

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper.

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy.

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest.

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention.

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.”

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing.

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure.

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin.

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else.

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock.

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes.

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?”

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed.

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob?

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing?

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse.

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer?

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate.

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?”

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet.

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman.

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment.

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer.

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.”

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home.

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily.

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along.

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!”

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips.

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

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lalacliffthorne · 3 months

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a loud party, a midnight ride and Azriel in neon lights.

(omggggg I caaaan't. 😭💓 this - just this. everything about this makes my lil heart go wee. also this is pre them beginning to date so - get ready for all the pining)

I could feel the bass in the floor even before I opened the front door.

Wincing lightly when I was met with the blaring sound of music and loud laughter, I slowly pushed into the flat.

There were people standing in the hall, some couples making out against the wall, others pushing into the kitchen. I barely dodged a tall dude walking backwards, talking loudly, and feeling something tighten under my ribs, I couldn´t keep the scowl off my face as I glowered after him.

Closing the front door behind me, I kicked off my sneakers, staring at the mess that usually was the coat rack with a deadpan stare.

I loved these guys, but why did they have to be so - annoyingly social?

Especially when I wasn´t feeling anything even close.

At least Rhys had warned me with a text.

I could hear Cassian's booming laugh from the living room, easily travelling over the bass and the noise, and even though the sound, as usual, made my lips twitch, it couldn´t melt the gentle weight on my chest.

Squeezing my jacket onto the coat rack and feeling a small frustrated sound break from my throat, I turned, quickly pressing myself against the wall to avoid having a drink sloshed over me. Glaring at the girl's back, I hesitated, the heavy thrum in my chest screaming for hot chocolate and ice cream, but as I stared at the full kitchen, it quickly dimmed.

Turning, I started to trudge towards my room. I halted in the door to the living room, my eyes gliding over the people crowded around, the balcony doors open, air thick and stale. Cassian was sprawled on the couch, talking with some guys from the gym I knew just from passing, a girl sitting under his arm, her hand dangerously high up on his thigh, while Rhys flirted with a dude over at the window, his grin causing his dimples to flash.

Huffing and rolling my eyes with a soft grumble, I turned around.

A couple was making out right next to my bedroom door. Looking at them for a second with a deadpan expression, I blinked before shaking my head, stretching to pluck the key from one of the picture frames where Cass always hid it when I wasn´t around to lock my room for an impromptu party.

Sliding into my room, I quickly shut the door beside me and turned the key, the noise now slightly muffled. Slowly breathing out, I leaned my head against the wall for a second. That little weight on my chest pulsed gently, and turning around, I flicked on the fairylights wrapped over the shelves and began peeling myself out of my clothes.

Carelessly kicking my pants to the side, I slipped into the hoodie hanging over the side of my chair, the warm scent rising into my nose causing my heart to miss a beat. I crunched my nose and soundlessly scolded myself, trudging over to my bed and dragging the blankets to the side before crawling onto the mattress.

The sky slowly turned darker and darker outside my windows until it was pitch black, a few single stars making it past the glow of the city, twinkling in the deep night as I curled up under my blanket, my noise cancelling headphones blocking out the commotion of the party, my bedframe vibrating lightly with the beat as I buried my nose in a pillow and felt the gentle weight on my chest press onto my throat.

The clock on my phone showed past eleven pm when it lit up with a text. I crunched my brows softly and picked it up, and suddenly, my heart fluttered into my throat at the name flashing over the screen.

Azriel.

are you home?

I hesitated, but before I could even open the message, another appeared on the screen.

come on, love, don't leave me hanging

Cass is singing and my ears are bleeding

My breath hitched in my throat, something rising in my chest, and I looked up towards the door, hesitating before pushing the blankets to the side. Pulling my headphones off, I climbed off the mattress. With the buffer gone, I could hear the noise of the party, only slightly muffled by the door – and a knock, followed by a deep voice, floating through the door like its owner had leaned his head against the wood as he softly called my name.

“C’mon, love, open up.”

My breath caught in my throat at the way Azriel gently mumbled the words like he didn’t want anyone listening in, like maybe he thought I wasn’t listening either.

My heart thrummed against my ribs as I shuffled over the carpet towards the door, something bubbling in my chest, chasing away the heavy feeling for just a little second. Then I unlocked the door and carefully pulled it open, and my eyes met amber ones.

Something dipped in my chest, and I held my breath.

Azriel blinked, and his eyes dragged over his face as he slowly, slightly raised his head. One corner of his lips started to curve softly, and my heart suddenly thrummed against my ribs as my gaze darted over his tall frame leaning against the doorframe, his shoulder propped against the wood, blocking the view of the hall, blocking out everything as he stared down at me. He was wearing his armored jacket over a hoodie, his cologne was rising into my nose and he was so close, I could feel his breath grazing on my forehead, could count the golden specks in his eyes as they moved over my face.

I blinked, then I crunched my brows softly. "I don't hear any singing."

Azriel's lips quirked. "He's still getting ready. Just wanted to get a head start."

I huffed, but somehow, a soft grin managed to fight it's way onto my face.

Azriel's gaze slowly dragged over my face. Then he blinked.

“You okay?” His low, deep voice trickled down my spine, soft and steady, and I hesitated, feeling the gentle weight pulse in my chest.

There was a loud laugh somewhere down the hall and I nearly jumped; my eyes darting towards the noise for a second, and a deep breath loosened from my throat.

"Just - one of those days." I looked up at Azriel again with a soft, crooked smile as I leaned my temple against the doorframe, almost wincing when people cheered in the living room.

Azriel's eyes flickered over my face, golden specks in his iris shifting. Then one corner of his lips slowly curved upwards.

"C'mon." He pushed off the doorframe, towering over me, his eyes flickering over my face, iris beginning to twinkle softly. "I'll take you for a ride."

I stared up at him as something rose under my ribs, and my throat thickened a little. Then I breathed a smile.

"Thank you."

Azriel's eyes dragged over my face, and his lips curved softly in a small smirk, causing a crease to form in his cheek.

"You should put on some pants though."

A minute later, I slipped out into the hall, wearing a pair of black leggings I had changed into, and Azriel pushed off the wall, his chest brushing against my back as he started to follow me towards the door. People moved out of my way, backing away, and I felt something hop in my chest in confusion until I threw a quick look over my shoulder and found Azriel's eyes directed over my head, deep, dark, piercing, making people shrink back and out of my way.

My heart rose into my throat, and I quickly turned back ahead before the pressure in my chest could flow into my eyes.

At the coat rack, Azriel reached over my head, pulling two helmets from the top shelf, and I slipped into my sneakers before pulling my armored jacket out of the heap of clothes. Sliding into the sleeves, I took the helmet Azriel handed me, then I slipped past him when he opened the front door.

Cool night air hit my face when a few seconds later, I dragged open the door to the street, causing me to breathe in deeply and close my eyes for a second. The gentle weight on my chest seemed to lift a little, then something brushed against my shoulder, and when I opened my eyes again, Azriel moved past me and stepped onto the sidewalk, sliding his helmet over his head.

Breathing out, I followed after him towards his motorcycle parked behind Cassian's truck. Tugging my helmet over my head and turning on the comms, I zipped up my jacket. Then I raised my head, and Azriel swung a leg over the seat, sitting down, the visor of his helmet flashing in the light of the streetlamps when he looked towards me and lightly nudged his head in a soft gesture to come closer.

Stepping towards him, I felt my breath hitch in my throat when Azriel reached out, his warm, rough hands brushing against my neck. Carefully, he straightened the hood of my sweatshirt before gently tapping my throat.

"C'mon." His deep voice echoed through me from the comms, and feeling my heart do somersaults at the way his golden eyes dragged over my face, I slipped into my gloves. Azriel started the bike, then he looked back at me over his shoulder, and I slid my visor down before taking his offered hand, climbing onto the bike behind him. The seat vibrated under me, and sliding forward, I wrapped my arms around Azriel's middle.

Reaching back to lightly pat the side of my knee, Azriel slid down his visor. Then he looked over his shoulder and pushed off the ground, the bike rolling out onto the street before picking up speed.

By the time we were out of the side streets, the weight on my chest slowly began to lift away, disappearing into the dark night sky as I slid my arms tighter around Azriel's waist, my body following his movements as he weaved past the few cars still on the move. Streetlights dipped the city in a golden light, mixing with the lamps shining in windows and lit shop fronts and signs as the cool wind snuck through the material of my leggings and caused my skin to tingle.

Slowly, something started to flutter gently against my ribs, and I let my head sink against Azriel's shoulder, staring at the quick passing lights. The streets were almost empty, and Azriel accelerated, the noise of the engine and the rumble of the bike the only things on my mind, along with the feeling of Azriel's body, tall and solid, keeping mine upright and steady.

At a stoplight, he reached back, his gloved hand sliding into the crook of my knee and squeezing.

"You okay?" His deep voice vibrated through me, and I nodded against his shoulder, tightening my grip around him.

Azriel turned his head to look back at me, and I swore I could feel his gaze flicker over my face even through the visor.

For a second, he seemed to hesitate. Then Az dipped his head forward a little, and my heart caught in my throat when his helmet rested against mine for a moment.

The light turned green, and Azriel pulled back before turned around, his hand sliding away from my knee, my skin tingling where it had curved around my knee.

I didn't know how long we curved through the streets, but my legs were cold and a little stiff when Azriel slowed the bike. Feeling my brows crunch in soft confusion, I looked over my shoulder when he rolled off the street and onto a parking spot next to the sidewalk.

"Everything okay?" I slowly slid his arms away from him, sitting up and wincing slightly when my back and bum protested. Then my gaze got caught on the lit up front of a diner a bit down the road, and my stomach grumbled softly.

Azriel pulled off his helmet, his hair tousled as he looked back at me, eyes twinkling golden in the light of the lanterns, and I slowly started to smile beamingly.

The bell over the door rang when about a minute later, Azriel pulled it open, and I breathed in deeply the scent of food and coffee, warmth hitting my face when I slipped past him.

The diner was busy for a little past midnight; there were a few small groups of people that seemed our age, a table full of teenagers and some older men at the counter.

Something brushed against my back, then Azriel appeared behind me, towering over me, his hand sliding up my back to gently nudge me towards one of the booths at the window.

Sliding onto the leather bench, I placed my helmet and gloves next to me before shimmying out of my jacket. Then I raised my head, and something fluttered under my ribs as my gaze settled on Azriel, dark strands of hair curving over his forehead as he slid off his gloves and placed them on the table. His shoulders shifted under his hoodie, the golden specks in his eyes twinkling as they moved away from the window to meet mine, and my heart missed a beat.

"Hi!"

The chipper voice of the waitress made me quickly tear my eyes away from Azriel's, heat rising into my cheeks as I looked up at her, but the girl didn't seem to notice my slow reaction as she beamed at Azriel. I blinked, feeling a soft huff build in throat as my lips twitched, then my gaze darted back towards Azriel - only to find his eyes still resting on my face, the shadow of a crease in his cheek as his gaze tracked over the blush in my cheeks.

Heat washed over me, and I blinked, somehow forcing my gaze away from his to look back up at the waitress, sending her a quick smile. "Hi."

The girl seemed to realise Azriel wasn't looking at her, because she turned towards me, her smile dimming a little but still friendly when she raised her brows. "What can I get you?"

Browsing over the menu quickly, I rattled down the order of a piece of chocolate cake, fries and a hot cocoa before allowing my gaze to stray back towards Azriel. He blinked, then he looked up at the waitress that blushed under the weight of his gaze.

"Coffee,", he said simply, his deep voice steady. The girl beamed and nodded.

She was about to turn when her eyes caught onto something, and I could see her smile slip for a second, her eyes widening. Then she hastily turned around.

Feeling my brows crunch in confusion, I turned my gaze back towards Azriel. But my question got stuck in my throat.

His body had grown completely still. A muscle in his jaw twitched, tension vibrating through his shoulders - and his eyes, dark and distant, stared down.

Following his gaze, I felt something drop in my chest, and suddenly, my heart ached.

Azriel's gaze was piercing his hands, the scars shifting when he flexed his fingers, tightening them into fists before forcing them apart.

Az blinked, then he straightened, like he was preparing to slide his hands into his pockets, or grab his gloves to put them on again - and before I could think; without even wanting or needing to, I reached out, my fingers sliding over his.

Azriel froze. Went completely still in place, like maybe, he was even holding his breath. His fingers twitched under mine like everything in him was screaming to pull away, and for a second, I expected him to follow the order. But then his hands went limp, and his gaze dragged over my hands, visibly smaller than his as they curled around his fingers.

Azriel's jaw worked. Then he raised his head, and my heart caught in my throat.

Az blinked, and his iris shifted, his eyes growing deep and heated, almost feverish as they pierced my face like he was drinking me in, hard, desperate. His throat worked harshly and his shoulders tightened under his hoodie. Then a muscle in his jaw shifted, and Azriel turned his hands, his fingers linking with mine so tightly, it felt like he was afraid I could pull away.

Something rose under my ribs, an ache spreading through my chest, and I swallowed, fighting against the pressure behind my eyes as I stared at him, my heart beating violently as for a second, my whole body screamed at me to get up and slide onto the bench next to him to draw him into my body, hold him until the way he had stared at his hands like they belonged to a monster was gone, nothing but a memory.

Instead, I wove my fingers through Azriel's, brushing my thumb over his knuckles, following the lines of marred skin, and Azriel blinked, his gaze following the movement of my finger like he'd been starving for it as his body melted into the seat, his shoulders sagging.

My fingers stayed firmly linked with his even as the waitress returned, red spreading over her cheeks as she hastily placed cups and plates on the table. But Azriel didn't even spare her a glance, his eyes piercing mine, deep, golden specks shifting in a slow, feverish twinkle.

Eventually, I carefully slipped my hands out of Azriel's, his grip loosening slowly like he was just as hesitant to let go of me like I was to pull away. Sliding the plates into the middle of the table between us, I picked up my mug and breathed in the scent of hot chocolate, and warmth bloomed in my chest when over the rim of the cup, my eyes found Azriel's.

We shared the fries and the cake, the tightness in my chest slowly washing away as I tried to wrestle my fork past Azriel's, giggles breaking from my throat, causing his lips to curve. Outside, the city was dark, the lamps the same warm amber light as Azriel's eyes that rarely strayed from my face.

It was past one am when I stepped out into the cold air, shivering softly as I breathed in and tipped my head back to look up at the sky. I felt Azriel's shoulder brush against mine as he followed me out onto the street, and we turned, beginning to walk back to his bike, the city silent except for the occasional sound of car moving past. Closing my eyes for a second, I inhaled, the crisp air filling my lungs.

The back of Azriel's hand grazed mine, and my heart rose into my throat as my eyes snapped open.

At the edge of my vision, I saw Azriel look down at me. His gaze dragged over my face, and I thought I saw his throat work. Then his fingers brushed against mine again, and his index finger carefully slid into the space next to mine.

My breath faltered and my heart ceased beating, and Azriel gently hooked our fingers together.

Fighting to inhale, I stared ahead, the cold suddenly gone and replaced by shivering tingles running over my whole body.

Azriel slowed down until he came to a halt next to his bike, and my fingers nearly slipped from his when I turned to face him, but his grip tightened. My heart nearly leapt in my throat as I looked up at him, desperately trying to avoid the urge to swallow.

Azriel was so close that I could see the pink and purple lights of the shop windows next to us reflected in his eyes. The scent of his cologne was rising into my nose and making me dizzy.

Azriel's gaze flickered over my face, and slowly, one corner of his lips tipped upwards, just so.

For a second, he looked like he was hesitating. Then Az reached up with his free hand, his warm, rough fingers brushing a strand of hair out of my face. My head spun as they grazed my cheek before dropping, and my breath caught when his index finger slipped under my chin. His chest brushed against mine, and I was suddenly aware of every part of me, every part of him and the way his breath grazed my skin as Azriel's finger carefully tipped up my chin.

Azriel's gaze flickered over mine before sinking lower, and my breath caught in my throat when he slowly dipped his head.

My heart rose before stilling, and my eyes fluttered shut. My hands reached out to dig into Azriel's sides, and I could feel myself tremble as his breath grazed my lips -

Somewhere behind me, a car honked, short and sharp, and I jumped; Azriel's gaze darted up, and I sucked in a shuttering breath.

My eyes widened as I quickly let go of his sides, something thrumming violently against my ribs as I felt heat wash into my cheeks, because shit -

My gaze flickered up - and my heart dipped and fluttered.

The neon lights were throwing shadows under Azriel's cheekbones and jaw, his features like carved from marble as he stared over my head for another second, his hair dark and tousled and crease between his brows, and suddenly, my breath was hitching.

Too damn pretty.

Azriel blinked before looking down at me, and something in his eyes softened as his gaze flickered over my face. He looked hesitant for a second, but a small twinkle was building in his gaze as it dragged over mine. Then he blinked and reached out, his fingers brushing against my chin, thumb wiping over my cheek.

"C'mon." His deep voice sounded almost a little hoarse as it washed over me. "Let's see if the others have left the flat standing."

My heart dipped and tumbled, and a soft giggle broke from my throat even as I tried to keep my breathing under control.

Azriel's lips curved, and his eyes dragged over my face for another second. Then he turned, and I quickly sucked in a soundless breath, my eyes widening as something pounded violently against my ribs.

The flat was still standing when we got back. The hall seemed to be even fuller than when we had left, and I felt my heart flutter against my ribs when Azriel slowly closed the door behind us.

I hesitated and looked over my shoulder, my gaze flickering over his face. Trying to swallow against the thick knot around my throat, I felt my heart flutter violently against my ribs. Then I reached out and slid my hand into his, and as Azriel's gaze darted down, suddenly burning and feverish, I linked our fingers, his rough skin warm against mine.

Tugging, I started walking backwards, feeling one corner of my lips curving into a soft, cheeky smile as I pulled him with me, raising my brows.

"C'mon. My room is farthest away from the chaos."

Azriel breathed a huff, but his lips curved upwards, and feeling my heart thrumming against my ribs, I turned and slid past people, Azriel so close behind me, I could feel his breath on my hair as he followed, his thumb stroking softly over the back of my hand.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate2 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds @harrystylesfan2686 @icey--stars @ssmay123

#modern!roommate batboys series #azriel x reader #lalacliffthorne #modern au #azriel imagine #azriel drabble #azriel fluff #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar drabble #az imagine #az x reader #azriel x female!reader #az/reader #az drabble #acowar #acomaf

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izgnanik-a · 1 year

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CoD ABC's

NSFW 18+ x Reader Edition - Minors DNI!

Masterlist here

Q - Queening (Face-sitting) (John Price x Reader)

Tags: Multiple orgasms, p-in-v mentioned, praise kink, oral fixation

Not beta-read, we die like men 🤷🏽

Prompt: All you had done was wear a low-cut comfy shirt, and your bike shorts because the weather was warming - and you had a handful of Jonathan Price at your feet. He must’ve liked the look more than you thought.

The tight grip that John had on your thighs almost stifled the nerves wound tight in your belly, your pelvis rutting, your dripping cunt lathered over his parted lips.

You could crush this man to death, and he’d lie in complete bliss in his last, dying moments.

When you woke up that morning to warm Spring weather, you took the opportunity to dress nice. You’d been tucked into layers upon layers of clothing, so bringing out your bike shorts and oversized stressed tee’s (courtesy of John’s closet), you didn’t think anything of it.

When he’d come back from his morning run, sweater zipped up, in those compromising sweatpants — he’d nearly forgotten about exhaustion and snatched you up from your place by the counter, making your breakfast.

Now, you were on your knees in the middle of your living room, plush rug beneath your skin, pant-less, and riding your husband-to-be’s face to high Heavens because he demanded it.

His animalistic grunts underneath signaled he was still alive, gasping between thrusts of your pussy in his face, his tongue diving in and out of your wet canal. His hands pressed whitening handprints into your thighs, bruising with just his touch, and he moved to more promising spots.

His hands sculpted up your waist, clasping your ribs, and pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your tits. He surrendered his mouth, left open, and focused solely on running his fingers over your budding nipples.

You tossed your head back, clasping his forearms, and your hips staggered — orgasm breaching. When you stopped moving, gasps racking your body, John’s tongue pursued your quivering cunt.

He grunted, hungrily still, feeling the muscles of your pussy fluttering.

You threw your hand down, grabbing a fist full of his hair to keep him trapped against the floor as you hoisted up to remove him.

His hands aggressively sat you back on his mouth. His mouth uttering against your pussy, “I’m not done with you yet, dove. Not until I’ve had my fill and fucked this perfect pussy on every surface of this room.”

You moaned, thighs quivering as he took more sampling tastes. “John—“ you begged, “Just— give me a second.” You gazed at him between your legs, his lips showing mercy.

His hands drew a path down your sides as he kissed your thighs, biting gently, “You look so good like this, fucked out from just my mouth,” he bit down particularly close to your pussy, the closeness bringing sensitivity to your pelvis. He chuckled at your response. “You look amazing, dove.” His hands suddenly gripped your hips with a ferocity, keeping you from escaping. “Times up.”

Before you could brace for impact, he was devouring your pussy as if he could eat another full course from you. And you divulged in feeding the man until he was fat and content with you.

4/10/23

#cod mw2 #john price mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #Izgnanik-a

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cmncisspnandmore · 15 days

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One Night Stand Part 7

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant! Reader

Warnings: Medical drama, Fluff,

A/N: Hi loves, sorry for taking so long, i just moved into a new house and its been a lot. And honestly my mental health is trash. This part was also really hard to write for me because I had this happen to me. And i didnt realize how triggering it would be to write about it but the best way to get through the trauma is to write about it, right? maybe? no? well, anyways sorry if it sucks. i'll do better next time.

Word count: 1833...

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 6,

Your head pounded as you laid across the soft couch, each throb timed perfectly with the beating of your heart. There was no cuteness in pregnancy, not in your eyes at least. The glow that most women talked about was nothing more than a sheen of sweat that collected on your brow from your every move. There was a tiny human playing soccer with your organs, your ribcage the goal. They kicked wildly at the space below your ribs, the feeling enough to make you want to throw up.

The past few days had been rough, you had a headache from hell and you just felt drained. Simon was concerned but you had chalked it up to the lingering cold you had going on. But now as you lay on the couch your stomach rolling with each passing moment you aren't so sure. Simon was on base today, having to complete some paperwork. He had woken you this morning, his lips peppering your face with soft kisses.

He had tried to stay home but you had insisted he go, that you would be fine you would call if you needed him. Since he had left a few hours ago he had called you a few times, and you had reassured him each time that you were okay, you were just going to rest on the couch until he got home. You weren’t sure how long had passed since Simon had last called, but you had started to gradually feel worse. You push yourself up onto your elbows, and the world begins to spin around you. A wave of dizziness, crashing into you, as you blindly reach for your phone.

You swallow trying to will yourself not to throw up. It takes you a few moments to find Simon's name in the phone, and putting it on speaker. It rings longer than normal but right before it goes to voicemail his panicked voice answers. “Hello? Y/n? What's wrong?”

“Simon… I… I don't feel good,” your voice shakes as you struggle to keep the phone in your hand.

“Bloody hell, It’s alright Love, stay on the phone with me, i’m on my way,” there’s shuffling and the sound of boots hitting the floor in the background. “You’ll be okay, what's going on?”

“I have a headache… I'm nauseous, and I just don't feel good at all, I think something is really wrong,” you mumble, swaying slightly as you sit on the couch.

“Okay, Love, do you have any swelling in your hands or feet?” The sound of Simon's truck revving filters through the phone.

“Yeah a little,” You lean forward to the best of your ability and press on the top of your foot watching as your finger makes a light indent in the skin.

“Fuck..” Simon curses under his breath, “Love, go put your coat on, I’ll be there in a moment. Okay? We’re gonna go to the hospital.”

“Simon?” you whisper, your voice shaking as you push yourself to stand, bracing yourself on the couch.

“Yeah love?”

“I’m scared…” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

“I know, I'm pulling up now okay, I'm gonna hang up okay? I just parked the truck, I'm coming to get you.” Simon's voice cuts off as the line goes dead. You shuffle over to the coat rack and start to pull on your coat. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you hold the coat closed around your stomach. A sharp pain under your ribs causing you to gasp, and brace your hands on the kitchen counter.

The sound of heavy boots stops outside the door as Simon pushes into the apartment. He’s still wearing all his gear, his tight black t-shirt, his cargo pants and skull mask on. His brown eyes are full of concern as he walks towards you, his large hands resting on your hips.

“C’mon Love lets get you checked out,” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. Simon’s arms carefully pull you into him, resting your back against his chest as he guides you from the apartment and down to the car. Your mind feels cloudy and far away as Simon secures you into the truck. His hands brushing along your stomach as he fastens your seatbelt. You close your eyes focusing on the revving of the engine as Simon weaves the large black truck in and out of traffic. It was only moments later that it came to a screeching halt outside the A&E doors. He barely had the truck in park before he was jumping out and scooping you up in his arms. He cradles you against his chest as he bursts through the sliding glass doors.

“I need some help!” his voice is loud against your ear. The vibrations of it through his chest causing you to groan in pain. Each movement felt like it was sucking the soul out of you. Every breath hurt and you just wanted to sleep, but soon there were nurses and doctors swarming you. Each of them throws questions towards you, only to have Simon reply for you.

“How far along is she?” a doctor asks as she shines a bright light in your eyes.

“28 Weeks,” Simon's voice is laced with panic.

“Okay, let's get her up to Labor and Delivery people let's go! Someone call the NICU unit!” the on-call emergency room doctor calls out. It was like a swarm of bees, suddenly everyone was doing something. Someone was poking your arm with an IV while another was taking your blood pressure. You weren't sure whose hands belonged to who or what was going on. But after a few moments there was too much going on for your brain to process, and you passed out.

~~~~~

The beeping of the monitors was oddly familiar to you, like when you woke up after being caught in the stairwell after the apartment building you were living in caught fire. But this time there was an icy chill that ran down your spine when you heard it. The memories of what happened come flooding back.

Calling Simon, him rushing home, being rushed to A&E, the doctors concerned voice. The overwhelming sense of panic, and then nothing. You slowly pry our eyes open, fighting against the heaviness. The first thing you see is Simon's blonde hair, the wild strands sticking up at odd angles as it rests against the light blue hospital blanket. Your hand is trapped under his head. His cheek pressed firmly into the back of it. You wiggle your fingers slightly and he stirs. His head lifting, brown eyes blinking slowly as he came around.

“Y/N?” He asks softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“Hi,” you croak softly, your throat dry and a little sore.

“Oh god, baby, you scared me so much,” Simon whispers, his hands coming to cup your cheeks. He was still wearing his gear, minus his mask and vest, his black shirt slightly wrinkled.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your right hand moving reflexively to rest on your stomach. You pause, eyes widening as the once firm bump is now squishy and numb. The world seems to stop spinning, time slowing. Your heart wants to stop beating in your chest but it won't listen.

“N-No.” Your voice cracks, eyes welling with tears and a look of confusion crosses Simon's face before he looks at your right hand.

“Oh! No, love, shhh stop it’s okay. The baby is okay.” He rushes out, grabbing your left hand in his. His face is full of concern, his brow furrowed as he watches you slightly relax. After a moment you let out a shaky breath.

“What happened?” You whisper, looking up at him, his hand still clutched tightly around yours.

“You had PreEclampsia, but a severe case of it called HELLP syndrome. I’m not entirely sure what it means but they said the only way to save your life was to deliver the baby. So they performed an emergency C-Section and had to give you a blood transfusion. The baby is okay, they’re in the NICU. I haven't been able to see them yet, but a nurse came about an hour ago and said that they were fighting like crazy and we should be able to see them soon.” He explains, his brown eyes welling with tears.

His voice is rough and strained, “I thought I was gonna lose you both.”

Hot tears well in your eyes as he admits his fear. A man as big and strong as Simon looked so small at that moment. He looked like a lost child who couldn't find home. The brave soldier who willingly ran into warzones and fought people with his bare hands had never looked so helpless. It was in this rare moment that you got to see the person behind the hardened soldier. The man who truly thought he was going to lose the person he cared about, and his child. Your heart ached for him, you wished you could take the worry and pain he had felt away but you couldn't.

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, he must've been so scared, felt so hopeless. He was usually able to control some aspect of the situations he was in. He could fight his way out of the worst scenarios, he could plan an escape, and he was always prepared for things if they went south. But he wasn't able to fix you, he had been completely helpless as Doctors worked to save not only your life but that of his unborn child.

“Oh baby, don't cry,” Simon's thumb strokes the skin under your cheek as he wipes away your tears.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper, voice tight.

“It's not your fault, i’m just glad you're both okay.” He whispers, leaning forward and brushing his lips against your cheek.

“Tell me about the baby,” you blink away the rest of the tears, taking a steadying breath.

“It’s a girl, she weighs 1lb 2oz, and she's so small i don't even think she’d fill my entire palm. They aren't sure entirely what her future looks like, but the nurse that came in to check on you said she was a fighter, and she felt really good about her outcome.” He smiles, his brown eyes filled with pride as he talks about his daughter.

A daughter.

You had a daughter now.

The thought alone was crazy to you, you had been so sure the entire time it was a boy. You had a gut feeling but you were wrong, and you weren’t unhappy about it. You didn't care either way, the only thing you cared about was that they were okay. That they would pull through everything and you would get to bring them home eventually.

There's a soft knock on the door and a nurse with red hair pokes her head in.

“Hi, do you two wanna go meet your daughter?”

Next Part: Part 8

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18, @itsmytimetoodream @humanities-cutest @ajrfanz @jggykhug09090 @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @ashreblogsnow

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #soft simon #simon x reader #simon riley #simon #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #x you #x reader #ghost cod #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #cod #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost #dad!simon riley

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evansbby · 2 years

Text

pouty princess

Pairing: daddy!Ari Levinson x bratty!reader

Warnings: smut, daddy!kink, dumbification, dd/lg undertones, major size difference, slight sugar daddy vibe, dirty talk, Ari goes dark towards the end, slightly dark.

Summary: You want to show your daddy that you can be in charge sometimes too, but it doesn't work out as well as you'd hoped. (Based on this ask and mini-drabble).

A/N: This is just a drabble I wrote in under an hour! Not a full fic, I just felt inspired by that ask the other day and wanted to write a more detailed version of the mini drabble! Enjoy!

“Daddy, I feel like I should be in charge sometimes.” You announce, jutting your chin out and folding your arms over your chest. Ari’s sprawled out on his armchair, sipping a beer while he watches something boring on TV. You quickly step in front of his vision, blocking his view from the screen, “Hey! Are you listening to me? I just said that–”

A yelp escapes your mouth as Ari cuts you off, grabbing your waist and pulling you down on his lap with such minimal effort, it’s almost laughable. In fact, he doesn’t even take his eyes off the TV screen. You scoff, straightening up and making yourself comfortable on his thigh. He’s got those jeans on, the one with the rough denim that’s perfect for – No, you can’t let yourself get side-tracked.

“Daddyyyy, please stop ignoring me!” You whine, cupping Ari’s bearded jaw in your hand and forcibly turning his head to face you, “I think I’m way cuter than the weatherman, don’t you?”

“Careful, sweet girl. Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re being bratty.” Ari warns, his voice gravelly yet light-hearted enough for you to relax. His blue eyes blink, finally focusing on you as his large hands rub up and down your shoulders. “Now, what are you frowning about, my pouty baby?”

You snuggle closer to him, “I’m not frowning. I just suggested something a minute ago and you ignored me.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Tell me again what you suggested?” Ari pecks you once on the lips before doing it again, and again, and then again until you’re giggling in his arms. His big, strong, muscular arms. He’s so big compared to you, dwarfing you completely as you sit on his lap.

“I said, I think I should be in charge sometimes. You know, during sex.”

Ari freezes in the middle of kissing down the nape of your neck, raising his head up and looking down at you with raised eyebrows. “You? In charge? That’s a cute joke, sweet girl.”

You frown, lower lip jutting out, “Don’t be mean, daddy. I’m not joking. I wanna be in charge sometimes too, okay? It can’t always be you.”

Ari’s distracted himself again, playing with the hem of your dress, lifting it up and snaking a hand up your bare thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I thought you liked being daddy’s little baby?” He teases, pinching the soft skin of your thigh and making you yelp once more.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I do. But I wanna try bossing you around too.”

Your boyfriend smirks, “You do boss me around, baby. What about the other day, huh? Inside Victoria’s Secret? Wasn’t it you ordering daddy around, telling me where to go and which lingerie to pick up and bring to you in the dressing room?”

Slipping your hand up his chest to twine his long hair around your fingers, you roll your eyes, “Well, someone had to tell you where the bargain rack was – you kept bringing me the expensive stuff!”

“Only the best for my pouty little princess.” Ari hums, tickling your ribs in a way that makes shivers run up and down your spine. “So, you wanna be in charge, huh baby? Tell daddy what to do?”

“Yes! Please let me be in charge, daddy? Please, please, please, please, please?!”

And how can he say no when you beg so prettily? That’s how you find yourself straddling your big, beefy, 6”4’ boyfriend while he lies on the bed. Gleefully, you click the handcuffs into place, one on either of his wrists, effectively cuffing him to the bedposts.

“Does it feel uncomfortable?” You ask, and he smiles, shaking his head.

You sigh, brushing his hair out of his face, loving how the ends curl against his neck. He looks really hot like this, underneath you with his big blue eyes, full pink lips and long lashes brushing against his cheekbones. He’s all rough and tough, but there’s a vulnerable beauty to his looks too.

“Now, daddy, you remember our safeword for if it gets too much for you, right?” You ask him, parroting exactly what he says to you when he’s got you all tied up in different positions.

Ari snorts, biting his lip to keep from laughing, “Yes, baby, I remember the safeword.”

You beam, “Good job, daddy.”

You start by teasing him slowly, kissing down his bare chest, kitten licks striping up and down his pecks, lips dragging and pressing against his torso, teeth grazing against every ridge and ripple of his muscles and abs.

And Ari watches you the whole time with hooded eyes. You’re doing exactly what he does to you – but for some reason, he isn’t the whimpering, whiny and moaning mess that you usually become around thirty seconds after Ari begins teasing you. He’s definitely got more willpower and patience than you, because you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter from all the teasing you’re doing.

“What’s wrong, baby? Losing your willpower already?” Ari snickers softly, and you realise you’re subconsciously humping against his thigh. You still immediately and shoot him a glare.

“Shh, daddy! No speaking, remember? I’m in charge and I say you can’t speak. Or else I’ll… I’ll gag you!” You say fiercely, letting the threat sit heavily in the air, similar to when Ari threatens to spank you or gag you when you’re naughty.

Ari bites back another laugh, “Sorry, baby. By all means, do continue.”

You do continue, wasting no time in pulling down the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips up to help you, and you pull the boxers all the way down his knees. And then you’re completely entranced because his dick is so big, slapping up against his abs. The fat head is an angry red, leaking precum. You can feel your mouth water. He’s so fucking big.

You think back to how just this morning, he’d woken you up with his dick rubbing against your ass, and then nudging between your folds as he took you sideways, took what he pleased because daddy’s allowed to fuck his baby pussy whenever he wants. You remember the shower after that, the marble tiles hard under your knees as he’d forced his huge cock into your mouth, fucking your face before pulling out and finishing all over your cheeks, your chin, your nose, your lips, your tongue.

“Hello? Sweet girl? You still there?” Ari moves his leg a bit to get your attention, snapping you out of your reverie. You bite your lip, gazing down at his cock, lost in dirty fantasies of him on top of you, taking control how he always does.

“W-Want your dick so bad, daddy.” You find yourself whimpering.

Ari smirks, “My sweet baby, you’re in charge, remember? It’s right here,” He bucks his hips once, “Take it.”

Oh wait. That’s right. You were in charge. You gulp, positioning yourself till you’re hovering over his dick, grabbing the base with your hand and slowly lowering down onto it. Fuck, no matter how many times Ari fucks you, and no matter how wet you are, it’s always a stretch to take in his huge length and girth.

“Well, come on, baby. Why aren’t you moving?” Ari asks you.

You open your eyes, still adjusting to the fullness of having him inside of you. Move?

“But you’re the one who moves us.” You say quietly, barely able to get the words out because being filled with his huge dick is kind of distracting. And it’s true, every time you ride him – which is not that often since Ari loves being on top – but every time you ride him, it’s always Ari with his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slams you up and down on his length.

Ari laughs, “But you’re calling the shots, baby, aren’t you? And the one who’s in charge – which is you – is the one who does all the work.” His chest rumbles with laughter, “You not up to the challenge anymore, hm?”

“D-Didn’t say that!” You begin rocking your hips, grinding and bouncing up and down, the friction of his hardness against your walls feeling so, so good. Soon, you’re moaning – it’s not as fulfilling or as deep like when he’s in control of fucking, but it still feels good.

“Daddy, please!” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Please, daddy, harder, please!”

Another chuckle, “Sweet girl, if you want it harder, you gotta bounce harder. Daddy’s not in charge here, is he?”

You try, you really do try. But it’s hard work, being the one in charge. You can feel yourself growing tired, muscles already protesting. You don’t have the stamina that Ari has – not even close. Plus, his dick feels so good inside you, how can you possibly focus on moving? The only thing you can think about is his dick, and how good it feels to be so full.

“My pretty little baby,” Ari coos when he sees your head lull to the side, your eyes blinking away and trying to focus, “Is my baby tired already? Don’t wanna be in charge anymore, hm?”

As if on cue, your hips stall, before you half-heartedly start moving them again.

“Sweet girl, why’d you slow down?” Ari’s mocking you wickedly, but you don’t even care, “Aren’t you enjoying being in charge of daddy?”

“I-I… I- Daddy, please!”

“What happened to my baby who wanted to be a big girl, huh?” Ari asks you smugly. You’ve stilled completely now, blinking up at him, clutching at his hips to get him to thrust upwards into you. You don’t understand why he won’t just use his hips, fuck into you like he always does.

“D-Daddy, need you. Please, daddy… Nngh!” Begging turns to nonsensical babble as you rock your hips uselessly. It’s not enough. You don’t like this as much as you thought you would. You need him. But you can’t seem to find the words…

“Begging daddy already? Wow, princess, you couldn’t even last five minutes, could you?” You shake your head desperately as he continues, “Look at you, so dumb on daddy’s dick, can’t even speak properly. See, this is what happens when dumb babies like you try to act like they know better.”

It’s almost comical how quickly Ari breaks free from the handcuffs, the broken metal clattering down on the floor as his rough hands find your hips. You barely have time to squeak before he’s flipped you both over, hovering over you and pressing you hard against the mattress.

“You still wanna be in charge?” His eyes are dark, forehead touching yours.

“N-No, daddy. Y-You, you!”

He impales you in a single thrust, going so deep and hard you fear he’s broken you in half as you scream and clutch at his shoulders and chest.

“Now you know that daddy’s always gonna be in charge, don’t you princess?” Ari says darkly, fucking you within an inch of your life, his hips a blur and the only sounds being your whimpers and screams along with the slapping of his balls against you and the squelch of your wetness as it seeps down your thighs and around his cock.

“Daddy’s the one who does all the work, baby, you remember that. You just lie there without a single thought in that pretty head of yours, because that’s all your good for, you got that? Just a pretty little baby who doesn’t think, just opens her legs for daddy and let’s her daddy use her like a whore.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, daddy!” You cry, it’s all you can seem to fin the words to say. You feel faint, like you’re about to pass out from the sheer pleasure of it all.

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s little baby with the empty fuckin’ head. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you till you pass out – I know that’s what you want. Close your eyes baby. Daddy’s still gonna be on top of you when you wake up.”

The end! Let me know what you think!

#chris evans #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #dark #dark ari levinson #steve rogers x reader #chris evans fanfiction #drabble

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delopsia · 3 months

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Rhett has never really gotten the whole Valentine's thing.

You noticed it the first February you spent together; he'd been tilting his head at the endless pink and red aisles, quietly asking you what the point of it all was. Why give chocolates and plushes on a specific day when you can do it year-round? What's so special about it all?

He says all that as if he doesn't participate in it, too. Bringing you plushes of adorable animals holding little red hearts, sweets and flowers, and anything else that reminded him of you. He may not understand it, but he's not about to let his feelings cause him to miss out on spoiling you with your favorite things.

This year, though, you've got an idea.

With the recent hustle and bustle around the ranch he's working at, Rhett hasn't been home as much as usual. And when he is, those pretty eyes are so damn sleepy that he's got no energy to look around and notice where you've begun stashing things.

A bottle of champagne because every time he sees it in the store, he wonders what it tastes like. Variety chocolates, too many boxes of candy hearts, a bath gift set because he's always bugging you to take a bath together. Chocolate-covered pretzels, cookies, and handmade candies from the little shop that just opened in town. Best of all, you've gotten your hands on a pink masturbation sleeve. So well colored that it practically disappears once you've tucked everything into the basket, tied off with a long red ribbon.

Rhett heads out the door before dawn on Valentine's Day, leaving you with his traditional kiss on the forehead and a small bundle of goodies on the bedside table, ready for you to find them when your eyes open. It's full of all your usual favorites, topped off with an oversized plush of a strawberry cow. He must have kept it hidden in his clothes because when you hug it to your chest, it smells like him.

His eyes were hardly open when he left the house, and they're much of the same when he stumbles through the front door sometime after seven, calling your name as he toes off his boots. The only reason he notices the rose petals and candles scattered across the floor, is because one of his shoes fell off the rack.

He's not entirely sure what to think. Poking at the tiny, battery-powered candles with his foot as he follows the trail you've created for him. Still calling out your name, unsure as to why you have yet to show yourself.

It's the basket that gets him to stop in his tracks. Adorably placed in the center of the bed, right next to your brand-new cow. Virtually silent as he shifts the items inside, a grin sprawling across his face as he takes in all of the things you've gathered for him.

Soft hands appear on his waist, leading the way as your arms wrap around him, "Happy Valentine's Day, cowboy."

"Y' got all this fer me?" He's already toying with one of the chocolates, trying his best to conceal the excitement that rushes through his system.

And so far, he hasn't noticed his new toy.

"Mhm," pressing your lips to the back of his neck.

You knew he would open that bath set first, sleepy eyes flickering between you and the bathroom as if to ask for one more gift. So what if you've already got the water good and warm, ready to go the moment you turn it back on? It's just a coincidence.

It's been a minute since you've watched him peel off his shirt, pale skin bearing a few more bruises than normal. A scattering of blue and purple across his ribs from the unbridled rage of a particularly fussy heifer. Green and yellow spots on his thighs, with an origin he doesn't quite recall, but lets you kiss them regardless.

The water is absurdly pink, and if you'd known there was glitter in this bath bomb, you would have chosen a different set. You'll be sparkling for weeks. But you've already settled into it; Rhett is situating his back against your chest, head resting against yours, and you can't bring yourself to complain. Especially not when he dares to bite into a nondescript chocolate, nose wrinkling as he realizes it's filled with artificial cherry.

"Ain't even the good kind," he grumbles, tossing it toward the trash bin. For once, his aim is perfect.

But his disappointment is short-lived. Cut short by the lips that appear on his naked shoulder, the bad one that never truly recovered from his rodeo wreck. Guiding yourself up the side of his neck, drinking in his pretty groan as his mouth meets with yours, albeit strained from the angle.

Your hands roam across his soft belly, daring to dip down to massage the insides of his thighs, just shy of his rapidly swelling cock. Rubbing up, up, up, to lightly trace your nails across his balls, then back down again. Those eyelashes are fluttering. Breathing a little quicker than he was before.

"Where did...where did you get..." stumbling over his own words, as your hand reaches off to the side and produces that little sleeve. Pale pink, textured on the inside, just opaque enough for you to see through it.

Getting lube on him while in the water is certainly a...process, but Rhett is so damn eager that he hardly seems to notice your struggle.

You know you've made a good decision when his hips buck up, water sloshing as he cries out, so surprised by the feel of this unassuming little toy. One of your hands splays out against his chest, holding him to you, can feel the way his heart jumps when you glide the toy across him again.

"Again," he babbles, pawing at your wrist, still pumping him, "do that, do that—hah!"

It's a wonder the water stays in the bath because he can hardly keep himself still. Squirming and involuntarily kicking his legs, clinging to your wrist one moment and squeezing the edge of the tub the next. Only manages to keep still when he's twisted and turned enough to jam his head into the crook of your neck, panting so heavily that he sounds like he's run a marathon.

You could string it out. Edge him until he can't hold back any longer, but the exhaustion in his bones suggests he can't take any more pushing this week. So when he starts whimpering about being close, begging and begging you to let him cum, you do. Marveling at the sight of his head tilting, eyes falling shut as he cums with a cry that echoes all throughout the house.

By the time you get him into bed, he's as limp as a damn noodle. Struggling to keep himself upright, damn near falling into the sheets the moment he's close enough. The only reason he doesn't fall asleep when his head hits the pillow is because he's too busy waiting for you to settle into his arms.

Then he falls asleep in the middle of his thank you. And maybe he's starting to get the point of this whole Valentine's thing because you wake up to the feeling of him kissing your thighs late in the morning. Smooches punctuated with lazy mutterings about how he wishes Valentine's Day lasted a whole week rather than just one day.

He makes the festivities last for an entire seven days, that's for sure.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #tw food #delgato's warmups

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gay-wh0re-slut · 7 months

Note

Rhea x reader with the reader f**king Rhea's thigh pls

oh helllll yeah, thank you for being my first request!! i’m hoping it’s a fem reader because of what you want? so i’m writing this as if it was, if not, let me know please. but i hope you enjoy!!

CW: dom rhea, slight praise, slight degradation

Go On, Do it Then

You sit on the couch awaiting your girlfriend with the dogs curled up next to you. Swishing your 4th glass of wine, you smile as you check Rhea’s location watching her turn down your road and into the driveway.

The doorknob clicks leading to Barry and Luna barking and racing each other to the door. A muscular silhouette barges in with her duffle bag of gear, makeup and who knows what else.

“Hey guys!” a toothy grin appears on the tired face, “mommy’s home…yes I know!…hello!!” as she pets them vigorously after throwing her bag down near the shoe rack, (mainly filled with her nike’s).

You make no fuss about her saying hi to the dogs first because if she didn’t they would whine all night as if they’ve never been loved in their life. So you wait patiently in line behind the barking furballs, wine tipsy, holding your hands behind your back hoping it would keep you balanced enough to where she wouldn’t notice how close to wine drunk you were.

Rhea finally stands to make eye contact with you and that always made the butterflies in your stomach come to life.

“Hey baby,” she smirks as she pushed her way through the pooches, “I’ve missed you.” She grabs your waist and pulls you in for a long kiss as your hands find their way to her cheeks, grasping and hoping to never let go. Unfortunately, she lets go, but in one fell swoop, she picks you up wrapping your legs around her hips and your arms around her neck, desperately trying to hold on. She carries you to the couch and sits down with you in her lap.

“How wassyour trip?” you try to speak as normal as possible.

She cocks an eyebrow at your slurred speech, then peeks behind you to see the almost empty bottle of rosé and half full wine glass, “not too bad, love, but you seem to have taken a trip for yourself, I see.”

You make a fake shocked face, “Whaat? Noo,” you giggle. “I was only trying to pass the time until you showed up, but now here you are!” You raise your arms like you were on a rollercoaster, then placed them on her shoulders.

“Here I am!” she chuckled back. A few seconds go by as she lets her eyes wonder over your body. You’re not wearing anything too revealing, not revealing at all actually, but you did put on her favorite comfy shirt she likes you to wear and some biker shorts, knowing she would definitely notice. Soft hands find their way from your thighs, to your ass, to under your shirt, to your back, to lightly scraping her nails up and around to your rib cage. You shiver under her touch, and the butterflies became more alive.

“Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did!”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Soooo much!”

“That’s a lot,” she smirked. Her hands have now found their way to the collar of your shirt and gently tugging it down. “Wanna show me?” she began to softly kiss up your neck.

Your breath hitches at the sudden change in energy, “show you?” you asked, but you knew exactly what she meant.

“Yes,” her accent hissed in your ear, “prove to your mami that you missed her ‘soooo much’,” as she kissed down your jaw finishing just before your lips. She knew how much you wanted to kiss her but she denied the movement by grabbing your face, holding you just close enough.

A small whine left your throat before, “yes ma’am,” finally escaped. Your pants were immediately soaked from your core. Muscular arms gracefully removed your shirt exposing your chest fully. You shiver at the burst of cold air on your skin. Before she even threw the shirt to the side, she began kissing your chest. Leaving a trail of soft kisses behind, her mouth found your hard nipple and lightly ran her tongue over it, kissed her was to the other one and repeated the motion. She finished off by kissing her way back up your neck and finally kissing you on the lips.

“How’re you feeling, my baby?” she coos.

You hum in content, “like I need to be fucked…like right now…please,” the wine spoke.

“Such a desperate slut,” said the tattooed woman, “is that really what you want?”

“Mhmm,” you whine nodding your head and moving your hips to get any traction possible, “please mami!”

“Well, get to it then. You wanna cum so bad then do it.” she drops her hands from your body with a plop onto the cushions.

“But I want you to do it,” you whine again.

Icy blue eyes lock onto yours and leans in extremely close to your face. You know better than to try to steal a kiss.

Her australian voice came out smooth but in a threatening whisper, “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Your eyes widen as your mind goes a million miles a second to try to figure out how to do it and quickly. Thankfully, you thought of something.

You readjust yourself on her lap so one leg is in between hers, checking every second that she’s okay with every movement. You carefully place your hands on her shoulders, once again checking her face for any change in emotion but she watches blankly as you maneuver and gently place yourself back down, but this time only one leg.

“Good girl,” the toothy grin says. She leans back placing her arms on the top of the back cushions of the couch, “now show me how much you missed me like the good slut you are.”

You hesitate but you nod your head, “y-yes ma’am.” So, you begin to ride her thigh, ever so slowly though not wanting to seem as desperate as you actually are. After a minute or so, gripping onto her shoulders for balance, you quicken your pace to a nice steady rocking.

She watches you, grinning her evil smile, “that’s it, princess.” She finally places her hands back on your ass guiding you through the motion. Sometimes she pushes you down harder onto her leg to get a rise out of you and it certainly does.

Soft moans and whines escape your throat as time passes. You can feel the pressure building inside of you, “holy fuck,” you choke out. You didn’t realize it until a sweat bead slowly dropped from your forehead to your nose that she was making you go twice the speed you were before. Grinding harder and harder, losing grip on her shoulders so you move closer to her neck and one hand tangled in her hair. Your forehead almost resting on hers you were so close. Little did you know that the small movement of your knee between her legs was getting her off too.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut, baby,” a small moan escaped her mouth, which is when you realized where you knew was so you adjust between the repetitions and push your knee farther into her. “Shit,” spilled from her mouth because of the new sensation making you that much closer knowing she was getting off too.

“Please…let me..cum mmami…please,” you whine.

“Do it, princess…fuck, cum for me,” she allows panting her way through her own building pressure.

1..2..3..4..5..6..7 thrusts after her command, the pressure finally releases as you moan so loud it might as well have been a scream, “uunhhh fUck,” you yell. You let your head fall to her shoulder as you continue to ride out the waves.

“Oh GOD!” She follows as her own pressure releases. Moaning and whining into your ear.

You both ride it out, panting and sweating being silent for a minute before you both come back to earth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, my baby,” the raven hair moves past you forcing you to sit back up.

You kiss her weakly as you slump back down to her shoulder.

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

Attitude Adjustment [j.s.]

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Smut [18+ only please]. Brat!Reader. Brat Tamer!Jake. Pet Names. Rough Sex. Unprotected Sex. Spanking. Choking. Fingering. Brief Overstimulation. Restraints. Hair Pulling. Dirty Talk. Name-Calling.

Summary: You’re acting particularly snippy after a bad day at work. Jake is more than happy to give you an attitude adjustment.

A/N: I don’t even have an excuse for this, I’ve just been in a mood lately. Please read all the warnings! You are responsible for your own content intake. And y’know, talk to your partners if you’re upset. Communication is healthy! I dedicate this to @inklore and @luxuryberzatto.

If you like what you read, and you want to read more, then reblog and leave comments!

You enter the house like a storm.

The front door opens and bangs shut behind you, rattling with a BOOM! like thunder. You hadn’t meant to close it that hard, but you have to admit that it feels good to take your anger out on something. White hot lightning arcs through your body, restless energy bouncing around in search of an outlet. You can feel the tingling charge of it in the palm of your hands, can almost imagine the currents of it zapping out into the air around you.

You sit on the stool by the door to yank your shoes off, mumbling curse words when the laces catch. You’re almost considering sawing through them with your keys–that’s totally possible right?-- when they finally give enough for you to tug your shoes off. You toss your jacket on the hook and climb the stairs.

Jake’s home early. You saw his truck in the driveway, so you’re not surprised. He lounges on the couch, watching highlights on ESPN. He looks completely relaxed in a white t-shirt and jeans, feet kicked up on the coffee table and arms behind his head.

His head rolls to the side upon your approach, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “Hey, baby.”

Now ordinarily, the smile-pet-name-combo would turn your knees to jelly, and spread a grin of your own across your face. But today the easy-going nature of his greeting only further annoys you. Why did he get to come home early and have a relaxing afternoon while you were stuck at work?

“Hey,” you say curtly, and drop your bag onto the sofa.

Wordlessly, you walk into the kitchen and open the cabinet in search of a glass. The shelves are bare. You frown and slam the cabinet shut.

Jake’s eyebrows furrow. “You okay?” He calls.

Your eyes slide from the dishes in the sink to the running dishwasher. It’s halfway through its wash cycle. He must have just started it before you got home. Great, just fucking great. “Juuust peachy.”

“Peachy, huh?” He stands and stretches. “Nearly took the door of its hinges there, She-Hulk.”

You ignore his gentle ribbing and begin washing the rest of the dishes. There’s so many in the sink you wonder why Jake even bothered to run the dishwasher in the first place.

Your husband stands beside you, leaning back against the counter. He watches you scrub a pan a bit too harshly with a bemused look on his face. There’s a speck of soap on your cheek from your vigilance.

He clears his throat. “So, uh, how was work?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Yes.”

Jake nudges your hip with his elbow. “You sure? You’ve been scrubbing that pan for a couple minutes now. You keep going, you’re gonna take the paint right off.”

He’s right. You huff and rinse the dish. The rest of the plates rattle dangerously when you drop it onto the drying rack.

Jake whistles. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“So what? You’re just going to break all of our dishes then?”

You shut the water off and turn to face him. “I wouldn’t have to if you just loaded the damn dishwasher correctly.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Wow. I think that’s the first full sentence you’ve said to me this afternoon. ‘M glad to see you’re still capable of those.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off.”

Jake clenches his jaw. “Look, you can stomp through the house, throw a tantrum, and slam as many doors and dishes as you like. But you’re not going to tell me everything's okay and then yell at me in the same breath. That’s not fair.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, a tense, nose-flaring moment, where time seems to stretch and tear all around you. Neither of you speak, too stubborn for your own good. Instead you stand, engaging in a battle of wills. You set your mouth into a hard line and cross your arms over your chest.

It’s childish, you know this. It’s not fair to him, and you know that too. Under normal circumstances, you like to think yourself a mature adult, capable of communicating well. But right now, your emotions feel raw, like an exposed nerve. And with each breath that fills your lungs they compound until you feel like they’ll crush you right into the floor. You don’t know how to put that all into words, and your inability to do so frustrates you almost as much as the day you’ve just had.

“Look, honey, I know you’re in a mood right now—”

“I am not.” You huff.

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Right. I don’t know what all this is about, but I’m just trying to help.”

“Well you’re not helping!” You snap.

“Well then what do you want me to do!” He throws his hands up. “Unless you want to take another crack at our silverware first.”

The comment sets you off. Anger, stress and shame swirl around you at hurricane-like speed. And something else. Because, even though you don’t know how exactly to voice the reason for your childish behavior today, you know there’s a very simple outlet standing right in front of you. If only Jake could read your mind.

You push past Jake, muttering a quiet fuck you as you go.

Jake grabs your arm and yanks you back towards him. He grabs your chin and tilts your head back to meet his gaze. “Why don’t you stop acting like a brat, and tell me what you want,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, blinking sluggishly as your brain processes your sudden proximity, the wash of minty breath over your face, the darkness of his eyes, and the heat blossoming in your lower stomach.

Jake searches your gaze in the charged pause that follows. Then wordlessly, he backs you up against the refrigerator door and leans forward to kiss you. Your lips meet sloppily. A clash of teeth, the slick tango of tongues.

Something hot and twisted cracks open in your lower stomach, filling your body with warmth. And relief. This is what you wanted. Your legs grow weaker with each swipe of Jake’s tongue into your mouth, until you’re practically wrapped around him in desperation.

Jake twists his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and tugs your head back. The annoyed whine you let out when his lips leave yours turns into a sharp gasp when he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Uh-uh.” He chuckles darkly when you try to surge forward again. “Tell me what you want.” He whispers against your jaw. “Go on.”

Your lips move soundlessly around broken syllables. Forming the shape of pleas that are never voiced. In your head, your desires are perfectly clear. You want Jake. Need Jake. Need him to make you forget about your insane day. Need him to give you that sweet release. That weightless, aching feeling that comes after being thoroughly fucked.

But there seems to be a disconnect between your brain and body, because the words don’t come.

Jake watches you struggle to speak for a moment. “Hey, s’okay, baby.” He nudges his nose against yours. “‘M not mad. Just wanna take care of you. Tell me what you want.”

Under his gaze and gentle coaxing, you finally find the strength to whisper, “Fuck me.”

“Mmm, that’s my girl,” he praises, dipping his head to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. “How should I fuck you?”

You tilt your head back against the fridge, a harsh breath exiting through your nose. “Hard. Fuck me hard.”

“That all you want?” His tongue darts out to lick at your pulse.

You tug at the hair at the crown of his head. “Want it rough. Want to forget about my day. Want to forget my own name.”

“I can do that, honey.” Jake sweeps kisses across your jaw, until his lips are back at your ear. “S’long as you don’t forget mine.”

He kisses you again, with bruising force. Lips and teeth stealing the breath from your lungs. His large hands are vices on each side of your face, tilting your head back so his lips can claim yours. Jake’s tongue slips between the seam of your lips, hungrily, desperately. He presses deep groans into your mouth. The saccharine tang of them sends your head spinning.

You tug at his clothes, fingers gripping and nearly tearing in search of the soothing balm of his bare skin on yours. You hike up his shirt, touch the chiseled expanse of his stomach and chest. He shudders under the caress of your fingers, and his presses close enough that you can feel the heat of his body through the shirt you’re wearing.

It’s not enough, and you’re about to tell him as much, when he starts to manhandle you back towards your bedroom. You follow him, nearly tripping over your own feet as you try to keep up with his long strides.

Jake pushes you onto the bed, and you bounce against the mattress with a small oof. He crawls on top of you and settles between your spread legs, kissing you again. His hips rock forward slowly against your cunt and you gasp sharply.

“How’s it feel, baby?” He asks, sliding his hands up your body to squeeze your breast.

You arch into his touch, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him tighter against you. “S’good–oh,” you cry out at a particularly hard thrust. “Shit.”

Jake pushes your arms up above your head and grips them tight in one hand. “Just good?” His eyebrows furrow, concentrating on the right rhythm to make you–

“Fuck, Jake,” you squeal. “It’s so fucking good. Please.”

There it is.

“‘Please,’ what?” He mocks you. “Tell me.”

“Need you.”

“You need me, huh? You already have me,” he says cheekily.

“No, I need you in me,” you whine, rocking your hips up into his crotch.

Jake considers you for a moment. Wild eyes and stuttered breathing. Thoroughly worked up, and he hadn’t really touched you yet.

“Want my fingers or my tongue?” He asks, running his thumb over your cheek.

“Fingers,” you answer quickly, and Jake smiles.

“Oh, honey. Want it so bad, don’t you?” He teases.

You nod, kiss-swollen lips parted.

Jake brushes his lips over yours sweetly. “I know, sweet girl, I know. I’ve got you.” He lets go of your wrists. “You keep those up there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He tugs at the collar of your shirt, lifting it so he can run his knuckle against your heated skin.

You shudder, eyelids fluttering shut. At this point, you’re sure it won’t take much for you to fall apart. You just might spontaneously combust from the gentle pressure of his hands alone.

Jake leans over you, his hair falling into his face as he kisses the hollow of your throat. You squirm beneath him. Your hands itch to tangle into his hair and push him further down your body, but you restrain yourself.

He undoes the buttons of your dress shirt one by one, pressing kisses against each new inch of skin that’s revealed. A light brush of his lips against your collarbone. A swipe of his tongue against your sternum. Gentle sucking motions against the side of your breast. A bite on your stomach. Until he’s finally reached your hips and your shirt hangs open. He makes easy work of your pants, and soon they’re in a heap on the floor.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, running a flat hand down the front of your body. “Don’t you look gorgeous,” he coos, tracing his finger over the waistband of your panties.

They’re soaked through, you’re sure of it. You’d be embarrassed by how turned on you are. Downright mortified by the tremble of your body and the sticky mess between your thighs. But the way Jake looks at you, like a man possessed, sets your skin on fire and erases any sense of indignity you might feel.

His eyes zero in on the soaked lace, and he grins. “All this for me?” He asks, rubbing his knuckle over the crotch of your underwear.

“Yes.” Your voice is a wanton whisper.

Jake hooks a finger into your panties and pulls them to the side. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he says, his voice raspy with desire. He runs a finger through the shine gathered on your folds. “Gonna let me fuck your pussy, baby?” He asks, dragging his eyes up to meet yours.

God, you’d let him do whatever he wanted to you if he kept looking at you like that.

“I want you so bad.”

Jake slides your underwear down your legs. “Trust me, honey, I want you too.” He slides a finger into your cunt and thrusts slowly. “I gotta get you ready for me first though. I don’t plan on bein’ gentle with ya.” With that, he spreads your leg a little while and works another finger into you.

You bite your bottom lip, toes curling with the dizzy pleasure of it all. It’s good, it’s so good. The sensation of it crawling up inside and burrowing into you. You sigh, your breaths growing harsher with each curl of Jake’s fingers within you. You know it’ll be over soon when flicks his thumb against your clit.

“Don’t stop, Jake, please.” You almost wail with how good it feels.

“Not gonna stop till you come all over my fingers, baby.” He tugs the cup of your bra down and sucks on your breast. “Think you can take another one for me?”

“I want it.”

“Greedy,” he nips at your spit-slicked nipple and you shudder beneath him. “Y’like when I’m a little rough with you, huh?”

You hiss out a yes, and his teeth tug on the hardened bud.

“My gorgeous girl,” he praises, easily sliding a third finger into your dripping cunt. “I know you can take it. I know you won’t break.” He soothes the bite with flicks of his tongue.

“Jake,” you moan. You melt into the mattress, limp and blissed out.

He switches to your other breast, showing it the same attention. “Love the way you say my name.” He crooks his fingers within you, his pace growing faster.

The world lurches and spins around you. Breathless moans and cries tumble clumsily from your lips into the still air of the room. The only sounds are the filthy squelch of his fingers inside of you, and the intertwining melody of you and Jake’s harsh breathing.

You tilt your head back, lips parting around a desperate moan. Jake leans forward and kisses your chin, a sweet gesture that only intensifies the pleasure growing in your lower stomach.

“Want you to come for me, honey. I know you’re close.” He slides his free hand up to rest on your neck. “Can you do that? Be my good girl and come for me?”

“‘M so close, baby. So close, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop,” you beg, eyes screwing shut when he trips over that one spot deep inside of you. “Oh God. Right there.”

“Come for me.” Jake squeezes the sides of your throat gently, cutting off the air to your lungs.

It’s like he’s touched a live wire. Every sensation sharpens. The fullness of his fingers inside of you. The pressure on your clit. The roar of your blood within your ears. And then his thumb presses into your clit and your whole body seizes. Your orgasm washes over you, so intensely you wail. You take and you take. Gushing all over his fingers. Chasing the thrust of them with greedy swivels of your hips.

Jake watches you fall apart with a hungry smile on his face. As long as he lives, he swears he’ll never get tired of this sight. You’ve never looked more beautiful than when you let go and fall apart for him. Your face slack, plumps lips issuing forth moans and cries of his name. Your body twisting, breasts heaving as you gasp for breath. Hair a mess and skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He drinks you in, committing the curves of your body to memory.

You fall back to earth with a whimper. Your head lolls to the side as you struggle to get your breathing under control. To calm your racing pulse. The world comes back to you in swatches. Details sharpening with each ragged breath you take. First the pattern on the ceilings, then the soft texture of the pillow under your fingertips, and finally the sharp lines of Jake’s face leaning over you.

He keeps his fingers inside of you. “How you feelin’, baby?” Jake drags his lips against your shoulder.

You shiver, nerves shot with oversensitivity. “Tired. But good.”

“You can still form words though, which means I haven’t done my job.” He curls his fingers against your walls.

“A-ah.” You squirm, but Jake holds you still with a hand on your hip.

“Shhh, honey,” he soothes you. “It’s okay. Just a little sensitive is all.” He rubs your swollen clit. “You can take it.”

Tears spring to your eyes. It’s not painful, the opposite really. It’s all so good, but it’s just too much. Jake ignores your whines, and continues moving his fingers slowly, working you back up. He’s patient with you, expertly playing with your cunt until shallow moans replace tired whimpers, and a hungry desire fills your stomach again.

“You’re doing so good for me. ‘M gonna fuck you so good,” he promises. “S’good and so hard. You’re gonna be begging me for more. That what you want?”

You nod.

Jake tsks. “Need to hear you say it.”

“I want it.”

“Want what, honey?”

“Want you to fuck me good. Fuck me till I can’t walk. Fuck me till I scream.”

Jake bites his bottom lip and sucks in a deep breath. “Jesus, the mouth on you.”

He’s one to talk. You almost roll your eyes, but then Jake thrusts his fingers just right, and the retort you’re about to make dies on your tongue with a choked moan.

A lazy smirk spreads over his features. “Open,” he says, his tone taking on an authoritative edge that makes your overstimulated clit throb.

You part your lips. Jake slips his fingers from your cunt and slides them into your open mouth. You suck at them, moaning at the taste of yourself.

A strangled groan escapes the back of Jake’s throat. “Your mouth feels so good.” He undoes the button of his jeans and pushes the waistband down slightly.

Jake pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, a curious glint in his eyes. The smirk on his face only grows wider when you gag around them.

“Keep going,” he mumbles, sliding his fingers against your tongue. “Wish I could fuck your mouth, baby. I guess this is the next best thing.”

You moan in agreement. Your coy eyes lock with Jake’s and a shudder works through his body.

“You’re so sexy, honey. Drive me fucking crazy,” he groans. “Can’t wait to fuck you.”

You lift an eyebrow as if to say well what are you waiting for?

Jake chuckles. “You got me there.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth. A string of spit trails from your lips, connecting the two of you. It breaks, beading down your chin and onto your neck.

“You’re overdressed,” you mumble, reaching out to tug at the bottom of his shirt.

Jake lets you pull the shirt up and off his body. You run your fingers along his skin, tanner from the recent days spent in the California sun. You trace the swatches of freckles on his shoulders, scratch your nails through the soft hair on his chest, and follow the dark hair down the rigid planes of his stomach.

Jake shudders under your touch, leaning forward into you. He pulls his hard cock from his boxers and strokes it slowly. You watch him jerk himself off, darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips. His hands move confidently, twisting, stroking. He thrusts forward into his palm, a single moan falling from his lips.

He’s a painting of perfect bliss, sandy eyelashes falling against his cheeks, slack jawed and head tilted back. His eyes stay locked on your glistening cunt, using you for fodder as he takes the edge off. It sends a thrill down your spine and hot blood to the surface of your skin.

“You gonna fuck me, or keep staring?” You smirk.

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Carefully, honey. You were doing so good. Don’t let your mouth get you into trouble.”

“Maybe I want trouble.”

Jake shakes his head. “We’ll see how you feel about that in a few minutes. Turn over.”

You stay where you are, and cross your arms over your chest. A challenge.

“Turn. Over.”

You look him straight in the eyes. “Make me.”

Jake tilts his head to the side. “You’re really not gonna like it if I have to make you.”

“Try me.”

He huffs through his nose. “Okay, have it your way.”

Jake grabs your arm and wrestles you onto your stomach. His body presses against yours, pushing you into the mattress.

“That was easy.” He nips at the shell of your ear.

“I’m not really regretting this so far,” you tease, grinding your ass back onto Jake’s cock.

“No?” He rocks forward, coating his cock in the slick between your legs. “You’re lucky I want to fuck you so badly.” He wraps an arm around your waist and rubs your clit. “Otherwise, I’d edge you til you cried for mouthing off at me.”

Your fingers curl into the pillow at the threat, and the memory associated with it. You’d been there once before, tied to the headboard with Jake between your legs, keeping them spread open while he tortured you. He’d switched between a vibrator, and his fingers and tongue, keeping you dangled right on the edge for nearly an hour. You can’t really remember what you had done, but it must have been bad, because no amount of begging or apologizing seemed to persuade him to let you come. It wasn’t until you were a sweaty blubbering, begging mess that he’d finally given you that release, and it had been glorious.

Jake must remember it too, because you can feel him grinning against your shoulder. “Next time your luck might run out, baby.” He leans back on his knees. “I can do this for now,” he says quietly, and it’s the only warning you get before his hand lands on your ass with a crack!

You jolt forward, crying out. Jake repeats the action, spanking you a little harder. And then again, and again. You rub your thighs together, desperate for the friction. You were so turned on, it was nearly unbearable.

“So quiet, honey.” He soothes the stinging imprint of his hand. “Where’s that mouth now?” He slaps your ass again. “Done talking back?”

Your only reply is another choked gasp, as Jake spanks you three more times in quick succession.

“Hm, that shut you up.” He kisses down your back slowly. Jake runs his thumb over the heated skin. “Perfect fucking ass.” He brushes his lips over your right cheek and bites your left. “Gonna fuck you now,” he says. “Can I fuck you, baby?” He drawls, his hand rubbing your hip.

You nod, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Jake grabs one of the pillows at the head of the bed and slides it under your body. He grabs your hips and pulls you up onto your knees. “‘M not gonna be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be.” You look at him over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” Jake lines himself up with your cunt. “You’re gonna kill me one day, honey. You know that?” He smiles sweetly. One that brightens his face completely and bunches the lines at the corners of his eyes. “I love you.”

A soft warmth fills your chest, and somehow manages to make your heart somehow pound faster. “I love you too,” you whisper.

Jake enters you with a hard thrust, one that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You grab the sheets for purchase, a long drawn out moan working its way out from your lips.

“Feel so fucking good. Squeezing me like a goddamn vice. Like you were made for me,” Jake mutters through gritted teeth. His hand slides up from your hip, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck to push your face into the mattress. He thrusts slowly, pulling all the way out of you and then thrusting back in to the hilt.

You push back against his hips, silently begging for more.

Jake’s fingers dig bruises into your hips, holding you still as he revels in the way your cunt wantonly squeezes his cock. “Let me feel you.” He keeps the slow rhythm. “Just wanna feel you squeezing me.”

Fuck, Jake’s so deep inside you. You can feel him everywhere. He threatens to split you in two with each rock of his hips. It feels so good you just might let him.

“Shit, baby.” He grinds into you, smoothing his hand down your calf. “Love your pussy so much. Could fuck you forever.” He spanks you, just to watch your ass bounce, and you yelp.

“It’s so good,” you whine. “So fucking good, Jake.”

He grunts. “You know how to stroke a man’s ego, honey.” His thrusts pick up speed. Jake grabs your hands and holds them behind your back. He uses them for leverage as he fucks into you wildly.

Jake’s hips smack into yours harshly. His thrusts would push you up the bed if he wasn’t holding onto your arms. He fucks you hard, punching strangled cries from you. Jake’s own wrecked groans sound in your ear, deep and gravely. The slap of skin on skin echoes in the room. The noises mix together in a carnal symphony.

“Take it, honey. You can take it,” he grits out. “God, you feel like fucking heaven.”

“I–I can. I can take it,” you repeat.

“That’s it, baby. That’s a good girl.” He falls over you, lying on top of you. “Yeah you can. You take it so well.” He groans in your ear. “Go ahead and rub that little clit. Make yourself come.” He grabs your hand and squeezes.

God he’s so close to bursting. Can feel his orgasm curling in his lower stomach, like magma sliding down his legs and to his toes. It’s all he can do to hold off, but he’ll be damned if he finishes before you do.

You slide your free hand between your legs, and rub at your clit sloppily. The friction from his thrusts pushes you further into the mattress and into your hand. The angle of his thrusts, his breath in your ear, his body against your back, all of it, works to push you over the edge.

“Fuck. I’m so close,” you gasp.

“I know, sweet girl,” Jake mumbles, nearly coming right then and there when your cunt clenches around his cock. “Christ.” He sinks his teeth into that spot on your neck that makes your knees weak. “Get there, baby. C’mon. Come on my cock.”

“Yeah, yeah, y-yeah,” you babble, body shaking. “Just like that, Jake, pleasejustlikethat.”

Jake buries his face into the back of your neck. “Gonna fill you up, honey. Gonna leave you dripping. You just gotta come first, and I’ll give you everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.” His words are punctuated with deep thrusts.

You want it. You want him so bad.

That filthy promise is all it takes to send you to the brink. Your fingers circle your clit, once, twice, three times, and then you’re coming with a wail. Your orgasm rams into you like a truck, disarming and disorienting you. You fist the sheets so tightly your hands shake. Jake’s name is a nearly unintelligible mantra on your tongue. Tangled syllables of Jake, and please oh please repeated over and over. The only sounds your brain seems capable of forming.

Jake can only give a few sloppy thrusts himself, before he’s burying himself deep inside of you and coming with a shout of your name. He drops his forehead onto your shoulder, hips moving shallowly until he’s spent.

True to his word, you are dripping with his cum.

The room is still for a while. Neither of you really want to move and disturb the peace that settles over you, even after your breathing has returned to normal. Jake stays inside of you, arms wrapped tightly around you. He presses aimless kisses to your shoulders.

Your eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. Your whole body feels weighted, actually. Laden with the warm, fuzziness of post-coital bliss.

Jake rolls you both onto your side, and you groan when his softening cock slips from your cunt. You hate the empty feeling, almost consider asking him to thrust back inside you again. It wouldn’t be the dirtiest request you’ve made in the past few hours. He’d probably oblige too, he–

Jake breaks your train of thought with a different, more innocent request. “We’re gonna have to talk about earlier, y’know,” he whispers. “Doesn’t have to be right now, but we do need to talk about it before we go to bed.”

“I know,” you mumble.

He waits, running his fingers over your stomach.

“I’m sorry. I had a shit day at work. The kids weren’t listening. They were talking back all day. I just– I was tired, but I shouldn’t have thrown a tantrum, and I definitely shouldn't have taken it out on you. I’m really sorry, Jake.”

Jake kisses your jaw. “Apology accepted.”

“Next time I’ll just tell you I need space,” you look at him over your shoulder. “Thanks for knowing what I needed,” you say a little bashfully. “For helping me.”

“You mean fucking your brains out?” He grins. “Happy to help. It’s the least of my husband-ly duties.”

“I’m trying to have a sweet moment here.”

“And I’m trying to have a dirty one. We can have multiple consecutive moments.” Jake laughs.

You roll your eyes.

Jake cups your chin gently. “I love you,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips.

You kiss him gently. “I love you too. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He nudges his nose against your own.

You stretch, groaning when your limbs pop and ache. “Can part of your husband-ly duty be to get me a glass of water? Preferably a clean one from the dishwasher.”

“Yeah.” He untangles himself from your body. “Sit tight.”

“I don’t really have much of a choice, now do I? Someone fucked me so hard, my legs are gonna be out of commission for a bit.”

Jake smirks and tips you a wink. “Only because someone asked me to. Just followin orders, baby.” He salutes you playfully.

You settle under the comforter with a dopey grin on your face, feeling lucky you had such a sweet husband who didn’t mind giving you an attitude adjustment when needed.

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