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#Table Rock Lake
travlthruthepines · 1 year
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As above, so below.
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rolandsbeanies · 7 months
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Traditional Porch - Porch
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Idea for a sizable, traditional back porch with screens, decking, and an addition to the roof
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j-k-i-ng · 1 year
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“Time to Reflect” 🍁 by | Chris Stone
Lake Gloriette, Table Rock, New Hampshire
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dandylovesturtles · 1 year
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All the excitement about the fam going to Arizona makes me want to write a self-indulgent fic where the fam goes to one of my favorite places in my neck of the woods.
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LAKE TRIP LAKE TRIP
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pineridgelogcabin · 10 months
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Table Rock Lake is a great place located in Missouri, where you should be enjoying a family vacation. Regarding accommodations, vacationers can book Table Rock Lake Vacation Rental via Pine Ridge Log Cabins website at the best prices.
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lensandpenpress · 11 months
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THE JAMES: TRANSFORMATION OF AN OZARK RIVER
Printed postcard, 1907. The genesis of the square-ended (and, as above, sometimes pointed), flat bottomed boats specifically for commercial floating on the James and White rivers is poorly documented. Many theories have been advanced as to how they were developed and how they came to be called “johnboats.” We chose to profile the James River in a 352-page all color book because its watershed…
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bfbkg · 6 months
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DIE FOR YOU (8.2K)
— viking bakugou katsuki x reader
synopsis: your fiancé, chief of the strongest village, doesn’t believe you can protect yourself so when returns from a raid, he makes you prove him wrong.
warnings: 18+ content, minors don’t interact, ageless blogs don’t interact, female reader, referred to: (princess, baby, my lady), arranged marriage, lovey dovey, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, fingering (f), p to v, pull out method, chief kink lol, whole load of kissing, big three: (angst, fluff, smut), arguing, separately they physically wrestle lol, mention of blood, beard bakugou, yn is a girl boss.
notes: PART THREE TO FOR YOU MY VIKING BKG SERIES! can be read as a standalone! this is another big boy so if there’s typos don’t look at me.
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life with your new fiancé has improved dramatically since you told him everything you hated about it.
mornings are filled with your feet in the lake, face filled with pastry as you kiss the sugar off katsuki’s lips. evenings include you eventually shifting from your seat at the dinner and ending up in his lap at the head of the table, licking your thumb to remove a scrub of dirt on his skin as he stuffs a spoon of food in your mouth.
the days are much longer too now, filled with books, new friends and helping out the people in the village. some days you’ll find yourself helping a family bake for their youngest’s birthday or chatting with an old man at the river. your favourite times are randomly turning up wherever katsuki is. 
this time they’re in the basement of your home, planning the next raid in a town far over. the mood is nothing but vulgar and violent, with drawings across a half-torn map, knives stabbed in the wooden table, and candlelight helping their vision. all the men are so large, furs at their necks from an animal they recently killed with laughs that rock their whole bodies. you only see him though, slouching in his seat, sighing at his army’s rambunctiousness and raking a hand through his blonde hair.
he meets your eyes from across the room as soon as you open the door. you think it’s mostly his sharp instincts but you like to think it’s mostly because it’s you. katsuki quickly sits up straighter, wiping his mouth in case there are any stray crumbs and opens his arms out to you. he makes your heart sing, your head lightweight as you make your way over to him. 
“uh oh, it’s lady bakugou!”
your fiancé always curses his army and even more the closest ones out of the bunch. these four barely listen, they’re too loud and excited over nothing. but to you, they’re all quite cute despite their rather beastly demeanour. you know them by name now and they only refer to you as my lady or lady bakugou. you’ve said they could call you by your first name and while they say they will, you think katsuki is telling them otherwise.
you cover your mouth at the newfound attention, the whole room cheering at your arrival and laughter erupts from you. especially with how bakugou glares at his men but when he lands back on you, his eyes shine with pride.
“you look beautiful today, my lady!” deku, or izuku says. deku is what your fiancé calls him.
“i hope you bring up the chief's spirits, he’s being a pain tonight,” kirishima chuckles and he’s the only one who could get away with saying that about katsuki.
“thank you for the cream you made for me! it doing great for my scars!” kaminari smiles, the womaniser of the group.
you even get a small wave from todoroki, who’s much calmer and always so stunning. katsuki says he only seems calmer because everyone else is so loud, he’s just as crazy as the rest of them. 
you send your smiles and nods, replying to each comment and noticing how none of them touch you.
lastly, you’re back on katsuki who yanks you in his arms right when you’re in his vicinity. he speaks right into your ear and tingles trickle down your spine, “i told you not to come down here, baby.”
baby is a new pet name he now calls you since you cooed at how kirishima called his new wife that. 
“gorgeous,” you moan. gorgeous is your new pet name for him because he is exactly that. he used to frown at the word, adamant at how he isn’t anything like that. that word should be reserved for you. but you kept with it and annoyingly, his head turns every time you say it. 
“i don’t like you hearin’ this shit,” he’s firm, hands at your hips as you stand between his legs, peering down at him.
you roll your eyes, “you do realise i’ve heard this shit since i was a child back home, right? none of this is a surprise.”
“i don’t give a fuck. if you don’t need to hear it, then you’re not,” he slaps your ass as if to get you moving but you stay still between his legs, your face turning into stone.
you’re about to snap back at him, ready to dispute everything he said when kirishima speaks up from behind you.
“oh yn! momo told me about what happened a few days ago? are you alright?”
you turn your head in slow motion, your already furrowed eyebrows hardening with a glare that could kill. kirishima stills looking between your anger and bakugou’s confusion.
you begin, “oh erm—,”
“what the fuck happened a few days ago?”
the room simmers to silence, bakugou’s hands on your hips burning through your clothes and into your skin. all his men are on edge, darting between every face and avoiding you and your fiancé. kirishima is bright red, filled with regret.
you put on a face of nonchalance, crossing your arms across your chest, “nothing.”
bakugou exhales roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose in impatience, “fuck that, tell me what happened. why’s he askin’ if you’re okay?”
“i said it’s nothing, katsuki!” your arms shake in the air in exasperation, trying to get out of his grasp but he holds on tight.
“yn look at me. you’re gonna tell me or he is. who do you want me to hear it from?” he bites, ruby eyes glowing and staring down your soul. he looks like everything a chief should look like. fur around his shoulders, his bare chest showing underneath, ropes and ropes of jewellery around his neck. thick hoop earrings litter his lobes, shining in the candlelight. he doesn’t intimidate you, all the wealth and strength he breathes. especially since half of it is yours now.
you growl, shaking out of his grip and to your surprise he lets go of you, “momo and i went out to the neighbouring village and this man cornered me. he said stuff about you, but it’s fine i kicked him off me and momo and i came back here.”
bakugou blinks. his jaw close to locking as he studies your body like it’s something he should have known just by looking at you. how the fuck did this not get back to him? why didn’t you tell him? were you not as close as he thought?
his heart races in his chest, questions flooding his brain. he looks to kirishima who nods slowly, confirming his thoughts and then his gaze snaps back to you.
“this was two days ago? the day you brought me back flowers?”
you grit your teeth, folding your arms against your chest and looking away defensively, “yes.”
“did he fuckin’ touch you?” he spits and you refuse to look at your fiancé. “kirishima!” he barks and you shy away from the volume.
the redhead sits up straight, scratching his head, “uh, yes chief, my wife said the guy had his forearm on my lady’s neck.”
“he wasn’t even there!”
“is that true?” he sounds steady, flaming anger under his words. he looks much calmer than your uncontrolled annoyance though you can tell exactly how he feels. so much rage that he can only stay this unsettling calm. you don’t know what else to do but nod.
“but i fought him off me!”
bakugou ignores that, “why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“because you act like this! you don’t think i can’t fight for myself!”
“i’m actin’ like this ‘cause you lied to me,” the realisation hurts, burns. 
“i never lied—,” 
bakugou leans in to your face, the sweet lover you know in your mornings and evenings gone. 
“and i’m actin’ like this because you shouldn’t be fightin’ anyone and nobody should be touchin’ you!”
you push him out your face by his shoulders and the whole table freezes at the contact. you climb out from between his legs, “oh fuck off, bakugou! you don’t know anything about me and what i can do!”
you storm out of the room, your dress blowing behind you with the speed as you slam the door shut. everyone can hear your footsteps rushing up the steps into the main house.
the silence is deadly in the room, bakugou resting his chin in his palm deep in thought and boiling anger.
“wives, am i right?”
“shut up, kaminari.”
“sorry chief, i thought you knew—,”
bakugou rises to his feet, leaning over the table, “fuck the old plan, we’re changin’ the raid.”
you don’t come to dinner which bakugou expected though he can’t deny how his vexation fizzles out at the sight of your bedroom door closed and is replaced with sadness. you’ve been sleeping in his room since the first night you spent together and somehow it feels as if you’ve both gone backwards. 
he’s not apologising, he’s still furious that you didn’t tell him that someone tried to hurt you. how the fuck is he supposed to be a good husband if you don’t tell him shit?
he knocks his hand on the door, exhaustion from the evening finally seeping into his bones. he leans his forehead onto the wood, “baby, it’s me. lemme talk to you.”
his men would be shocked at how he’s acting right now, that there isn’t a grudge towards you as he has for so many people. bakugou’s fury can last lifetimes, he isn’t one to forgive and forget. but right now with you, he wants nothing more than to have you in his arms again.
katsuki knocks again. “baby, open up,” then he pauses, this time pressing his ear to the door, “are you even fuckin’—,” 
his hand goes to the handle, swinging the door to find out you’re nowhere to be seen. he doesn’t know if it’s hope or worry that shakes him first. bakugou stomps down the corridor into his room and you aren’t there either.
“where the fuck did you go?” he speaks to the open air before running down to the lower floors.
“sophie! have you seen my wife? where is she?” he barks but sophie, his head housemaid, doesn’t jump. instead, her green eyes soften with empathy and worry.
“chief, i have not seen her? is my lady missing?”
he doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know where you are, or the worst, that you’re missing or you left him. who knows what his enemies will do with that information?
“no she’s… fuck,” he rubs a rough hand down his face, “she’s not missin’ but if you see my wife tell me immediately.”
bakugou doesn’t catch sophie’s response, rushing out to the back of his home. where would you go? he flings his head up to the midnight sky like it would give him answers but the sound of the wind brushing through the leaves only makes him think of how he could have made your last conversation smoother. 
bakugou kicks a rock, “fuck!” glancing up from his boot to his lake hidden within greenery and trees, the one he bathes in. “if you’re not there, may god help me.”
at this point, you’re all out of tears. you’re not even sure what you’re crying about, to be honest, maybe everything. you don’t want to be treated like a helpless little dear, unable to do anything herself, hidden away from the intricacies of the world. you don’t think he should be the one to decide what you can and can’t see either.
you hug your knees to your chest before dropping them in a crossed leg position to take your hand through the lake. it always brings you peace to be out here, the beats of the crickets and the faint hoots of owls. even knowing daisy, your fiancé's horse isn’t too far away. though worst of all, it reminds you of him and all the kisses you’ve shared in this exact position, your feet dipped in the water.
you try to make out your reflection in the water, not even bothering to feel alarmed at the footsteps behind you. you know all the exits where someone can find this lake and you know the pattern of the steps.
“there you are. i went fuckin’ crazy back there.”
you continue staring at how the moonlight reflects off the water.
you feel him sit beside you, the same as you did in the morning when you ate breakfast. just his proximity makes you feel warmer like it’s instinctive to wrap your arms around his neck in a cuddle. you don’t though, just like he expected so he sighs.
“i’m not apologisin’ to you, i meant what i said,” he states, glancing at your side profile before staring back at the lake. he crosses his legs beside you too.
“if your mind’s already made up then why did you look for me? go back inside.” 
bakugou grunts, you have a tight grip on his heart because he doesn’t know anyone else who talks to him like you do. he craves it.
he decides to lie back on the grass, opting to look at the sky.
“i can’t be a good husband if—,”
“if i don’t talk to you,” you whisper and bakugou hums softly.
“yeah, baby. so talk to me.” it’s almost pleading, to hear the thoughts rattling through your head.
“you treat me like a princess who you can just lock away in a castle. nice for you to look at and touch but i can’t do anything else,” you lay back in the grass, studying the stars, “i am a chief’s daughter, the same way you’re a chief’s son. i grew up learning the same things as you.”
you let your words hang in the air and bakugou crosses his arms across his chest. 
“okay, i’m protective over you. i don’t want you dyin’ when i can just keep you safe instead.”
you let out an annoyed sigh, “you’re not listening to me. i can fight and plan raids too. i’ve been on raids since i was a teen. i don’t need protection to get a man off me when i go visiting villages. you’re going to be my husband, not my prison guard.”
bakugou knows he knows these things. you’ve mentioned bits on how you can fight, he’s seen your aim when you where showing kirishima and deku how well you can throw knives. he knows you’re not ignorant to what happens on raids, the murders, the stealing, the brutality. though he guesses he never connected that part of his life to you, the most beautiful person he knows.
“i know that, i get you’ve never been sheltered. still doesn’t mean i want you around that shit,” he turns his head to stare you down, “it also doesn’t mean you should be lyin’ to me. if people are hurtin’ you because of me, it hurts me too.”
“then the issue isn’t me! it’s you, they hurt your pride by hurting your possession!”
“you’re not my fuckin’ possession! anyone who hurts you, hurts me and should pay—,”
you begin to sit up at the same time bakugou reaches out to you. you're too emotional, angry and you don’t have time to perceive the hand as anything close to caring. you snatch his wrist with speed, twisting it so if he moves pain will shoot down his forearm.
he stops mid sentence, staring up at you with pent up fire behind his eyes. you stare back with warning yet surprised at yourself for reacting so quickly.
you hold his wrist tight and even though he can use his other hand to pull you off him or even his legs, he doesn’t. you both narrow your eyes at each other. he knows he’s ruined because he finds your lips first to stare at, then how your chest heaves and the soft curve of your breasts under your dress. katsuki forgets about his wrist in your grasp until he tries to touch you again.
“fuck, who taught you this?” he winces and to his luck, you let go.
“my father.” you snap, tearing away from the beauty of your lover. he’s got his engagement ring on a silver chain around his neck instead of his finger and it’s something you find yourself staring at. your possession over him.
then you sigh, “fine, i should have told you but you can’t blame me for not. i’m not a precious little thing that can’t defend herself. i can.”
he hates going back on his word though he will for you, “you’re precious to me.”
you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that spreads around you, “katsuki.”
he huffs a small laugh, “i get it. i’m underestimatin’ you and i know you’re strong. you’re stronger than me in so many ways.”
you want to smooth the two lines between his brows with your thumb, kiss the stubble on his face. “and?”
“i’ll stop sayin’ you can’t be around the boys when we talk about raidin’ and other shit,” though you notice the frown deepen when he says it, “i will be getting revenge on those that hurt you because they deserve to feel the fuckin’ pain. you’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
you don’t turn away from his gaze, you nod, “yes i will.”
“the first agreement of the night.”
you exhale, “the difference is you wouldn’t want me to though. you’d think i’d get killed.”
bakugou grunts, “we’re goin’ in circles, princess.”
you rise to your feet, calling it a night, “i can trust you will come back alive, that you’re good at what you do and you’re strong. you don’t think i’m strong enough to even hear about what goes on let alone believe i can be apart of it. that’s the difference.”
“princess, don’t walk away,” katsuki sits up, but you’re already off.
you ignore him, making your way towards the main house.
“i’m out tomorrow, i’ll be back in a few days,” he blurts, referring to the raid he’s been planning in the opposite village.
you always spend the night together when you know he’s not coming back soon. you have enough faith to know he will always come back so it’s mostly messy, ego-boosting sex about all the shit he wants to impress you with. you’ll miss him tremendously and you know you will even more this time round without it.
you continue your route indoors, running straight up the stairs and into your room.
bakugou holds his head in his hands before letting out a roar of anger. “fuck!” after spending so much time together, he has so much to learn about you and so much to change about himself.
it’s late by the time katsuki makes it indoors, pausing at your door before turning away. by the time you wake up, you’re told he’s already set out for the raid.
usually, the duration of raids depends on how long they need to travel for. sometimes it can be done in an evening and most often it’s three days long. the first and third days are for travelling and prep and the second for the raid itself. the previous couple of times, katsuki loved to kiss in your ear, that he’ll be as quick as possible and how being away from you causes more pain than a stab wound ever could.
it’s been five days now and your fiancé isn’t back. villagers keep asking you when is he returning or when is their husband who went off in bakugou’s army is coming back. maids keep staring at you in worry when you opt to eat dinner alone by the lake. your friends keep you company and so does the library but despite it all, you miss your husband terribly.
you know he will return, you know he’s strong enough to destroy anything in his way though it doesn’t mean you want him out somewhere hurt. you’d much rather have him in your arms, head on your chest as he begs for you to read something to him.
what does piss you off the most though, is how he never said goodbye. that annoyance is enough for you to know he has to return unscathed so that you can push him around for doing that to you.
“y’still mad at me, princess?”
you’re in the kitchen after dinner in one of your comfy dresses and a head in the clouds. after many pleas that you could wash your own plate and cutlery, the maids and servants finally left you alone. the feeling of the cool water on your hands and staring out at the dark sky through the window somehow soothes your worrying thoughts. 
however the familiar voice behind you brings your daydreams to life, a sharp scream bursting out of you. you spin around and clutch the bucket you were using behind you. your heart races as you lock eyes, his usual bright ruby pupils dimmer. he’s got a tired, almost deluded grin on his messy beaded face. a fresh cut slashes through his eyebrow and his right cheekbone, causing your hand to fly to your face in a gasp. he’s filthy, dirt across his skin and his clothes are in tatters. his black cloak that he usually wears is nowhere to be seen, instead, his trousers are torn across the thighs with cuts at his black tunic over his arms and chest. 
bakugou takes one step towards you and there’s no control over your body when you run up into his arms. no care for the dirt and blood that coats him either. bakugou’s arms circle you, his nose breathing in the lavender scent of your hair.
“i’ll take that as a no?”
he’s warm, familiar and your heart feels like it’s mending just from his presence. until you realise what he said and you rip away from him with all your force. you’re arm's length away, giving him a deep frown.
“yes, i am mad at you! y-you can’t leave without saying goodbye to me!”
your fiancé seems to be all over the place, only half registering your words. you notice how there’s no limp in his step and his belt where he usually carries his weapons is still full though stained. stained with blood but the sight doesn’t sway you.
bakugou chuckles deep like his throat is dry then grabs your throat to slam his lips to yours. you accept it, letting him drink you in like you can cure his thirst.
katsuki moans, his arm curling above your ass to hold you close. you curve into his body, relaxing you after so many days on edge.
he parts for a breather but keeps his mouth over yours. you’re exchanging breaths back and forth, “holy fuck, i missed that. i missed you, princess.” 
you’re sure he’s getting blood and dirt on you but it doesn’t bother you. 
you nip down on his bottom lip, feeling him flinch in your arms before his mouth curves into a smile.
“fuck you for taking so long to return home too,” you snip, your arms linking around his neck. 
he doesn’t smell great, he smells like five days away from home with odd baths, grime and metallic bite of blood. you feel insane for the hot burn washing down your body at him being away for so long unexpectedly and finally appearing before you.
“i’m sorry baby, had some issues along the way,” he mumbles, pressing kiss upon kiss to your lips. they're quick pecks and he’s half amused by your neediness. there was a large part of bakugou expecting this to go the wrong way. you storming off from him again, continuing your argument from before. he loves the heat in your eyes, it’s what he needed after being away from you for literal days, the confusion between whether it’s lust or anger.
“i missed you too. hated not knowing,” you whisper, jumping up so he can catch you, your legs wrapping around his waist.
bakugou pushes you against the kitchen wall, ignoring the clangs of the bowls and pans and his nose stroking up your neck, “knowin’ what? you didn’t think i’d come home for you? can’t fuckin’ live without you, ‘course i’m comin’ back.”
your breaths are shaky as he ruts his hips against you, five days without him have been unsatisfying on top of the fear. you whine, lips parted as you take him in for another kiss. bakugou sucks your tongue hard, lifting you higher by the ass.
“i knew you’d come back to me. i didn’t like n-not knowing that you could be out there…,” a whine dribbles out of you as he opts to bruise your neck with nibbles of his teeth, “h-hurt.”
his hands roam your body, sneaking under your dress to feel your waist, the trim of your underwear and your soft breasts. katsuki groans into your neck like a beast, rolling his hips into you, “you care about me princess?”
you tap bakugou’s cheek, not hard enough to hurt but enough to wake him up out of his lust filled reverie.
“of course, i care about you,” you say, your tone softer than expected. 
bakugou’s shoulders drop, tension releasing from his body. he didn’t know he needed that to come from you, despite all the rabid need in the room.
katsuki sighs, a grubby hand holding your chin and he presses a kiss to your lips, before slotting his tongue against yours. you feel heavenly, you are heaven against him, especially after experiencing hell these past few days. you don’t care how he’s come back. it’s his first time stupidly thinking about his appearance and how you’d view him looking so vulgar, but from the way you’re trying to feel every part of him, he knows you don’t care.
“i care about you too,” his thumbs press into your soft stomach and your chin lifts when kisses land at your jaw, “i did so much thinkin’.”
you hum in reply, pulling his tunic up so he can drag it over his head. you feel every part of his chest, the smooth dips and curves. you’re breathless, “about what?”
“you,” he rumbles, katsuki’s hand moving to rub your clit over your underwear. there’s not much pressure with the fabric in between but it makes you weaken all the same, “how i sounded like i didn’t believe in you.”
you can barely remember your last conversation before this now that you have your legs wrapped around katsuki’s bare waist. he licks a stripe up your neck, his thumb rubbing slow circles just where you need. 
“what?”
“i do believe you, princess,” his voice is honey in your ears and you’re burning up so fast you can barely register what he says next, “but i want you to show me.”
bakugou puts you down on your feet slowly, and you’re holding him close to you so he doesn’t leave you again.
“what? what are you doing, katsuki?”
he pulls your arms from around his neck and gracefully the skirt to your dress falls. you’re beautiful, he cannot put into words how five days apart felt. the white of your dress has splotches of blood and dirt from him and it only riles him up more. nevertheless, he keeps to the plan.
bakugou rubs under his nose, “last time we were together, you said you could fight, you could protect yourself and that we were brought up the same. i don’t need to be so protective.” a calloused hand rubs against your cheek before stepping away, leaving you all flustered and flushed. 
“i’m always gonna be protective over you but i want you to show me that you can protect yourself.”
you blink at the man who stands completely serious before you.
“what are you asking me to do?” you cannot quell the heat in your stomach, how raw and masculine he looks before you. bakugou looks even bigger than he did when he left, with a new scar on his left pectoral, and bruising under his right rib. you notice no wounds apart from the open one on his eyebrow. there’s only one small candle by the bucket where you were cleaning and aside from that it’s the moonlight shining through. it makes him look gorgeous, white light on the left side of him, the other side in the shadows. the knives at his waist shine beautifully, multiple different shapes and sizes. you’d much rather fuck him than play this game.
“fight me, baby, take me down,” he says, expression ready for anything.
you frown, “really? but you’re already injured and sore.” your voice is featherlight, your hand coming up to touch his abdomen though bakugou snatches it before you can.
“just wanna see what you can do.”
now your eyebrows rise, “oh, you’re so confident i can’t do it that you’re offering yourself injured?”
there’s a cocky rise to his left cheek and a shrug, “you show me, princess.”
bakugou knows how to get you going in more ways than one, tilting his head to watch your pupils roam his body, thoughts going at a million miles.
does he really think you won’t be able to take him down? judging by the smirk on his cheeks and the way he scratches his head, leaving all the blades hanging by his waist free suggests so. 
you lift off the wall, “don’t go easy on me, chief.”
before bakugou has a chance to reply, you use the one thing you have over opponents who are clearly stronger than you, speed. it’s easy for you to manoeuvre around bakugou while he’s off guard, spinning around to him to harshly kick behind his knee. you’re sure to only kick one, leaving his large body to stumble awkwardly to the ground. a loud boom resonates throughout the house at the weight of his body. 
bakugou grunts beneath you and you’re thinking of him in parts. his arms, his legs, his hands. what can go where and how you can stop them. you’re next to kick him in the back, so his chest is on the ground, his cheek on the wooden floor. you rest a foot in the centre of his back, leaning all your body weight to keep him down as you reach to grab his arms to keep them behind his back.
however, your half injured chief of a fiancé is better than that, grabbing at your ankle and spinning around to lay on his back. you’re off balance as he chuckles, “speedy, are you?”
he’s got your foot but you’ve still got your arms. you hold onto his forearm that has you, twisting your hands against his skin in a burn and stomping on his bicep to let you go.
he does release you, not before locking your body around his thighs and with his hips, he thrusts you forward to lay on top of his body.
you’re out of breath, breathing warm and heavy over your fiancé’s face. you’re trapped between his thighs, and he grabs at your wrist.
“you’re beautiful, you know that?” he grins and it only makes you furious.
he’s flushed, bruised and bloody beneath you, plump lips you’d love to kiss and his hair is a complete mess. there’s a slight shine to him with the dirt and the sweat that’s stuck to his body for hours.
you growl, “i can knee you in your balls right now which will make you release your legs. don’t forget you left your waist open this whole time so i can grab a knife and stab you in your throat.”
you even unsheath a knife from his holder with your free hand, resting it on his throat, “flip me around and it goes right below your adam's apple with your own body weight as a force.”
your words are ragged and you notice bakugou’s eyes flick from each body part you mention. how honestly, right now, you’ve got the upper hand.
“does this turn you on, chief?” you tilt your head, eyes wild even though he’s got you pressed firmly against him and he’s holding your arm at an awkward angle. you’ve still got the knife in your hand that could go through his throat. you try to move your hips in his tight lock around his meaty thighs but you can’t. instead, his grip presses his hard cock further into your stomach.
bakugou grins, “sorta. actually yeah, i think so.”
you roll your eyes, despite the red hot coil burning in your lower stomach. you know that if he flipped your dress up, he’d find your underwear completely damp. 
“you’re also covered in me,” he notes, biting down on his lip at the dirt and blood that streaks your dress, all clean before he came in. you bite back a sigh at the animalistic feelings of this all. the roughhousing, the proof that you could kill the chief of the most powerful village and how bakugou stares back at you with nothing but arousal and pride.
with the arm he’s using to hold yours, you twist your elbow over his to pull out of his grip. you use your free arm to rest your weight on his shoulder. 
“believe me now? i could have killed you three times over,” you say, your voice pitching lower by the end and you don’t mean to stare at his mouth but you do.
“i do, princess,” bakugou murmurs, tone so deeply honest, your eyes widen and your grip weakens on the knife you’re still holding. “shoulda believed it before but i guess i needed to see it in action. what did you do to that guy that attacked you?”
“he had his arm on my throat so i just elbowed his arm out and kicked his chest,”
“right in the centre? it still had bruisin’ four days after fuckin’ idiot,” bakugou spits and you frown down at him, brushing his hair off his forehead.
“how do you know?”
“that was the village we went to raid,” he smirks, then finds your chin to pull you for a kiss, it has you chasing after his lips for more, “got you some pretty shit. they had lots of rubies there.”
“i thought you were going to—,”
“changed my mind.”
“did you kill him to protect your pride?”
“did it to protect yours,” he nips at your bottom lip, “you bruised him, i get to kill him.”
you laugh into his mouth, throwing the knife to the side and caressing katsuki’s cheek as your kiss only becomes deeper.
“did it all for you,” he mumbles, swiping his tongue against yours messily, “we took so long ‘cause i had to kill them all… all his fuckin’ men.”
your fiancé makes you needy, feral. your brain is cotton as you haphazardly tug at his trousers but bakugou’s too engrossed in your mouth to shuffle to pull them off. though the grip on his thighs loosens, and he joins in shoving the fabric of your dress up to your waist so you can hump his cock.
“t-thank you,” you moan into his mouth, hand roaming across the light dust of dark blonde hair over his chest. together, you’re burning electricity, sparks setting off whenever you touch. 
“don’t fuckin’ thank me,” he snaps, rolling over and bringing you with him so your back is against the ground.
he is gorgeous above you and you’re so close his new thick fuzz of facial hair tickles your cheeks. much thicker than you’ve ever seen it. you take note of the new scars that are about to form on his face and the ones that are halfway to healing on his chest.
you brush your fingertips over his abdomen, “i hope i didn’t hurt you too much.”
bakugou grunts, rubbing his clothed cock against your clit beneath your underwear. the contact has your eyes fluttering to shut, your hips tilting towards him.
“it hurt more when you never told me what happened to you that day,” he digs his teeth into your neck, then sucks softly to soothe the pain, “how am i supposed to be a good husband if—,”
“i know, i know,” you whine and now it’s your turn to lock your legs around his waist keeping him with you in case he even thinks of leaving. you’re not sure where the build up of emotions comes from, perhaps the lack of sleep without him by your side, the silent goodbye, the anger mixed with glee at his return. tears well up on your waterline though they don’t fall, “i’m sorry, katsuki.”
he’s quick to notice the change in tone, darting up from his attack on your neck to your pouting face. 
“no, don’t fuckin’ cry,” he coos and you keep the fact that you have the chief cooing and consoling you deep in your back pocket. he kisses your lips softly, his hips rocking sweetly against your clit, “i’m sorry too. baby, no tears for me, yeah?”
“i missed you so much and i-i felt so bad since our last conversation was an argument—,” 
he shuts you down with another kiss, “princess, an argument isn’t gonna keep me away from you. i thought i’d come home to an angry wife, you had me fuckin’ nervous.”
you laugh as his massive calloused thumbs wipe away the tears, “i was angry.”
“you’re not now?”
“no.”
“that’s good.”
then to your hell, he pulls away from you but not too far, just sinks further down your body. your breath hitches in anticipation. you even forget momentarily you both are still on the floor in the kitchen, though you guess it makes sense with the way he’s about to eat you.
bakugou’s large palms rub over your thighs like a massage. thumbs kneading the skin like dough, before he pushes your knees to your face. you note how he licks across his bottom lip as he stares between your legs. you’re not sure if he can see the damp patch of your underwear with the poor lighting. you’re sure he’d laugh at you if he could. “thought about the taste of you every fuckin’ day i was away from you, princess. every fuckin’ day.”
the rumble of words set you on fire, “thought about you too.”
a single eyebrow rises, “you touch her?”
he feels for your underwear, pulling it off under your ass and over your legs. bakugou groans at just the smell of you, aroused and waiting for him. 
“yes,” you breathe and a thumb flicks over your clit. to finally be touched feels glorious, you never realise how attached you get to his touch until he leaves. he presses your thighs so your knees are at your ears and the burn of the stretch is welcome. “thought of how you would do it.”
“did you come too?” he’s transfixed between your legs, laying flat on his chest to bring his face closer and you can no longer see him over the fabric of your dress. your whole body withers in excitement, the thought of having his mouth on you again, the lewdness of having your legs open and exposed.
you arch your back for more of anything, “yes, chief.” 
bakugou darts his eyes up to the mountain of fabric on your chest. he can only see your breasts rising and falling. fuck, he’s lucky. he’s also not stupid, he’s aware of this little chief thing you’ve got for him. why not indulge? he’s been away for so long, you had to take care of your pretty pussy all on your own. he should be face first on you all night in apology.
“keep callin’ me that. anythin’ else and you’re not comin’.” he kitten licks your clit and you mewl delightedly, your hand brushing through his hair.
“yes,” you squeak and you twitch when he bites your thigh lightly, “yes chief.”
bakugou starts with pure skill and technique. licking a stripe from your asshole to your clit before swallowing all the goodness. “fuck, aren’t you the prettiest?” he groans, spreading your lips apart with two fingers and resting his hand on the hair at your mound. he sucks harshly on your clit and your whole body rumbles, “aren’t you?”
“oh fuck—, yes chief, i am,” you tremble, rocking your hips against his face. if you could see him right now, you know his face would be wet from you, especially from the way you feel him moaning as he eats. 
he focuses on your clit with his tongue, brushing around the bud in circles and adoring how you keep mumbling nonsense every few seconds. there’s no warning when he takes two fingers and thrusts them into you.
“c-chief, oh my… fuck, kats—,” you pour out and as soon as you slip up, his tongue comes off you. he does keep his fingers inside you but they’re not moving. you pulse around him, beginning for a release and he knows, he can feel it.
“not my name, princess. get it right and you get to come all over me,” he rests up on his arm to see you fully. only now, does bakugou fully understand what he was missing not being able to see your face over your dress. you can say the same thing to him too. “i was willin’ to die out there for you. all the anger i felt… so fuckin’ mad at the way he touched you.”
“you’re all—,” you begin, but the tips of his fingers begin to stroke against your walls. bakugou laughs at how easily you succumb to him, your arms reaching out to his face. he leans in close to you, always finding it hard to say no. you pout your lips at him, and his fingers curl inside of you, “i’d die for you too, chief.”
bakugou shakes his head, a crazed grin on his face. he loves you saying that to him, it sends a wild thrill down his spine that you’d put yourself on the line for him. but he doesn’t need that from you. “you won’t needa do that princess. i’ll be here for you.”
you know your fiancé is one for confessions during sex. dramatic ones that rack your brain and have you thinking about the words for days after until you corner him at dinner about them. he’ll confirm them again completely sober.
there’s no question, when you bring him in for a kiss. bakugou’s fingers piston inside of you, the same speed when he fucks you after a long day. you’re moaning into his mouth, holding him with strength he didn’t know you to have. you only pull away because you’re unable to focus on two things at once. your back begins to arch and your clothed breasts press against his bare chest.
“y-you taste like me,” you whine and all of a sudden you grab his wrist between your legs. he stops his hand out of confusion and frowns over at you.
“what’s wrong princess?”
“wanna come with you inside me, your cock,” you whisper, lust laced through your words. 
bakugou nods like there’s a spell over him, dragging his hand out of you and roughly pulling down his trousers. his cock springs out, slapping against his bare chest and you sigh longingly.
“it’s okay, baby, you’ll be gettin’ him,” it’s not long at all for bakugou to grip his cock and tap it against your clit. he grins at how you twitch, locking your arms around your knees to hold them up. “you’re so good for me aren't you, princess?”
“i’d be better if you fucked me,” you barely manage to voice and bakugou huffs a laugh.
“say it again politely,” and he teases you, his tip dipping into your hole. a cute “oh” passes your lips at the sensation. “baby.”
“i’ll be good if you fuck me, chief. please,” you plead, biting your lip as you stare up at him.
bakugou groans loud enough to wake up everyone in the village. being with you, like this, feels like religion. willing to give up everything to please and honour you. he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do than to see you satisfied because of him. 
“yes baby,” he whispers as if in a trance and he’s tending to you quickly, holding his cock at the base and slowly pushing inside of you.
it feels as if all the tension in your body releases at the feel of him. up in the clouds with your fiancé with his thickness stuffed within your walls. you exhale blissfully, closing your eyes as you keep your thighs in place. the angle is delightful, quenching your thirst slightly.
bakugou balances on a palm by your head, his other hand palming at your clothed breast. he’s missed you more than he could describe, but knowing this raid was for you made everything worthwhile.
“oh you make me feel, oh,” you try but bakugou begins to slide in and out creating a rhythm that has your heart beating out your chest. he’s slick and smooth with your wetness and the pat pat of your bodies only makes you wetter.
“like what, princess?” he manages, squeezing your breast to make you open your eyes.
“amazing, chief,” you smile at him and it’s a smile he’s never seen before. it’s round eyes, a layer of sweat giving you a shine, and a toothy grin. he can tell you’re not all here on the earth but you’re in the same place as him.
he kisses roughly at your jaw and you laugh at the feeling of his new beard against you, “want you to come with me, yeah?”
he punctuates his question with quicker jolts of his hips. each only pressing against your softest parts causing your back to arch. you’re so close, the heat in your stomach burning up that you’re sure you’re marking your thighs by holding so tight.
“c-chief, katsuki, i’m about to—,” 
“all for me. come on,” he whispers in your ear and he sees how you get enveloped by your pleasure. it washes over you, your fingertips tense, your mouth parted to whine. you even push back onto him, the hot fuzzy sensation reaching your toes.
it’s not too long before bakugou has to regretfully slide out of you when it gets too much. he pumps thrice, coming all over your dress with a groan that’s on the edge of pain. 
“motherfucker, fuck,” he mumbles before laying beside you on the floor of the kitchen.
you’re both lumps of heaving, sweaty bodies and like always, his hand finds yours and he plops it on his heart.
“can’t believe you came on my dress, i like this one!” you glance down at the newfound stains and lay your head back down with a sigh.
“princess, you’ve got my blood and dirt on that too. it needs a clean.”
“you need a clean,” you turn your head to face him, tiredness but relief all over his face. you smirk, “when was the last time you cleaned your dick?”
bakugou laughs drily, stretching his arms above his head whilst still holding your hand. your body drags with him, “you didn’t care a second ago, i know you don’t now.”
you make a noise of disapproval, looking over your fiancé with fresh eyes, “i’m happy you’re home.”
bakugou tilts his head, blinking at you softly like a friendly cat. your heart warms. 
“i’m happy i’m home too.”
your fiancé carries you bridal style through your home and you can’t stop touching the thick beard growing at his chin and cheeks. even the moustache on his upper lip has you fascinated. 
you like it. a lot. and once you’ve softened him up by complimenting his new look, even suggesting keeping it, you try something else.
“so, since you know i can take you down, does this mean i can go on a raid with you?”
bakugou narrows his gaze at you in his arms. happy, sweet and sated. your fingers are touching every bit of skin above his shoulders. he has no clue why you thought to put your finger in his ear a second ago but he didn’t say no.
“princess, i am fuckin’ tired. i want to sleep until next year and not think about another raid until i wake up,” he deadpans but to his detriment, you pout.
“okay,” and he thinks it’s over when you snuggle against him, fingertips brushing against the hair on his chest, “i don’t need your permission anyway.”
“i will throw you out of the window,” he threatens but his grip tightens on you when he says the words.
you giggle and he thinks the sun is rising outside, “no you wouldn’t.”
“i could.”
“but you wouldn’t.”
VIKING MASTERLIST
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peachesofteal · 3 months
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The Pit
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.
Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 
This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 
Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.
There are predators who thrive. 
“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 
“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 
“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 
“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 
“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.
“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 
“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 
Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 
Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 
The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 
Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 
An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.
Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 
You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 
You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 
Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 
It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 
You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 
You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 
You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 
Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 
But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 
Sleep. 
You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.
There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.
You try to call for help, but you can’t.
You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.
You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.
Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 
Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.
Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-
You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?
Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.
The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.
You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.
One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.
That’s when you see him.
A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.
“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.
“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.
“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.
It's snowing.
You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.
You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.
This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 
And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 
“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.
“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.
“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”
“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.
“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.
“Nnrgh-“
“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.
Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.
“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”
“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.
“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”
“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?
“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 
“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.
“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?
“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?
“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?
“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.
“I don’t… why-“
“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.
“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 
“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?
“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?
“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.
“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.
“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”
Oh. Oh no. 
“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“
“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 
“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.
“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 
This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-
There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-
“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.
You sleep and wake in a haze.
You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.
You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.
You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.
You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.
You sleep.
You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.
You sleep.
You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.
“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”
“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.
“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.
“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.
“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”
“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.
“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”
“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:
“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.
“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 
Still… 
Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 
The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.
The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.
“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.
“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.
You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.
You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.
“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.
“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.
Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.
“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.
You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 
“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?
“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.
“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”
“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.
“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 
“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.
“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.
“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.
“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”
“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.
All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 
“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.
“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.
“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.
 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.
“Fuck.” You hiss.
“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.
You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.
“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.
What just happened?
You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.
The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.
“Sweet dreams, little dove.”
1K notes · View notes
murdrdocs · 3 months
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slightly dark!content ; MDNI
coriolanus snow who likes to press into your bruises when you're fucking.
most are not ones of his creation. instead marks from nature and your own clumsiness.
a knot on your calf from when you were fumbling around in the dark and knocked your leg into the rickety leg of your kitchen table. a dark mark on the top of your thigh from a particularly heavy sack of flour gravitating towards your skin with each step you took. a tiny soft spot against your arm from when you were mindlessly swimming in the lake, and your lack of awareness brought your arm into a hidden rock.
but, there are a few from him. such as a faint mark on your back from when he'd pushed you into a door a little too roughly, his mouth and hands and his everything, truthfully, entirely too eager to meld with you. and of course, the usual hickies that line your clavicle and breasts, reminders of him that you're forced to carry with you throughout twelve whether you like it or not.
and to remind you even further of who you belong to, he presses into them while he presses his cock into you. digging his thumb into the knot on your leg while he licks along your cunt. lodging his fingers into the marks on your back while he fucks you from behind, animalistic grunts leaving his lips while soft hisses leave yours. bringing your arm to his lips while you're riding him, only to sink his teeth into the bruise there, not letting up when you protest and instead making the mark worse.
he would feel bad for putting you through that, if it weren’t for the way your eyes shine when he does it. he notices how you clench around him and how your hips move towards him instead of away.
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gemissleeping · 1 month
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Sea Foam | Chapter Two
Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader
Read Chapter One here.
Summary: After almost pulling him to the bottom of the Black Lake the night prior, Theodore Nott can’t keep his mind off of you. But you worry things aren’t all that they may seem to him.
Length: 2.7k
Notes: More brash (kind of dark) Theo. Angst. Not smutty just saucy. Not very pc comment about drugs/addiction (but it’s a UK high school in the 90s so… real). Featuring Blaise & Milli the peak friend duo. Sprinkle of hurt/comfort if you squint. Thanks for reading, love you guys <3
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When you pulled yourself from the depths of the lake an hour before sunrise, the shoreline was empty and he was gone. You could barely remember anything save for a string of flashes; his lips on yours, hands hungry for each other as you had tangled yourself in him. How you were supposed to face him in the halls today, you didn’t know. You hauled yourself onto some rocks outside of the castle’s view. A tremor running through you like a gentle current, as it always did the next day. Evasion, you eventually settled on, would be your best hope. At least until you decided what you were going to do.
An hour or so later, you were making your way towards the Great Hall. The salt licked curls of your hair the only evidence that last night might’ve happened at all. Only a few students sat, littered across their House tables. The early morning sun was casting patterns through the windows, most students likely still in the middle of their dreams.
Theo would be running Quidditch practice around now, so you wouldn’t have to fret the possibility of your paths crossing. Unfortunately, that also meant you’d have to leave before Milli and Blaise got back from practice too.
Lifting your teacup with unsteady fingers, you sat at the Slytherin table, flipping through The Daily Profit without really taking any of it in. Students slowly piling in with heavy eyes, soft yawns and hushed chatter. Filling the Great Hall until the sound rose to a low, inviting hum.
You took a hesitant bite of some plain toast, never feeling that you could stomach much after a full moon. Your attempt was soured quickly, the toast going down the way you imagined gravel might. Deciding you couldn’t eat anything more, you folded over the paper, going to stand just as a hand clamped down on your shoulder with far too much energy for the current hour.
“Alright Darling?” Blaise Zabini’s melodic voice rang out as he stepped over the bench. Taking a seat beside you with a shit eating grin.
“She’s still waking up Blaise, be nice.” Milli scolded as she sat across from you, her freckled cheeks undoubtedly blushed from the morning air.
“From those dark circles I’m not sure she slept at all.” Blaise quipped, stealing the toast from your plate as you sighed, unimpressed. “You and Nott are two of a kind this morning,” he added, demolishing half of the toast in a single bite as you stilled.
Nausea licked at your stomach, trying to crawl it’s way up. You went to speak, but your voice was lost for a moment as you caught sight of a set of sleep torn, dark blue eyes. They’d cut through the sea of students, found you even from the doorway. You swallowed, flicking open the newspaper on the table again and tearing your eyes away as you cleared your throat.
“What do you mean?” You asked, trying not to appear overly nervous as you glanced over at Milli, who was practically trying to live inside of her coffee mug.
“Looks like he was dragged through a bush backwards,” she echoed into her cup. Only taking a momentary break to answer your question before going back to drowning in her coffee. Panic flickered through your chest as you took another precarious sip of tea, a headache was forming now.
Against your will, you felt your eyes sweep across the gathered students at the Slytherin table. Locking straight onto those same tired eyes as Theo took a seat further down the table. Already looking at you from beside Matt and Enzo. Barely listening to a word either of them were saying as he watched you with an unreadable expression. You felt yourself inhale harshly before dragging yourself away from him. Doing your best to push him to the bottom of your mind as you tuned back into your friends.
“Understatement of the century,” Blaise chimed, polishing off the toast. “Whichever girl of his he shagged last night has him proper messed. Could barely even run drills this morning.” You almost choked on your tea at Blaise’s comment.
“Blaise,” Milli sighed, dropping her empty cup to the table, “you have absolutely no decorum.”
“Which is exactly why you keep me around,” Blaise grinned, pointing at her with his fork. “How else would you two get any of the gossip?”
Milli shook her head fondly as you managed to put on a small smile. Pushing your hands towards the teapot to refill your cup, very aware that Theo was still transfixed on you.
“Jesus, you’re shaking like the smack addict my Mum dated in Third Year.” Blaise crowed as you lifted your magically filled cup, barely managing to keep the tea inside of it. “Anyway enough about Theo’s ugly mug. I’ll get it out of him in Divination.”
“Rather out of character for your Mother.” Milli frowned curiously over her eggs, distracted.
“Well, you know how it goes. His wallet was heavy,” Blaise stated simply, peering over at you with discernment before turning back to Milli for a moment, “good smack’s expensive you know.”
“I don’t.” She glowered.
“Well now you do.” Blaise was looking at you sideways again. He was, unfortunately, even more perceptive than most people believed.
“And what of your Mum’s smacked up ex lovers - dead now I’m assuming?” Milli chimed from across the table. You felt Blaise’s calculating eyes leave you, utterly unamused as he turned his attention to her.
“And you say I have no decorum.”
“Neither of you should throw stones in glass houses,” you murmured, lips against your teacup as you blinked tiredly between your two friends.
“She speaks,” Blaise smiled, a slither of his concern seeming to melt away. Your friends were admittedly idiots, but they both cared for you deeply.
“Seriously though,” Milli spoke up across from you both, “are you alright? You got in after me last night.”
“Fine, just getting my ass handed to me in Potions this year.” The pair shared a glance, but neither pressed further.
The rest of the day had been long, leaving you bone-tired. Through all of the classes you had shared, you could feel Theo stealing glances at you. Perhaps he was angry, or merely curious, confused even. But it did nothing to ease the guilt and embarrassment that was rising through you. It wasn’t until Potions last period when Matt started laughing suddenly from beside him that a thought dawned on you.
You felt like a fool for not having got to it sooner, though you hadn’t exactly been clear headed today. Especially not with this headache, which had only grown. Occasionally gracing you with unwelcome fragments of last night in the middle of your Professors’ lecturing. Yet it hadn’t occurred to you until now; what if Theo told someone about last night?
You’d known him, all of the Slytherins, since you were little. In passing mostly at Galas and Dinners, but you’d never been overly close. Who was to say that he wouldn’t? Your Father had gone to every length to keep your ailment hidden, it was an embarrassment to him. In his eyes you were the worst kind of half-blood, a reminder of his weakness. It couldn’t get out, it would ruin him, ruin you.
You knew what that meant, what you had to do. Whether you could bring yourself to was something else entirely. It was while you were making your way to the Common Room after Potions, thinking about how you would do it. Brow creased with the weight of it all, when a low, strained voice spoke from behind you.
“That’s not fair.”
You turned back in surprise to see Theo at the far end of the hall. His chest rising and falling rapidly, tie loosened as he ran his hand along his jaw. The sight of him sending a wave of memories through your mind as you began to feel unsteady.
Blaise and Milli had been right. While you’d been avoiding so much as breathing in his direction all day, you hadn’t looked at him, not properly. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, the undersides of his eyes practically bruised from the lack of rest.
You felt yourself frowning softly as you tried to make sense of his words, choking on your own. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not fair. If you get to remember, and I have to forget.” He called back with a quiet anger, watching intently. Searching your eyes for something. You froze, locked on him in shock as the realisation slowly swept you.
He knew you had been thinking of obliviating him.
“You’re the reason I’ve had a headache all day.” You murmured, eyes widening with the gravity of Theo’s invasion dawning on you. He walked towards you carefully, like he couldn’t help himself.
“And you’re the reason I can’t think of anything. Except for-“
His eyes fell to your lips.
You knew you should go, turn and walk away. But as he approached, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Completely stuck under his gaze. Distracted by the way his dark curls caught the fleeting light, the shadow against the slope of his nose. You saw him smile as he read you for filth, flitting through your head with ease. Your breath caught as you slammed him out, cheeks flushed.
“You’ve been using legilimency on me?” You seethed in a hush.
“I have,” he admitted, eyes darkening, “and you almost drowned me in the Black Lake. So I guess we’re both bad people.”
He took a step closer to you, and then another. Until he was so unbearably close that you were forced to look up at him. Theo was already watching you, gaze darting between your lips and your eyes as if he had no control over any of it.
“You should’ve listened to me when I told you to go,” you whispered, your own eyes falling to his lips before flickering back to his, cheeks still running warm.
You could feel your chest hammering, breath picking up. Flashes of the night prior came back to you in a flood and you broke away, taking a rushed step back from the tense stare of the boy before you. It had been him, all day it had been him, ever since breakfast.
“Stop doing that,” you gasped. Trying to shove him out of your mind again. But instead your back hit the pillar behind you with enough force to dash the air from your lungs. He closed in.
“Not until you talk to me,” Theo breathed. Eyes trailing lazily across your features in pursuit of something.
You only shook your head, unable to break the gaze he was holding. “We need to stay away from each other.”
But you didn’t mean it, he could hear it. An unbecoming frown pulled him closer to you until you were only a breath away. Theo tilted his head, as though he was failing at unraveling your mind this time. His hand raised, fingertips hesitating towards the exposed skin of your neck.
You knew better than this, knew that you should push him away the way you had last night. Knew that it wasn’t real. But when his fingers brushed so barely across your skin, dancing their way up to your jaw, all rational thought left you.
“I don’t know if I can do that.” He murmured, his face dangerously close to yours.
You faltered as his thumb drew deliberate soft circles across the arch of your cheek. Eyes burning with shame as the guilt of last night clawed at you, “I could’ve killed you.”
“But you didn’t.” Theo muttered, his other hand circling the loose sleeve of your shirt. Fingers brushing past it, pushing it up further as he explored. The rough callouses on his fingertips dancing along your arm as he continued to drown in your eyes. Thumb still running gently across your cheek. Until it faltered, a frown flickering across his features.
Trailing across the skin of your forearms, were a string of welts; left by the snaring kelp you had buried yourself in. His eyes softened as his fingers left your cheek, gently pulling the sleeve of your shirt higher with a frown.
You flinched, pulling your arm back to your side. The burning sensation ripping you into reality once again. “Believe me, I tried.”
“What can I do?” He asked, far more softly than you had ever heard him speak. “I want to help you.”
Your eyes stung, wishing that for even a moment you could let yourself believe him. But the truth was that you couldn’t afford to take that chance. You’d had no one to guide you through this after your Mother had left, no clue as to how any of it worked. No textbook had ever helped you, the sirens you found in their pages weren’t like you.
You were alone in this, and you couldn’t let yourself do this to him on the off chance that maybe it was real. Of his own volition and not drawn from him by whatever you had done to him under the full moon. You glanced back up to him as the sun sank through the stained glass windows of the empty hall.
“It’s not real, Theo. The way you feel is a, a reaction,” you could hear the crack in your voice as you sank away from him, “It will pass.”
Theo’s eyes darkened as he took a step back, hurt clouding him. The last of the sun’s warmth leaching from the air as night began to set in.
“Stop,” he breathed as his eyes found the floor, “stop doing that. You keep lying and forgetting that I can hear you.”
“Do you think this is normal?” You pleaded with him, wishing for nothing more than to make him see reason. “I almost killed you.”
“But you didn’t-“
“I wanted to,” you snapped suddenly, your voice cutting through his as pain bloomed in him from your words. “I wanted to,” you said again, softening. “Any second longer and I-“ your eyes fluttered, blinking back tears, “I would have done it. It’s not real, Theo. It’s safer for both of us if we just-”
He wasted no time in cutting you off with his lips. Gently pressing them against yours, one hand tangling tenderly through your salty hair. The other at your jaw, fingertips trailing up to tuck some of the loose strands behind your ear. It was different to last night. Gentle, fragile even. You felt your lips part in a mess of surprise and fear at the sensation. It was all the invitation he needed.
He deepened the kiss, tilting your jaw back and eliciting an involuntary gasp from you. Swallowing the sound with the softness of his lips against yours. Hands running over your skin like he was trying to memories you. His fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he pulled back gently.
“You don’t feel that?” He breathed against you, hopeful eyes lingering as he cradled your face in his palms. But you couldn’t answer him without lying, without admitting that you felt it all too. So instead you avoided his question.
“Don’t you think it’s odd? When you never seemed to before?” You countered, desperately trying to shove whatever he had drawn out of you down. “Forgive me, perhaps I’m inexperienced, or naive. But I’m fairly certain that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight.” You finished emptily, growing tired of your rising hope.
He straightened, his hand falling from your cheek. Brushing your shoulder before dropping to his side.
“You seem very certain that it did,” Theo conceded. Taking a step back from you, his eyes hardening as he swept your face.
“What?” You breathed, his face perfectly indifferent as he gazed at you, waiting.
“That I never felt that way before last night.” He clarified, narrowing in on you. You stayed like that for a moment, watching each other carefully. Eventually, you let your eyes sink to the floor. Hand coming up to smooth down your hair.
“I won’t ask you again.” You swallowed, brushing past him as the warmth drained from you. You didn’t have to say it, you could feel him on the outside. Begging you to let him through to your mind.
So you left it there like a note upon his doorstep; that you wanted to forget. Even if it wasn’t true
Read Chapter Three here
Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie
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say-al0e · 16 days
Text
Breathe
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Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!
Summary: Blowing Steve in his car. That's it, that's the plot. (Ft a prompt someone requested a million years ago, sorry!) Warnings: Oral (M Receiving), kind of exhibitionism (in his car in the woods); that's about it. Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k
There were only a handful of places in all of Hawkins where you and Steve could truly be alone.
Though Steve spent most of his time unsupervised, parents away and large house left empty, that rarely meant you were left to your own devices. If anything, it often seemed to mean you were bothered more frequently.
Dustin knew where to find the spare key and, if it moved, had no problem picking the lock on the sliding back door. The break room at Family Video was a no-go because Robin was never very far away and there were cameras - those were tapes that Steve never wanted Keith to see. And it seemed that no matter where you turned, there were children demanding rides or friends lamenting the lack of entertainment in Hawkins.
Steve’s car, parked at the edge of town - away from Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock, the first places bored deputies and your gaggle of adopted children would look - was the only place you could find a moment of something resembling peace.
The dim moonlight filtered in through the window, filled the front seat and illuminated Steve’s side profile as he sat in the driver’s seat. It cast shadows across the bridge of his nose, glittered in the warm brown of his eyes - highlighted the fond amusement that brightened his eyes, his near natural state of being these days - as he waved a Twizzler between quips about Dustin’s latest adventure.
“Little shit called me at midnight,” he huffed, eyes narrowing as his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “If I have to drive him to, or pick him up from, Munson’s trailer one more time, I swear I’m gonna make him start biking. I feel like I’ve turned into a fuckin’ taxi service for wayward teenagers.”
Steve swore he hated complaining - rolled his eyes any time he was forced to listen to someone else drone on about this inconsequential concern or that one, though most concerns seemed inconsequential after facing Hell time and time again. He’d promised that complaints were off the table for the night, that neither of you would talk about work or the kids, but you’d been sat at the edge of the woods, parked in his car in the dark, for nearly an hour and he’d done little else.
“I had to wait nearly an hour last week.” You knew that - he’d left you waiting at his place, lying on his couch half-asleep - but that didn’t stop him from huffing once more as he reached for another Twizzler. “Who does this kid think he is?”
The complaints - generally good-natured, never malicious as neither of you would trade your relationship with the kids for anything - were not new. Neither was this thing between you and Steve. There was a base of friendship, a closeness you’d shared for years, that made the transition from friends to more a little easier.
To know Steve was to love him, and love him you did. 
Being able to reach out and touch him, fingers brushing the soft cotton of his t-shirt or gliding along the rough denim of his jeans as you watched a movie without pulling a questioning glance from him; being able to lift your head and nuzzle your face in his neck, lips pressing to his heated skin any time you wanted - it was maddening in the most wonderful of ways.
Every moment you spent with Steve, full of half-hearted complaints or laughter or rare moments of reflection after all you’ve endured together, was worthy of appreciation - even the moments you’d rather not relive. But before you could redirect his complaints into something else entirely, a groan tore you from your pondering.
Steve frowned, slumped in his seat and brought his hand to his eyes as he rolled his neck. “I think I’m getting old,” he declared, sighing heavily before turning his head to face you.
With a surprised laugh and a roll of your eyes, you reached out to steal the candy from his hand. “You’re twenty, Stevie,” you reminded him, “you’re not getting old.”
“I’d agree with you if we lived anywhere else,” he acquiesced with a thoughtful frown, “but I think all the fights are catching up with me. I totally get what all those old people mean when they say they know it’s gonna rain because their knees hurt.”
There was something so endearingly serious about his complaint, concerned about the state of his body after years of sports and fights and supernatural dealings, that you couldn’t help the soft laughter that filled the interior of his car. It mingled with the soft music, joined Steve’s own easy huff of amusement - happy to make you laugh, to see your smile - as you shook your head once more.
Despite the heat blasting from the vents, a hint of January chill still managed to invade the cozy space. It reminded you that a whole world existed out there, beyond the comfort of the bubble you and Steve so infrequently were allowed to venture to, and you sighed as you traced the slope of Steve’s nose - the curve of his jaw, the plush of his lips, the soft set of his eyes as he returned your studying easily.
“You’re kinda pretty, Harrington.”
Even in the pale light, you could see the soft pink dusting his cheeks as he waved a Twizzler as if to brush away the compliment. “And you have been really quiet tonight. What’s up?”
Part of you wanted to tease him - remind him that it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with his dozens of complaints - but the larger part, the part that fixated on the beautiful boy sitting beside you, decided to lean across the seat and press your lips to his.
Steve tasted of artificial strawberry, soft and sweet, and hummed a noise of pleasant surprise as he dropped the candy and lifted his hand to cradle the curve of your jaw. Warm fingers splayed across your skin, tugged you closer - eager to have you near, to have his fill of you - and you let him. 
Kissing Steve was an experience you swore you would never take for granted. Now that you’d gotten a taste of him, you were hooked. His embrace simultaneously set you at ease and engulfed your body in the most pleasant warmth. Being at the center of his attention still felt just as exciting as it had in the beginning; it was indescribable and, though he could sometimes get distracted, you savored the moments you had him entirely to yourself.
The warmth of his fingers bled into your skin, warmed you from within and shielded you from the bitter Indiana cold, and you eagerly melted into him. It wouldn’t be long before his hands began to wander, fingers dipping beneath the soft material of your sweater, and you couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped.
When you broke the kiss, desperate to take a breath and selfishly eager to catch sight of him, Steve exhaled a stuttering breath. As expected, his cheeks were flushed pink and there was a dazed look in his eyes that took a few quick blinks to shake before he fixed you with a curious look. “Not complaining,” he began, eyes dipping back to your lips, “but what was that for?”
Without thinking, you mirrored his touch - lifted your hand to his cheek, brushed your fingers along the stubble lining his jaw - and hummed. “You looked pretty and I’ve just missed you, is all.”
Steve frowned, a confused little furrow between his brows as he inched himself closer. He tipped his head to meet your gaze, no longer entirely captivated by your lips as he considered. “We’ve seen each other every day this week,” he reminded you, never stopping the soft stroke of his thumb across your cheek.
Though Steve was confident, a flirt by nature, he sometimes had a habit of taking things literally. So, instead of taking offense, you bit back a smile and hummed.
“I know.” While you both worked during the week, you still saw one another most days - on lunch breaks, after work, in the mornings when you allowed him to go out of his way to pick you up - but you hadn’t spent more than a few moments alone between Robin and the kids. So, you emphasized, “I’ve still missed you.”
“Yeah, I -“ Steve cut himself off with a sharp inhale as your hand fell to his thigh, fingers raking over the denim. He always ran warm, even in the winter, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as the muscle tensed beneath your touch. “Oh. Oh, yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”
As he shifted, eager to be closer now that your intention was clear, you bit back your laughter and leaned in to press your lips to his once more. 
The longer you spent with Steve, the easier it became to see his true self. Though he could be suave, flirty and confident, it was clear that he was nowhere near the Casanova he once pretended to be. Beneath the hair and the charming smile, he was eager - excited to love and be loved in return - and you were glad to give him all the affection he could want.
Though you were content to spend the rest of your night kissing Steve, you had every intention of taking full advantage of the precious alone time. As his hands began to wander, falling from your cheek to your neck - slowly beginning to glide down in search of warm skin - your hand drifted higher. 
When your fingers brushed at the seam of his jeans, nails raking over the zipper, Steve made a pleased noise that made you eager to hear more. Every brush of your hand, every ounce of pressure applied to the growing bulge in his jeans, had Steve shifting his hips in search of more. 
Riling him up was easy and he never left you guessing how he felt. With each experimental swipe of your hand and eager press of your mouth, his kiss grew more intense. And while you would’ve taken the time to tease him on any other occasion, it had been long enough that you were desperate. So, without preamble, you popped the button on his jeans and tugged at the zipper.
Steve broke the kiss then, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as he glanced between your face and your hand. “Shit. I’ve really missed you.”
With a playful roll of your eyes, you shifted in the passenger seat - attempting to get closer - and leaned in to nip at the hinge of his jaw. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” When he laughed, you hummed. “Your fault, though,” you reminded him as you slipped your hand into the denim and palmed at his length. “Your adopted kids keep interrupting us.”
“Even the babysitter deserves a night off.”
There was a self-satisfied smile on his lips when you laughed and you made no effort to tease him for the eager lift of his hips as you pushed past the final layer of fabric. There was a time for teasing and a time for quick release; though you wanted nothing more than to watch him fall apart completely, you would take what you could get in the moment.
Later, when the world managed to quiet around you, there would be time. You would be able to enjoy him completely, alone in the home that no longer felt cavernous when you used it as your escape, so you gave him exactly what he wanted. 
Though Steve expected a preamble, a teasing grin or laughter as he hinted at exactly what he wanted, you were more eager than he seemed to be. The moment he lifted his hips, you helped him nudge the denim down enough to free his cock. And instead of lifting your hand, spitting into your palm and beginning to work him up as he’d come to expect, a choked gasp escaped his mouth as you leaned in and traced the vein running along the underside of his shaft.
Warm brown eyes burned into your skin, watching your every movement as you wrapped your lips around the tip and lapped at the bead of precum. 
As you pressed yourself impossibly closer, ignoring the ache in your side and the uncomfortable press of the console and seatbelt buckle to your skin, Steve’s noises of pleasure made the time spent apart almost worthwhile. There was never any guesswork when it came to his pleasure, never any doubt that he was just as enthusiastic - if not more so - about the encounter as you. And his warm groan sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine as his hand fell to your head.
When you began to bob your head, setting a quick pace, Steve sighed. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminded you, fingers tangling in your hair as you pressed yourself closer and closer - a reminder he’d given you since the first time. “Just like that, honey.” He never pushed, never asked for more than he felt you were happy to give, but any time you decided to push yourself, he made sure you knew just how much he appreciated it. “So pretty, so good. Fuck.”
Steve swore, his hands flexing as he fought the urge to press - to lift his hips and control the pace, something you would’ve encouraged were it not for the confines of his car and the uncomfortable position you found yourself in - while you swallowed around his length. It was quick, eager and messy, not as common now that you knew one another so intimately. But you were delighted by the huff of your name and the moan that followed as you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes.
The week without intimacy left him desperate, eager for a release, and you knew that he would come sooner rather than later as his hips began to shift in search of your mouth. Any distance was too far, any pause too long, and you squeezed his thigh as you felt his body begin to tense.
There would be time later for him to return the favor - and you knew that he would return it with great enthusiasm - so you had no qualms about hollowing your cheeks and swallowing around him as you urged him to fall off the edge without a second thought. 
As you hoped he would, Steve came with a groan - a sound that fanned the flames already lapping at your skin, left you overheating in your knit sweater - and you hummed encouragingly as you helped him ride it out.
When you pulled away, lifted your head and swallowed, Steve readily pulled you in for a kiss. His hand returned to cradle your jaw, keeping you as close as he could for a long moment, before he allowed you to pull away. As you rested your forehead against his, he fixed you with a searching look.
“I’m totally in love with you. You know that, right?”
Steve made it a point to tell you often. “You might’ve mentioned it before. Always good to hear, though. Wanna take me home and show me how much?”
A limited as your alone time could be, there was little stopping Steve once he set his mind to something. So with a grin and a final kiss, Steve buttoned his jeans and gestured for you to buckle your seatbelt before he set off in the direction of his house. He was right; even the babysitter deserved a night off every once in a while.
________________________________________________
Author's Note: I didn't realize it until right this moment but the last birthday fic I wrote was also giving a favorite character a blowjob in a car so. Don't know what's up with that.
Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​
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sweetercalypso · 5 months
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Texas Hold ‘Em || Joel Miller
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Summary: when a heatwave interrupts your lake house vacation, you and dbf!Joel find another way to have some fun
Word Count: 2.4k
Notes: minors dni; stripping, blowjob, unprotected p in v sex, pull-out method, reader on top, implied age gap, afab reader, mentions of alcohol and drinking
Summer in Texas is hot.
Cracked asphalt sidewalks burn underfoot, paired with sharp, dry grass that pricks at your skin when you stray off the path in search of relief.
The sun is too bright, the air is unbearably warm, and the humidity is enough to take your breath away.
Days like this are best spent inside.
With an impending heat wave looming in the forecast, it seems like summer might pass by entirely before you have the chance to enjoy your break. Joel Miller – a drinking buddy your dad had picked up in recent years – had offered you a trip to his lakeside cabin with the promise that a cold drink and a dip in the water would be the perfect remedy for the high temperatures.
You’d arrived three days ago, and every afternoon since had brought a thick, sweltering heat that made it impossible to pull yourself away from the comfort of the living room. Even the calm, inviting waves lapping gently at the lake’s edge weren’t enough to tempt you back outdoors to fry under the brutal sun.
The only solution was to sulk inside, bitterly cherishing the tiny air conditioner working overtime to keep you cool. Joel didn’t seem outwardly bothered by the heat, but you could tell he preferred to stay indoors, too.
“S’posed to be in the high 90’s today,” he says, strolling into the living room with his attention turned to the vivid landscape beyond the patio doors. “But it’s so humid, it’ll feel like a hundred.”
You tip your head back and let out a dramatic groan, resenting the prospect of another day spent inside. You liked Joel, and his cabin was nice, but you wanted nothing more than to feel the sun on your skin, to be submerged in the cool, twinkling lake like you’d been promised.
“Can’t we go sit by the water, just for a little while?”
His mouth turns down at the corners, frowning as he thinks. “That’s up to you, darlin’. Just don’t want you gettin’ burnt up out there.”
You know he’s right. Even from the comfort of the living room, you could tell that it was too hot to venture outside. The handful of other cabins scattered around the lake were all vacant for the season, driveways sitting empty and abandoned canoes rocking idly at the pier.
“How ‘bout we find something else to do? Don’t have to sit here bored just ‘cause we’re stuck inside.”
Joel’s cabin was barely furnished beyond the necessities – an outdated kitchen, a stiff living room set, and a couple beds tucked away in otherwise empty rooms. But you couldn’t complain.
No one comes to a lake house to admire the décor.
He perches himself on the other end of the couch and you move to sit up beside him. “What d’you want to do?”
“Well,” he drawls, stalling as he looks around for an answer. “There’s cold beer in the fridge. Got a deck of cars around here somewhere. That could be a good start.”
“Beer and poker? Sounds like quite the party.”
“Hey,” he laughs, hands raised in mock offense. “It’s the best I can do for now.”
Your head tilts as you consider his offer.
Joel was handsome, aged like fine wine with a glint in his eye that spoke of a hidden depth you’d like to explore. Maybe you could have some fun this summer after all.
“All right,” you decide, slipping off the couch with newfound interest. “You find the cards, I’ll get the beer.”
Five minutes later and you’re sitting across the cabin’s small, circular kitchen table, dealing cards from the worn-out deck that Joel had pulled from the junk drawer.  
“Poker, huh?” He grabs his drink by the neck of the bottle. “We don’t have any chips, though. How are we gonna know who wins?”
You place the rest of the deck to the side and pick up the two cards you’d been dealt, fingertips gliding over their frayed, softened corners. “I know another way we can play.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Instead of winning poker chips, whoever has the best hand picks something for the other person to take off. If you refuse, you lose.”
“So, strip poker?” he says with a dry laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Besides – as hot as it is, we don’t need clothes anyway.”
Joel shrugs and tips back his drink, thinking about the day you’d arrived at the cabin, still clinging to your hopes of having the perfect vacation.
Stubbornly glued to the beach towel you’d placed at the edge of the water, sweat glistening on your bare skin, donning a swimsuit that would’ve made a lesser man blush – he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.  
“Okay, fine.” He concedes and rests his forearms against the table, a wry grin pulling at his features. “But I’ll have you know, I’m very good at poker.”
Four rounds later, and Joel had yet to live up to his claim. Maybe it was just the luck of the cards, or maybe you’d spent enough time observing the man’s expressions to call his bluff, but you’d won every hand so far.
The first round was a close call – a full house versus three-of-a-kind. You’d chosen Joel’s watch to ease into the game, and he’d stared you down with a fire in his eyes as he placed it face-up on the table.
Next, you’d doubled down and won with an ace high, and Joel had been relieved of his shoes and his belt, which he’d dropped onto the floor with the promise of a comeback. The third hand played out the same way and you’d demanded his flannel, stealing glances at his toned arms as he handed over your reward.
By the fourth turn, you were reeling from the high of your winning streak and ready to make your move.
“I thought you said you were good at this, Mr. Miller.” You bat your lashes at him with an exaggerated simper as he deals out the next hand.
“I’m a pro, sweetheart. Just thought I’d let you have your fun.”
Throughout the round, your attention flickers back and forth between your cards and the man sitting across from you. Joel’s left with only his t-shirt and jeans to gamble away, and while you’re deciding which to relieve him of next, he slaps his cards down with a boisterous laugh.
“Well, would you look at that – a royal flush.”
A king and queen lay strewn out on the table, their stony, time-worn faces taunting you with their triumph. You’d been too distracted to notice that the community cards all shared a common suit, lining up perfectly with the cards Joel had been dealt.
He sucks in a slow breath and looks over you in careful consideration, debating what to take for his win. Finally, he gestures to your top and says, “take it off”.  
Still shocked by the unanticipated loss, you place your cards down with a huff and shrug the thin material over your head without complaint. The sunlight glaring through the windows warms your exposed skin as you reveal yourself to Joel’s unwavering stare.
You toss your shirt at his chest and he catches it with a raised brow, eyes tracing over the curve of your breasts before trailing gradually back to your face. He adds your top to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor around his chair. When he speaks, his voice is low in his throat, like he’d finally understood your plan.
“Just beautiful, darlin’,” he says under his breath. “How ‘bout we raise the stakes a bit?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
His jaw tenses as he mulls over his options. “If I win, you come over here and use that pretty mouth for something other than trash talkin’. If you win, I’ll fuck you any way you want.”
You bite your lip to hold back the pleased grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Either way, you’re bound to have a good time.
“Sounds like a deal, cowboy.”
A palpable tension fills the air as Joel shuffles the deck with a renewed confidence. He lays out the sequence and flips the first three over, and it doesn’t seem like the cards are in your favor.
It’s an aimless, faceless group, and the next two aren’t much better. None of your cards pair together, and there’s nothing to do but accept your fate.
You muck your hand onto the pile with a mumbled profanity, waiting for Joel to flaunt his win. When he drops his own useless cards in the middle of the table, you look up to find him just as perplexed as you.
It’s a tie.
Neither of you have enough to make a decent hand, leaving the game in a dead heat. All this built-up tension relying on this pivotal round, and it’s a tie.
“Well,” Joel says, scratching absently at the salt and pepper stubble lining his cheeks. “I’d say it’s a draw.”
“So, who wins?”
He thinks for a moment before leaning back in his chair and not-so-subtly positioning his knees with room for you to sit in between them. “I think we both win.”
You take the glaringly obvious suggestion and pull yourself out of your seat, slinking around the table to situate yourself between Joel’s legs.
“Claim your prize, Mr. Miller.”
Your hands sweep over his thighs as he pops open the button of his jeans and drags his thickening cock from the confines of his boxers. Beaded precum drools from the tip as he languidly palms his shaft.   
The sight of his digits running over the length of his cock is hypnotizing – rough, calloused fingers against warm, flushed skin. A burning fire builds in your core as you imagine how his cock would feel inside of you.
“Open up for me, sugar.”
He cups your jaw with his free hand and guides you closer until his salty head rests against the plush of your bottom lip. When your tongue darts out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, he groans and inches forward in his seat.
“Fuck- take it all.”
You eagerly bob over his length and Joel revels in your rapt attention, in the way you dedicate yourself to the task at hand.
“Such a nice mouth,” he pants, prodding the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek and admiring the protrusion it creates. Your fingers twist into the material of his jeans and you chastise yourself for not starting the game with a bolder approach.
Joel’s hips buck against your face as he dips his cock further into your mouth, lingering briefly on the back of your tongue before hesitantly pulling back with a hiss.
“As much as I’d like to keep you down there all day, we’d better stop now if you want your reward.”
You’d almost forgotten about the bet you’d made, too preoccupied with swallowing Joel’s length to remember how you’d gotten into this position in the first place.
He holds a hand out to help you up, and you lick the remnants of his presence from your lips.
“Where d’you want me?” He trails a hand over your arm, sending a shiver up the length of your spine.
“Here,” you say with impressive ambition. “Right here in this chair, just like I’ve pictured all evening.”
“Yeah? Gonna ride my cock right here in the kitchen?”
You nod with conviction and Joel grins as his hands move to the button of your jeans. He yanks the material down past your thighs, fingers hooked into the waist band of you underwear to leave you bare in one move.
“This too,” you mention with a tug to his t-shirt. You want to see everything while you have the chance – who knows how many times a simple game of poker will amount to this.
Your jeans pool at your feet and you step out of them while Joel throws his shirt somewhere off to the side, dark curls sticking up in odd directions from the fabric disrupting their shape.
He leans back against the chair and holds your waist while you position yourself in his lap, his cock twitching with interest as it brushes against your skin. You’re not sure who’s more eager for what’s to come – you or the man beneath you.  
Joel laments the lost opportunity of taking you apart on his fingers and his mouth, but there’s no delaying the zealous way you sink down onto his cock. That’s alright, he thinks with a choked noise, there’s always next time.
His thick length parts your walls with a delicious pressure, nudging against your sweet spot when you settle completely onto his lap. You’re still for a moment as you adjust to the strain, chest heaving with the effort of keeping yourself upright.
“Oh, fuck- you feel perfect.”
Joel’s hands travel up your sides until his warm palms find the swell of your tits. He leans in to sweep messy, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat, distracting himself with your heavy breath until you’re ready to move.
After what feels like an eternity of waiting in greedy impatience, you regain your strength enough to wrap your thighs around his waist, molding yourself to his frame as you lift up halfway before coming back down, smearing slick over his skin.
“That’s it,” he grunts. “Take what you need.”
Your pace quickens each time you raise off his cock, coming back down and grinding against his pelvis in one fluid motion. His broad, freckled shoulders are warm under your hands, an anchor for the rhythmic cycle of your hips over his.
“M’not gonna last much longer.”
You pant as his hand abandons your breast to stroke circles against your puffy clit, carrying you to the precipice of your release.
When your movements falter and you crumple against his chest, Joel picks up where you left off. He thrusts up into you in search of his pleasure, grunting as your walls flex around him.
Just as he’s about to tip over the edge, he slides his length free and grips the base with a tight fist, rubbing the head of his cock against your balmy skin as he paints the evidence of his arousal over your naval.
The air is filled with a litany of lewd sounds, pants and sighs overlapping in your equal states of bliss. Joel’s softening cock rests against your thigh as you run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and he flattens a hand against the arch of your back, both thinking about how fortunate it was that Joel suggested a card game to cure your mutual boredom.
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draconic-desire · 1 month
Text
A Dance With the Dragon I — The Tides Beckon
Yandere Neuvillette x Reader
[Part I — You are here] [Part II] [Part III]
The last thing you expected was to have caught the eye of Fontaine’s Chief Justice. You have no choice but to be swept into the dragon’s dance.
Warnings: Yandere tendencies, possessive behavior, forced imprisonment, unrequited relationship
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It all started with your realization that Fontaine has some rather intriguing laws.
For as long as you could recall, you had aspired to become a marine biologist. Though you hailed from Mondstadt, you forged your curiosity in the tide pools and lakes around the edges of the region. You scoured over any novel you could find on marine ecology and animal behavior, spending endless hours lost in the Knights of Favonius library. On your thirteenth birthday, your parents bought you a Kamera, which launched your career in wildlife photography and research. You even went on to publish a book cataloguing pictures of your nation’s aquatic life. It came to no one’s surprise, then, when you were gifted with a hydro vision.
Although you loved your life in Mondstadt, the vast waters that surrounded the Land of Hydro beckoned you like the pull of a tide. So, on your twenty-fifth birthday, you parted with your family and homeland, traversing across Teyvat and experiencing its many wonders. You relished in the culture and cuisine in Liyue and marveled at the natural architecture of Sumeru’s forests. Yet nothing would ever be as breathtaking as your first glimpse at Fontaine, at the granite peaks rising above the crystalline waters teeming with life of all forms.
You had secured employment with a group researching the sudden uptick in seal strandings across the nation, taking you across Fontaine’s many beaches. Your main base was located near Romaritime Harbor, which prompted you to spend your lunch breaks exploring the Court of Fontaine.
You made quick friends with the Melusines, some of whom were still a bit nervous being around humans; however, you found their stories of the ocean fascinating and often invited them to join you for lunches or strolls through the city.
One in particular, Carole, had become your close friend after you encountered her being pelted with rocks by a mob of Fontainians. You didn’t hesitate to use your vision to immobilize the rocks and create a barrier around Carole, quickly ushering her to safety. You couldn’t comprehend the prejudices directed towards her and the other Melusines, but after that incident, you made sure to keep an eye out for all of your little friends.
One day, on one of your walks, you ran into said Melusine. She seemed despondent that only a handful of citizens were interested in her hand painted posters, so you decided to treat her to lunch and pastries to cheer her up. That’s when you first caught wind of the Hydro Dragon.
“Well, if you’re worried about the seals, you might call upon the Hydro Sovereign himself!” Carole chirped.
You tipped your head curiously, lowering the cup in your hands onto the cafe table. “Don’t you mean herself? Although I’ve never met the Hydro Archon, I’ve heard others refer to her as ‘Lady’ Furina.”
Carole shook her hands back and forth in front of her. “Oh, no, I mean the Hydro Dragon! He is responsible for keeping watch over Fontaine, which includes all of its resources and residents. I’ve heard that with every sea creature that passes, the heavens open and the dragon sheds his tears in mourning.” She took a bite of her croissant. “I have a feeling he’d be willing to help.”
You tapped your chin in thought. “You don’t say. Well, we are in a bit of a drought, which could be contributing to the beachings… Perhaps I’ll ask this Hydro Sovereign for his favor.”
On the days you were dispatched to Fontaine’s eastern beaches, you opted to sit by the Fountain of Lucine to wish for the Hydro Dragon’s help. It had become a tradition for you to do so ever since your conversation with Carole, for you swore that every time you prayed to his name, rain would grace the shores the next day.
During those research trips, your coworkers would invite you to attend trials at the Opera Epiclese, though you politely declined each time. You had no particular interest in the Opera and were much more inclined to spending your time outside and uninvolved with the court’s theatrics. Besides, you considered yourself to be a model citizen, so the proceedings of the court were beyond your worries.
Or so you thought.
~*~
The incident that led to your arrest was the violation of the order “no domestic pets shall be named after Furina”. Apparently the otter that paddled around the Harbor each morning was undignified of the title of “Focalotter”. You had thought the name quite clever and humorous—that is, until a horde of Gardes surrounded you during your shift one afternoon.
You were detained and led into the Opera immediately, which was where you currently found yourself. You frowned at the relatively large crowd—which, much to your dismay, included most of your coworkers—dispersed throughout the hall. Had they all come just to spectate your trial? Standing alone on the isolated balcony, you felt like an insect under a magnifying glass, an insignificant pest to be probed at for entertainment.
“And how do you plead?”
The deep, commanding voice above you wrenched you from your thoughts. Turning your eyes up, your (e/c) orbs were met with a penetrating gaze.
Pinning you with his lavender and silver eyes from atop his chair at the center of the court was none other than the Chief Justice of Fontaine, the Iudex himself, the face of the law in the Court. Monsieur Neuvillette.
This wasn’t your first interaction with the man.
Shortly your move to Fontaine, you had stumbled across his path. At first, it was just sightings from afar; he would be leaving the Opera, or purchasing a drink (Wait, is he paying for water?) from your favorite cafe. Your favorite flowers also began to appear at your doorstep, each time with a brief, cryptic note, usually something along the lines of To my little pearl —Sincerely, your guardian dragon. You didn’t think anything of it; if anything, it confirmed that your prayers to the Hydro Sovereign had been heard.
Then, however, Neuvillette began to periodically show up around your research stations, claiming to be investigating a court case. Even though the Iudex’s public appearances were supposedly rare, none of your coworkers, yourself included, thought to question his authority, answering his inquiries regarding the base’s activities to the best of your abilities.
You noticed that he tended to speak to you the most, even asking personal inquiries like your favorite drinks, foods, books, and hobbies, and about your marine photography especially. It must be part of the investigation, you rationalized. He was nothing but gentlemanly and always kept conversations curt and to the point, offering you a gentle smile as he departed.
If only you knew the true extent of his desires.
~*~
Naturally, he first caught wind of you from the Melusines. As his closest advisor, Carole regularly joined him for afternoon tea, and though he was not one for idle talk, the manner in which his friend spoke of you sparked his intrigue.
“And when those meanies were throwing rocks at me, (Y/n) was the only one who intervened! If it weren’t for her, I don’t know what would have happened…” Carole rubbed her head, as if remembering the sharp pain.
Neuvillette placed a hand over his heart. “I am eternally grateful for her presence. I cannot stand the thought of any harm befalling you.” The hydro dragon looked out the window of his study to the ocean, deep in thought. “Perhaps you could introduce me. It appears I have much to thank her for.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Carole raised a finger. “She mentioned lots of seal beachings recently, so I suggested that requesting rain from a certain dragon could assist her work!”
Neuvillette nodded, a slight smile pulling at his lips. “Ah, so that is why I’ve been hearing Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon echoing throughout my mind the past few weeks. You have quite the imagination, my friend.”
Carole shrugged playfully. “Hasn’t it been raining more often lately? Seems like her prayers worked!”
That they had, as Neuvillette could attest to.
The first time he heard your soft voice calling to him, he had sent rain the following morning—not for you, but for the seals. His position barred him from forming close relationships with humans, so the notion of attending to your inquiry face-to-face was eliminated immediately.
But when you returned again and again to implore for rain, he couldn’t deny his interest. The day after Carole informed him that his little supplicant and Carole’s hero were one in the same, he knew he had to meet you. He had actually left the Opera to see you for himself; whether he would actually converse with you was still uncertain, but your voice tickled an itch that he needed to scratched.
Neuvillette was an experienced and composed man, but setting his sights on you for the first time stole his breath. This, he thought, must be what it feels like to drown.
Your smile shone brighter than a Beryl conch, and your scent floated around him, sweeter than any marcotte. The light shimmering from the hydro vision on your hip reflected back in your eyes, giving them the appearance of twin pools of blue. You were sitting on a bench by the Fountain, a Kamera in hand as you gestured excitedly towards the screen. To your right was a Melusine he knew well, Kiara, who was clearly enraptured with the technology.
Though he knew of your kindness towards the Melusines—jumping in to save Carole alone was grounds for a medal of peace—seeing it before him sent the waters around his heart roiling. The Iudex was moved by the fact that, despite being a foreigner to Fontaine’s customs, you treated them with the utmost respect, going out of your way to befriend and include them in your daily life. Many citizens of Fontaine still harbored prejudice against the Melusines, but you… You even used she/her pronouns when referring to them, implementing the very law that he set forth.
“I use this for my research on seal behavior and conservation,” you explained to Kiara. “Having pictures of each individual helps us identify them in the future. We even give them silly names sometimes. See this one here? We call him Mr. Sealie, and this otter I like to call…”
When the pink Melusine started giggling over the nickname of your otter, a plan formed in his mind.
Whether attributable to his sense of justice or his draconic instincts, he knew one thing for certain. Like a shining pearl, you must be cherished and protected—and who better to serve than the Hydro Sovereign?
~*~
Those eyes will be my downfall.
Purple and silver locked with (e/c). Despite being newly appointed to the court, Neuvillette was the embodiment of both poise and intimidation. The very air around him seemed to shimmer with power and unyielding authority. His breathtaking eyes swirled with emotions—was that desire or disinterest?—you could not even begin to decipher in your current position.
Archons, help me.
You cleared your throat, hoping you didn’t appear too nervous in front of the judge. “Although I admit to using a version of the Hydro Archon’s name when referring to that otter, I was unaware of such a law against doing so. I’m not originally from Fontaine, so some of its, uh…lesser discussed laws are new to me.”
Neuvillette gazed around the courtroom as the crowd devoured the trial before them. It was baffling how naive humans could be sometimes; of course there was no rule against applying a silly nickname to a pet.
That is, until this morning when he had signed it into law.
Seeing you frightened and alone in the defendant’s box, however, was torture. It took all of his willpower to not to engulf you in his strong arms like waves around sand. But he had to maintain the facade of immovable judicator for a bit longer in order to mold you to his tide. Retaining his mask of composure, Neuvillette continued, “You do realize that previous defendants have been jailed for far less, correct?”
Frustration and fear flared within you. “But I—”
“Desecration of Lady Furina’s name is of the highest offense. Your behavior will not be excused, neither by myself nor the Oratrice.” Neuvillette raised the paper with your verdict, barely glancing over the words before he spoke. “The verdict stands: you, (Y/n) (L/n), are guilty.”
You clenched your fists heatedly. There was no arguing with the Iudex. Clearly, the polite and considerate version of Neuvillette that you had encountered earlier was an anomaly, for the figure looming above you was the complete opposite. Cold, calculating. Distant. A whirlpool cresting a bottomless sea.
Had this been his plan all along? Had you been the subject of his investigation? But why?
“However, because you are not from Fontaine, I will offer you a choice.”
You blinked up at the Justice, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. A choice? What choice did you truly have here? You pursed your lips warily but nodded for him to continue.
Neuvillete raised a gloved finger. “The first: you will serve a life sentence in the Fortress of Meropide.”
A wave of despair seared your insides like a brand. That was your fate? To be trapped beneath the region where you had always longed to live, never to feel the salty wind on your face or hear the calls of seals and gulls again? Surely, the second option was less cruel?
“Or, alternatively: you will dedicate your life to the court. You will abide by its laws without question and with unwavering commitment. You will relinquish your freedom; you will not be permitted to leave Fontaine and will be bound to this place for eternity.”
A choked sob escaped your lips. No matter what you chose, your life’s work and passion would be extinguished. You would be forced to either become an actress in the court’s performance or resign your soul to a watery grave.
Both option chained you to the Region of Hydro forever.
But one option at least granted you a semblance of freedom—a notion that you soon learned was as transitory as a bubble in water.
The crack of a cane against wood resounded through the Opera, quickly silencing the crowd’s mutterings over your sentence. “What is your decision?”
You could have heard a pin drop as the audience waited in rapt anticipation for your answer.
“I…I choose the latter,” you declared, tilting your chin up. You maintained direct eye contact with the Iudex all the while, holding onto your last bit of pride.
You could have sworn you saw Neuvillette release a breath of relief. “Very well. I hereby adjourn the court. Gardes, please escort the defendant to my office for further instruction.”
Two Gardes led you out of the Opera and onto an Aquabus to the city. They informed you that you would now be living in the Palais Mermonia and your duties would begin immediately. When you asked about retrieving your belongings and notifying your family, the Gardes exchanged glances.
“That won’t be necessary,” one said cryptically. “Monsieur Neuvillette will page your relatives and have your possessions seized.”
You frowned, wishing to object, but the Palais doors loomed before you like the entrance to a monster’s lair. You gulped but swallowed your fears, straightening your back pridefully as you were ushered inside and into the Chief Justice’s office. The bolting of the lock from the outside set alarm bells off immediately.
Neuvillette stood from his seat as you walked in. He coughed awkwardly, red dusting across his pale complexion. “Ah, Lady (Y/n). I do apologize for such a fast-paced series of events. You must be exhausted.” He motioned towards the sofa adjacent to his workspace. “Please, sit.”
You blinked at him in surprise. What happened to the unwavering judge from the court? Why was he suddenly treating you kindly? And why in the Archons’ names was he blushing of all things? Unsure how else to react, you obeyed and settled into your seat, with Neuvillette taking his own on the sofa across from you.
Neuvillette poured you a glass of what appeared to be plain water into an exquisitely ornamented cup. You took it wordlessly, noticing his eyes flare with a silver glow when your fingers brushed his own. Gripping his own cup, he raised the chalice towards you. “To a long and dedicated future together.”
You sketched a brow curiously but raised your glass in tandem to…whatever that was supposed to mean. “To not being in prison, I guess.”
“Indeed.” A breathy chuckle followed. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering as to what this whole business regarding your sentence is.” Neuvillette took a long sip from his chalice. He frowned slightly when you simply placed yours on the coffee table separating the two of you. “Although you may have thought you’d be completing droll office work, your duties will be a tad unorthodox.”
At this, your brows furrowed. Wasn’t that what all those employees you had passed in the Palais foyer had been doing—pushing papers? You had cringed at the dark bags under many of their eyes, at how many were asleep at their desks, imagining how similar you’ll look once your sentence was completed. But based on Neuvillette’s words, it sounded like you would be doing something very different.
Oh, Archons. I’m fucked.
You braced yourself to speak, but Neuvillette beat you to it.
“You are to be my wife.”
You blinked once, twice, waiting for the punchline of the joke.
Neuvillette merely stared at you with his hands folded across his lap, waiting for your response.
After a pregnant pause, you couldn’t help the stunned scoff that escaped your lips. “You can’t be serious.”
“Quite, I’m afraid.”
You shook your head. “With all due respect, Monsieur—”
“Please, call me Neuvillette.”
Ignoring him, you continued, “I did not agree to be your wife.”
The Chief Justice leaned back against the posh blue cushions of the sofa. “Although that may be the case, you are in no position to refuse. In fact, your sentence mandates that you follow my orders.”
You stood abruptly, sending your goblet toppling over and spilling its contents across the table. “Marriage was not a part of that sentence.” Which was ridiculous to begin with, you added to yourself. I mean, a life sentence for a pet name? It’s almost like he wanted me arrested.
Neuvillette sighed and flicked his wrist, causing the chalice to right itself and the water to refill. “Marriage is the highest form of dedication, no? Is that not what you pledged to?”
“I dedicated my life to the court,” you clarified.
“My dear, I am the court.”
You emitted a low hiss, turning to the door. “I’m leaving.”
Before you could take more than a step, Neuvillette moved towards you faster than a crack of lightning across the sea. His large frame straddled yours, pinning you against the sofa. He grabbed your dominant wrist, a foreign bubbling under your skin erecting the hairs on your arms. Your mind reached out for your hydro powers to defend yourself, only to be crushed with the realization that your vision had been confiscated at the court.
Despite your struggles, you could only watch in terror as a glowing silver-blue mark in the shape of a dragon burned across the length of your arm. The leviathan’s scaly body twisted in ringlets up your forearm and bicep, ending in a slender head with twin horns that crested your shoulder.
As soon as Neuvillette loosed his grip, you shoved him away, panting heavily. The mark had already disappeared, but you could still feel the ghost of it under your skin.“What have you done?” you whispered breathlessly.
In total contrast to your own contorted expression, Neuvillette appeared completely calm. He smoothed out his robes and adjusted his jabot. “I have lived for centuries, and I have many centuries more. I’ve merely gifted some of them to you.”
Your body began to shake, from fear, sadness, or rage you did not know. “I don’t want them.”
“You do remember that you promised to serve the court for eternity, don’t you? How do you expect to persist by my side otherwise?”
Eyes locked on the exit, you tried for a different tactic. “Take me to the Fortress of Meropide.”
Neuvillette’s expression darkened, his patience clearly thinning. “I will not.”
Your eyes shifted back to his. Although Neuvillette intimidated you beyond belief, you’d be damned if you didn’t go down without fighting for your life’s hard work. “I want to change my sentence.”
He glanced down at your arm. “It’s a bit too late for that, my dear.” Taking your hand in his, he pulled you to his chest. His form towered over you, capable of resting his chin on the top of your head. “Please, understand. I mean to keep you from harm, even if it means being your jailor.”
“You’re insane,” you hissed, futility attempting to pull away. “Let go of me!”
Neuvillette’s grip was relentless. You stilled when you felt claws ghost up your back in a silent warning. “That is one thing I will never do.”
The fight in you slowly ebbed away—for now. Your resistance was clearly moot, like a gnat trying to down a dragon. You’d have to play the long game to learn how to get under his skin—and how to rid your own of this new mark. “I will find a way out of this,” was all you could promise, refusing to meet his eyes.
A deep sigh sounded above you. Neuvillette took a step back, looking at you with such longing you thought you’d combust on the spot. With one last stroke of your cheek, he strode towards the office’s exit and unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist. Looking over his shoulder, he fixed you with a forlorn gaze. “By the time you realize your place here, there will be nothing for you to escape to. Only I will remain.” He once more turned his back to you and stepped out of the room.
You suddenly paled, realizing the implication of his words. If his declaration was true and you were to live as long as him, then your family, your career, the world as you know it would be completely gone. Your only company, your only solace, the only one who would remember your name, would be him. “Wait, no, you can’t—!”
He closed the doors.
~*~
Neuvillette was many things, but a liar was not one of them.
True to his word, you remained locked almost exclusively in the Palais Mermonia. On the rare occasions he let you outside, the Iudex served as your only company, diligently making sure you were hidden. Your vision was permanently taken, supposedly to prevent danger to yourself. It didn’t go unnoticed when he would wear it on his hip at important or potentially volatile trials. When you finally asked—or growled at him, really—why he kept it on his person, he had merely frowned and replied, “I originally thought the idea of a fake vision preposterous, I admit. I have no need for one. Yet having it feels as if you are constantly by my side.”
The draconic tattoo he had branded onto your arm not only extended your lifespan but also gave you a minuscule drop of his abilities—though only when you were in his presence (and most definitely not against him—you had tried). That allowed the two of you to transport to and breath in the depths of Fontaine whenever you begged to go out. In his mind, it was perfect—not only was the sea his realm, but no one and nothing could touch you. You were his alone to hold, to see, to have.
Those trips were torture for you. Free, but trapped; floating, but tied down to the man who was supposed to be the symbol of justice.
You, on the other hand, had tried a variety of (fruitless) tactics to convince the judge to free you. Any attempt at conversation or advance in his part was met with either vitriol or indifference on your part. You had once tried to charm him into letting his guard down, hoping you could sneak away while he was preoccupied at the court. This plan epically backfired on you when he mistook your subtle touches as permission to devour you with kisses and love bites, covering you in bruises from his sharp teeth for the next week. You wouldn’t so much as let him tap your shoulder for the next month after—the spark of silver in his eyes while he kissed you foretold of a deep, overwhelming desire that far surpassed simple kisses. You feared what might occur if the composed Chief Justice were given the opportunity to release his more primal urges.
And so, each day was passed much in the same:
1) Wake up on the floor or couch of his suite in the Palais—like hell you’d be sharing a bed with him. Oh, how he had tried in the beginning to usher you into bed, into his arms. It was childish, yes, but at least your refusal have you some semblance of autonomy.
2) Ponder on how you would greet Neuvillette that day.
3) Choose between fury or pretending he didn’t exist, typically the latter.
4) Look for a way to escape after he left for the Opera. Fail.
5) Spend most of the day scouring court cases in his office for clues to overturn your cause. Fail again.
6) Look out the window pitifully at the water beyond the Court of Fontaine (were the levels rising?). You often thought of your family back in Mondstadt; what were they told of your imprisonment, if anything? How long had you been stuck with the Chief Justice? The days blurred like ink in water.
7) Immediately exit the office towards his attached suite the moment he returned—any other room was preferable to his suffocating presence.
Today, though, he had chosen to interrupt your musings out the window before you could make your exit.
“You know, I find the beauty of the bright sunlight is best appreciated from the indoors through a window.”
Turning your head from the glass pane, your attention was brought to the figure standing in the doorway. He was wearing nothing but a simple pair of dark blue slacks and a white tunic, his robes hooked over his arm. At the start of your captivity you had mused how strange it was to see him without his normal ornamentation; now his comparatively plain appearance was a daily sight for you.
You crossed your arms and leaned against the window, relishing the heat from the coastal sun against your back. It was nothing like the dark pits he practically dragged you to now that you could breathe underwater. “Personally, I prefer to enjoy it with the company of a cool breeze by the shoreline.”
The Chief Justice loosed a deep sigh as he approached you. He extended his palm, caressing your cheek gently. “If you desire it so, I will rearrange some meetings and escort you—”
Below the waves, where he clung to you like a Lumitoile to a rock? “No need. Present company would ruin the experience. I prefer to be above water.”
Neuvillette had the audacity to wince at your retort. “So you instead choose to wallow in your self-inflicted solitude?”
You wanted to laugh at the hurt edge to his voice. Self-inflicted your ass—every moment of your life now centered on him, depended on his permission. Solitude was a disguise for any reprieve you could get from his constant attempts to court you.
The ironic part was that, if he had approached you normally, you could have seen yourself falling for him. He brought and cooked your favorite foods and beverages, showered you with gifts and books on photography, and tried his utmost to make you comfortable.
But you knew it was as nothing but glitter in a gilded cage. Neuvillette had drowned your whole world. So no, you wouldn’t act like any of this is normal.
Resisting the urge to bite his bare hand, you glared at your captor. “You could simply, oh, I don’t know, let me go.”
Neuvillette’s jaw tightened. His patience might run deeper than the Trench of Elton, but it was not everlasting. “We’ve discussed this.”
At that, you shrugged his hand off. “Can I at least speak with my family? My friends?”
A pained look flickered across Neuvillette’s face. “That isn’t possible.”
Your lip curled in response to his expression. “Don’t act like you actually care.”
Pursing his lips, he settled onto the window seat next to you. Though you were twitching with the urge to escape, he placed a large hand on your thigh, a gentle warning. “(Y/n), there’s something we must discuss.”
You narrowed your eyes, though your heart rate spiked. By now, he recognized your silence as a sign to continue.
“Do you wish to walk around the Court of Fontaine with me?”
Blinking, your throat dried. You swore you heard him wrong. “I’m sorry?”
Neuvillette squeezed your leg in what he thought was a comforting manner. His eyes—fuck, you had to admit they were wickedly beautiful, silver and sharp as a sword—never left your own. “You have been justified in your anger with me. I have restricted you for far too long. I would like to extend an olive branch, if you will—an agreement that we will both retain civility. I will grant you freedoms, but you must adhere to your sentence. Any deviation will not be tolerated.”
Your head was spinning, so you didn’t even consider the implications of his words. He was letting you out. “Can we go now?”
Neuvillette smiled softly. “Of course.” Standing, he offered you a hand. You tentatively took it, more awestruck than anything as he unlocked the doors to the outside. You’d finally get to see your family, your colleagues, the sun—!
Fontaine was unrecognizable.
The last time you seen the square of the Statue of the Seven, the roads were cobblestone. Now, strange machines roamed the paved streets, clearly serving as sentinels. None of the shops or restaurants were familiar—your favorite coffee shop, where you had so many chats with Carole, was now boasting signs for upscale fashion. A Melusine hopped by, wearing a Garde’s uniform, something that you remembered as being rare due to the increased chances of them being targeted. Your heart rate spiked in worry when the Melusine approached a group of children and their parents, only for a stunned expression to hit you when the creature was hugged by a little girl, her parents cooing in delight.
“Where…what?” you stammered. Fontaine had seemingly changed overnight—at least in your experience of time. Dread pooled in your stomach.
You attempted to pull your arm away from him, but his grip on you was steadfast. That same pained look from before marred his handsome features. “I did not lie when I said you have nothing to return to.” The Chief Justice sounded melancholic—he wished it hadn’t come to this, but he had to eliminate any prompts for you to leave.
“No, no.” Your heart dropped. “What… What year is it?”
The silence that followed was all you needed to know.
“How many years has it been, Neuvillette?” you repeated, your voice cracking with a desperate tone.
For once, Neuvillette avoided eye contact with you. He simply gestured towards a bulletin board, where the latest issue of The Steambird (at least one thing was consistent) was posted. You tore it from its pin, choking back a sob as you read the date.
Hands shaking, the issue fell to the ground. It landed in a puddle, its edges slowing soaking and blurring the ink. A steady rain had started to fall, quickly turning into a torrential downpour.
It had been over four hundred years since Neuvillette had taken you.
If it weren’t for Neuvillete’s hand on your hip, you would have crumpled to your knees. “H-how?”
Neuvillete looked to the skies solemnly. “Time passes differently for us long-lived species.” You cringed at his use of us, and how he actually sounded remorseful. “But this is our opportunity for a fresh start.”
Silent tears streamed down your face. For what could you do? Everyone and everything you knew was gone. Lost to the sea of time forever. You had nothing.
He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, placing a delicate kiss on the top of your head. “Cry not, my little pearl. No matter how many centuries pass, you will always have me.”
~*~
Neuvillette was many things.
And now, just as he dreamed since the moment he set his eyes on you, he was your everything.
And yet, you refused to drown.
As the years flowed like water through a stream, you began to learn the beat of Neuvillette’s dance. His emotions, his moods, his thoughts, all reflected themselves within the waltz of his life, and soon maneuvering around the steps became second nature to you. The balance of power laid within the count, and you were determined to be the one leading,
The dragon wanted to dance? So be it.
You’d give him the most challenging dance of his life.
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puckarchives · 2 months
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strawberry wine: l. hughes
blurb: in which luke is teased for how he treats you, but he doesn’t mind. Not if all of it’s for you / word count: 1.3k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader
You hadn’t meant to fall in love with him at first. When you first met Luke— right in the middle of your freshman year at UMich, where you were trying to balance the precarious work-social life balance— it wasn’t love at first sight. No, you were way too pessimistic for that. Instead, the love you had garnered for the curly haired boy was gratuitous— it was a simmering feeling you felt every time he turned his gaze on you, everytime he checked in with you via text or phone call when he was away, and the feeling of his heartbeat as he laid on your chest— the reminder that, above all, he had put you first.
Falling in love with Luke wasn’t an automatic fairy-godmother thing, but it was magic all the same — it was the feeling of coming up for air after being submerged underwater, the feeling of being in the sun after being inside for too long. It was a feeling you wanted to be embraced with all the time, really. 
Now, though, you were hearing the extent at which Luke loved you — in your sleep induced haze while your head laid on Luke’s chest, and your legs extended over his lap. The two of you had made your way to the Hughes Family lake house for the first few weeks of the summer, where you were joined by Quinn and Jack, as well as some of your and Luke’s mutual friends from UMich; all the people you cared about, all under one roof. 
As the summer grew, and the first week turned into the second, you could only feel how much your love had grown for the boy with the curls— the boy who had somehow made falling in love with an all-consuming feeling that you never wanted to let go of. 
Now, though, as you listened to the conversation around you, your almost-sleep was interrupted when you heard Jack call to Luke— saying something along the lines of something “being clear,” and picking up on some changes in Luke’s behavior. 
Now almost fully awake, you didn’t want to make yourself entirely known— not just yet. Luke and you had spoken about what to expect on the trip— the teasing and remarks that were sure to come from his brothers, the jokes that were sure to come out of Trevor or Duker at one point, and even the overprotectiveness for the only other woman in the house from Ellen. Now, through, you could tell the conversation was fully about you— and Luke. 
“I’m just saying, man,” you could hear Jack start. “We’ve never seen you this whipped before! It’s liek you’re an entirely new man, Moose,” he finished, to where you heard the rest of the boys add in their own agreements. You felt Luke pull you even closer when he said that, and could feel the hand on your calve resume its soft movements— mishappen shapes and letters that didn’t really mean anything, but that Luke had gotten into the habit of doing whenever you were around.
“Name one time where that’s happened,” Luke said. “I might be in love, but I haven’t changed,” he said, and oh god— he was in love with you! Even if you were still supposed to be asleep the sole notioon that he’d say it in front of the people whose opinions he cared about so deeply made your heart melt even more. The truth was, you were in love with Luke as much as he was in lovr with you — he was your rock, your safe place, and above all else, the person you looked for in anything; the one who had captured your heart and kept it as close as he could to his own. 
“C’mon, dude, you literally put your hand on the table corner when she dropped her cup the other day, just so she wouldn’t hit her head,” Quinn said from the opposite chair. “And, not to mention, you literally called Mom right after your first date with her, just to ask her how you did, and to see if she could help you see whatever signs Y/N was givign you” the boys laughed. While you had picked up on the things Luke did for you— including making sure you were always safe, that second thing wasn’t something you were aware of. Sure, you were both nervous wrecks on your first date, but you found him charming— especially when he had shown up at your dorm smartly dressed, and had brought flowers not only for you, but for your roommate too. 
“Plus, remember that time Coach made you do extra liners because you showed up to practice with a hickey on your neck?” Duker said. “Wasn’t that after your sixth-month anniversary, or something? When you rented that hotel room to, and I quote, “treat her how she deserves to be treated?” C’mon Hughes, you’re a sap!” he finished. 
Duke was right; you remembered that date almost vividly. Luke had spent so much on a grand hotel room, had taken you out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and, in the privacy of your own room, had danced with you for the entire night— had spun you around and around until the two of you ended up tangled in the white sheets, kisses being shared like secrets, and leaving them like brands on the entire expanse of his chest, his neck, and his mouth. The two of you had drank a third of a bottle of strawberry wine before you ended up on your tiptoes, Luke spinning you and leading you around the expanse of the entire room, before ultimately taking it further. 
That night, you had become his, and he had become yours in a way that you had never imagined possible; regardless of either of your past experiences, you had felt love strum between the two of you in, as cliche as it sounds — magical way. 
“So what, I care about her! Look at her, and tell me you wouldn’t give it all up” Luke said, but you could tell he wasn’t mad in the slightest. Sure, he was getting chirped at, but it was all in good fun, and he understood that; it must have been a strange thing, for both of his older brothers to see him so in love, and so ready to be tied down to you, that he didn’t even mind the teasing. 
Luke, for all his faults, loved you, and that much was entirely apparent every time he opened his mouth to talk about you— something he would do any chance he got, always finding a way to bring you up in his conversations. 
“We know, dude, you’ve just become such a sap,” Jack added. “‘S making the rest of us wanna settle down too,” he said, laughing. It was true, in a way. Seeing their little brother so in love — so much so that he had almost put his hockey career on pause just to be able to graduate with you, and looked like Cupid had whacked him in the ass with an arrow every time he looked at you — they could clearly see the adoration he had for you; the bone deep understanding that you were his, and he was yours. 
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, waving them away. Feeling like this was your cue to get up, however, now that the conversation had died down, you opened your eyes, and picked your head up slowly from his chest. Luke looked down at you immediately, his hand that was previously on your leg coming up to cup your chin. 
“You okay there, honey?” he asked. You could only try to shake away the remaining sleep from your head, and smile up at him. Here was your boy — the one who had taken your heart and ran with it, who held you close, and who planned to never let go; the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with, and who was willing to endure every single comment about your relationship just to keep you. You couldn’t have asked for anyone better —— you couldn’t have asked for anyone other than your Luke.
“Never better, baby. Never better.”
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multi-kpop-fanfics · 4 months
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Jealous!Cheol quiet through the whole ride so furious , and when you got home all your clothes vanished within a second , and before you knew you were already pinned at the wall of your badroom being drilled by che0l's humongous dick whispiring onto your ears
"Baby i haven't even started, and yet you're already crying?" "What? huh? , if you weren't being flirty with jeonghan you won't get this treatment."
- Y
(This brainrot for cheol's big dick is NOT IT, IMAGINE, goodness gracious i feel like sucking his diCK would be soooo DIFFERENT)
tw: hard dom!seungcheol, established relationship, sub fem!reader, reader is smaller than seungcheol, big dick!cheol, manhandling, fingersucking, unprotected sex (pls stay safe), rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, jealous sex, creampie, cheol is pissed and possessive™
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"Cheol."
No response.
"Cheol, come on, it was just a joke." You pout.
Seungcheol doesn't respond this time either. He just looks at you and clenches his jaw, swiftly returning his gaze to the road ahead. His knuckles are white from gripping the wheel too tight for his own good.
You just wanted to play jokes on your boyfriend with Jeonghan during the dinner at his house. But the jokes went a bit too far when your mutual friend pecked your cheek as a thank you for helping him clean the table.
You're fisting the hem of your dress, knowing you're in for a long night tonight. You know Seungcheol is pissed as fuck, judging from the way he's almost breaking the traffic laws to get back home.
And it has your panties turning into a lake.
The ride from Jeonghan's home usually takes twenty minutes, but Seungcheol completes it in ten. He parks the car in the garage with swift motions, opening the door to get out in the blink of an eye.
"Get out." He opens the door for you, tone sharp as a knife. You gulp down audibly as you get out of the car and he slams the door, grabbing you from the wrist.
He pulls you behind him all the way from the house entrance to the bedroom, his fingers bound to leave bruises on your wrist.
Once you recognize the walls of your shared bedroom, you find yourself pinned against one, with Seungcheol's body blocking your escape - not that you would attempt that.
"You do realize you fucked big time tonight, am I right, sweetheart?" He grips your jaw with his hand. "Don't even try to deny it."
"Cheollie, I'm so sorry-"
"Cheollie? You think you have the right to call me that?" He tilts his eyebrow, squeezing your cheeks together.
"I am sorry! I didn't think-"
"You didn't think what? That I would be pissed at you for letting Jeonghan kiss your cheek? Put his lips on what is mine?"
He puts his hands on your chest and grabs the material of your dress, ripping it just enough to uncover your bralette and rip that as well.
"Cheol! These were new!" You whine.
"One more complaint out of that mouth of yours and I will shove my dick down your throat until you beg me to breathe." Seungcheol growls as he throws his blazer on the bed and rolls up the sleeves of his button-up.
He unbuckles his pants just enough to let his cock spring out, rock hard and flushed from the base to the tip. He bunches your dress around your waist and he hooks his forearm under your knee to lift it up and rip your matching panties with his other hand.
"Act like a little slut and you'll get treated like one." He lines up his cock with your hole and pushes in with more force than usual, his tip ramming its way inside you.
"U-Ughhh..." You groan, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as your pussy tries to accomodate to Seungcheol's shaft without any actual prep.
"You're taking me that well without prep? Bless your messy cunt, princess." He licks his lips and lifts your other leg as well. He throws your ankles over his shoulders, your stilettos still on as he pushes you harder on the wall, his cock now all the way to the base inside you.
"It's t-too deep-" You gasp, voice audibly strained. "God, you're all the way in, fuck!"
"Good. I plan to stay that way all night long, until your pussy molds in the shape of my cock and can't stay empty without it."
Seungcheol wraps one arm around your waist and puts the other one on your jaw again and starts moving his hips in an unforgiving pace. His heavy cock drags against your warm walls, battering your sensitive spot again and again with the tip.
Your jaw goes slack and your voice disappears, your hands wrapped around your boyfriend's forearm. He looks at you with like a hungry wolf and puts two of his fingers in your mouth.
"You are mine and only mine." He pushes them in until you start gagging around them. "I am the only one who gets to kiss you, hug you, touch you, fuck you stupid and full of cum, my cum."
The tears now run down on your cheeks and you moan around his fingers, your tongue greedily lapping at his digits.
"That's more like it, suck them good with your slutty mouth, fuck," he speeds up his hips, meaty thighs slapping against your ass, "My pretty little whore. Makes me wanna dump my load in you and send pics to Jeonghan of your ruined little cunt."
Seungcheol's words make you clamp down on his cock and he lets out a scoff, lips curling in a wolfish grin. He takes out his fingers and you take deep breaths, moans mixing in.
"Is that what you want, Y/N? To show our friend that you're my pretty little cumdump? My slutty princess?"
"F-Fuck yes, I'm your pretty slut!" You sob loudly.
"That's right, baby. Now you better take all of my fucking cum in your hole and keep it there." He slams his lips on yours, moaning in your mouth and sucking your tongue messily.
Your screams echo in his mouth when his cock explodes in your pussy and paints your walls white, triggering your own orgasm. Your legs have gone numb from the impossible stretch he has put you in.
But you are ready to sell your soul to Satan in order to keep Seungcheol fucking you like that.
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pineridgelogcabin · 9 months
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Pine Ridge Log Cabins are offering its pet-friendly Vacation Cabin for Rent in Table Rock Lake MO. This fully furnished log cabin rental is perfectly nestled to explore numerous water sports activities and mountain adventure activities in Missouri.
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