#a dreamwritesimagines production

[rhabakoli]

Reunion

this has been in my WIP folder for like, 84 years... 

Also, that stupid chicken wing song was stuck in my head during half of the writing process. I wanted to die. 

This is the reunion kinda scene from the very beginning of chapter 24 of Beutiful and Damned by @dreamwritesimagines​  It’s smut, so like, stay safe and sane y’all. 

Enjoy.

The moment the door opened was the very same moment Geralt found himself a princess. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around is neck, her lips found his; she barrelled into him, her trust in his abilities to catch her absolute. 

He huffed in surprise and pushed the door closed to press her up against it. “I missed you so much.” Her voice was low, almost demure, but her hands definitely weren’t. She clawed at his shoulders, brushed them over his chest, tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him in. Geralt would be lying if he said her sudden boldness and forwardness wasn’t welcome, but it was certainly surprising and slightly confusing. “Princess, are you alright?” 

“Not until I’ve had one or two orgasms, Geralt.” She looked at him, face as innocent as possible. “Will you deny me?” She was actively trying to kill him then, alright. He groaned, his lips finding hers once again. “As if I ever could, princess.” He pressed closer, his torso flush against her, his hands smoothing down her sides, then gripping her ass. She was wrapped in a thin camisole, and nothing more, and it absolutely killed him. She was so precious, so sweet, so adorably sexy – He groaned, shoved the fabric out of his way to get his hands on her skin. “Fuck, princess.” She sighed against his lips, smile on her pretty face. “I really, really missed you, Geralt.” He bumped his nose against hers, his voice rough: “I missed you too, princess.” She arched her back, squeezed her thighs around his middle and giggled. “Are you going to take care of me now?” How she looked so innocent saying such meaningful things while she was most definitely able to bring him to the brink of an orgasm with just a couple moans and sighs… Unbelievable. “If you let me.” And in the breathiest, most seductive voice, she answered: “Please.” Geralt felt his restrain crumble. As usual, around her. He cupped the back of her head and his eyes almost rolled back into his head as her scent reached his nose. Something animalistic awoke inside his chest, and he had to fulfil her wish, lest he’d die right there on the spot. She could feel his chest expand as he took a breath, and then she could almost pinpoint the moment his control slipped. The effect was instant. His kiss was searing, hot, desperate, almost as desperate as she felt. It made her hips roll, made her thighs quiver with the force she used to press herself against Geralt’s rigid body. Her cunt clenched in anticipation, her mind filled with nothing but his name, “Please” and “More”. He devoured her, bit her lip and pulled, the tiniest, lowest rumble making itself heard. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of the noises he made. “Geralt, please, give me something, please.” “As you wish, princess.” He shifted his hold on her, his fingers trailing down her bum, before he found her slit. “Oh, princess.” She moaned at the soft-gravely sound of his voice. He sounded about at wrecked and needy as she felt. “You’re drenched already, fuck.” He gathered some of her wetness on his fingers and brought them to his mouth, licking them, tasting her. She watched him, head thrown back against the door, eyes half closed and mouth hanging open, her breaths coming in pants. Seeing his reaction to her taste, how his nostrils flared, how he licked his lips and rolled his eyes back, the appreciative groan – she whimpered, her hand curling in the fabric of his shirt. His eyes were aflame, the gold piercing through her; there was a carnal hunger inside them. Geralt didn’t hesitate any longer then; he ripped open his belt, unbuttoned his breeches one handed, and was inside her in seconds. The first thrust was almost painful, made her feel like he was pushing all the air out of her lungs – it had been a while and Geralt was a beast – but she loved it. One hand curled around the back of his neck, her nails probably leaving marks for everyone to see, the other fisted in her own hair, as she tried to keep in control of her voice, lest the guards patrolling the halls would hear. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, princess.” Geralt bent forward, curled into himself, rested his forehead against her chest, his hands wrapped around her hips now, holding her still. “Geralt, love, please.” He just nodded before he curled an arm around her to press her close, hooked his fingers into her nightshift to pull it down and lay her bare. Her nipples were stiff, sensitive; just his breath on them made her clench around him. He sighed her name, then latched onto one and simultaneously started to pull out. They were quick to find a rhythm, almost as if they’d never parted. He’d been so stupid. So incredibly thick-headed, to give this up because he was afraid to lose her, to hurt her. In pulling away he’d already managed to do just that, but he could feel their wounds mending now that they found their way to each other and poured their love into every touch, every word, every breath upon the others skin. It didn’t take long for her to come, clenching hard around him, as if she never wanted to let go again. Her back arched, her naked breast rubbed against his clothed chest, the friction giving another layer of pleasure to her orgasm. He held her, slowly fucked her through it, tiny motions, almost non-existent. He kissed her neck, her jaw, bit her earlobe and then started talking. She was sure she would start crying if he continued to assault her like that. His voice was so soft and low, it felt like she was wrapped in velvet and silk at the same time. “You are so beautiful, my princess. You’re beautiful and smart, and incredibly strong. I am so proud of you. You are everything to me. The best thing that ever happened to me. You make me feel loved and at home. Let me stay with you forever. I love you, princess.” Tears sprung to her eyes; her orgasm seemingly never-ending with the continued influx of sensations. She cried his name, shivers wracking her body, her nails cutting his skin where she held onto his arms. He hummed, pressed his face to her neck and took deep breaths. The scent of her arousal, her own fragrance, her soap; it all drove him crazy and at the same time calmed his senses, calmed his heart. It smelled like home, like happiness, like his future. Geralt waited until she relaxed, then he pushed away from the door and walked over to her bed. She whined at the movement but sighed when he went back to covering her neck and shoulders in kisses and bites. When her back touched the crisp sheets, she let go of her man and stretched, her eyes never leaving his. He was so imposing, gigantic. He was safe. He was home. Geralt knelt between her legs, ran his hands up and down her thighs and just admired her. There was a blissed smile on her face, a healthy flush spread down to her breasts, her nipples tight and calling out to him. Her neck was mottled with red spots already, her shoulders starting to look alike. “Geralt.” She watched him from beneath heavy lids and reached for him, wriggled her fingers at him. When he leaned forward until she could cup his cheek, her smile grew wider. “Geralt.” Her thumb brushed along his cheekbone and he thought he was going to melt. And then he thought he’d died and ascended to heaven, because she licked her lips, raised her head just the tiniest bit and whispered: “Fuck me like you mean it, Geralt.” He was so dumbfounded by her words, he didn’t move or react for a couple seconds. Her giggles snapped him out of it, and he smirked. “As you wish, princess. “ He scooted back, kissed her knees and then proceeded to flip her over fast enough to make her get whiplash. She bounced a little bit on the bed, and then his body was pressed along her back, hard lines against soft skin, his lips next to her ear, his dick pressing against her ass in the most teasing, heady way possible. Geralt rubbed himself against her, her soft skin a delight. “Do you know how hard it was to old back all the time?” He gathered her hair in one hand, his other hand buried in the sheets, muscles straining. Carefully, he pulled. “Do you know how often I wanted to simply throw you over my shoulder and take you away? Or bend you over some sideboard in the hallways and fuck you senseless, until you scream my name loud enough to make everyone know you’re mine?” She was panting, her heart racing. He liked her like this, all pliant and putty in his hands. “Do you know how much I missed your juices on my dick? How you feel when you get especially excited? How you start to drip, just from my words?” He let go of her hair and sat up, got comfortable between her legs. He teased her clit, rubbed his entire length through her folds and chuckled at her needy moans. “You like that, don’t you. I missed how you sound when you’re desperate, princess.” He let the head of his cock slip into her, barely enough to breach her, but certainly enough to have her press back. “You look so good like this, princess. I love to see you all pliant and fucked out. I know I’m the only one to get to see you like this, I know you’re mine as much as I am yours.” He caged her in once more, his arms to her sides. She sighed at the feeling of him shielding her like that, and at the way he teased her opening like that. There were three words filling her entire conscience at this point: Safe, Home, Mine. “I will show you how I am the only one to ever make you feel this good, princess. No other man can stretch you like this, ever.” He finally, finally, pressed in; one harsh thrust followed another. He didn’t start slow, no. He fucked her like he meant it, like she’d asked of him. And she LOVED it. Her hands were fisted in the sheets, holding on for dear life. She felt as if her brain leaked out of her ears; she was lost in desire and lust and pleasure. She’d forgotten how it felt to be desired, loved, cherished. “Geralt, fuck, please.” He shifted, his hips not losing rhythm, when he ducked to bring his lips against her ear: “What do you need, princess?” “More.” He grunted, moved his legs, and pulled her up. Her mouth fell open in a silent curse as she suddenly found herself in Geralts lap, her legs spread, held open by his. One hand came up to cup her breast, the other held her hip as he fucked up into her wet heat. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her neck stretched and presented beautifully. Oh, how great she’d look marked up, so everyone would know she’s taken, satisfied; that he was the one to bed her, to taste her all over. Geralt could feel the possessive growl in his chest built, could feel himself losing control. “Geralt.” A soft hand on his cheek snapped him out of it, brought his attention back to her face. “It’s okay. Let go.” “But-“ “You won’t hurt me.” She rolled her hips, clenched around him. “Please.” “Fuck.” He complied, wrapped both his hands around her waist and started fucking into her without restraint. She felt so good, so ready for him, so wet. He really thought he was going crazy. “Princess, oh fuck.” His voice in her ear made her break out in goosebumps, and she was fairly sure they’d be heard outside. Did she care? Not at all. Let them hear. Let them know, how was she supposed to care when he was inside her, loving her like he did? So intense, so honest, so real.   “Geralt, please.” He laughed, barely registered how unhinged it sounded with all the pleasure and want clouding his mind. All he wanted was to make her feel good, make her scream his name, fill her mind and body and never let go. The fast slapping of skin on skin mixed with the panting breath of them both, with the moans and cries of pleasure, the curses, the pleads. It was a cacophony of love and desire, of lust. It was lewd. Her wetness was gathering between them. She was glistening with it and he wanted to eat her up. She whined, his name on her lips like a prayer. “Please.” Her fingers were clawing up his arm, looking for purchase when he reacted with a snarl and a smack to her thigh. “Cum for me, princess, I know you want to.” He helped her along by finding her clit, playing with it, rubbing and occasionally pinching. She bucked in his arms, her voice that of a songbird. It was intoxicating and he never wanted it to end. But it had to. He wanted her to hit her high, to come around him, for him. “Princess”, he groaned into her ear. Shivers ran down her back, lightning and ice and molten gold. When she clenched, a curse escaped him; he wasn’t far behind at all. Just a couple more thrusts as he held her up, and he unloaded inside her, her moans filling his ears as he filled her with his seed. He stilled, curled is arms around her form; he’d never let her go. His princess caressed his arm, let her fingers roam up and down and play with his arm hair. “Hmmm, that was very nice.” She grinned at his nonverbal grunt, snuggled into his warmth. He was still inside her, and they were making a mess on her bed, but neither cared. She was basking in their comfortable bubble, until Geralt shifted and kissed behind her ear, just to say: “I’ll make you come on my tongue later, princess.”

#the witcher #Beautiful and Damned #bnd #a dreamwritesimagines production #Geralt x reader #Geralt x princess #The witcher smut #smut

[danyka-fendyr]

Wildfire - 1

Chapter 1: Bibbity Boggarty Boo

Should I have been writing the next chapter of Absence of Good? Yes. Should I definitely have been trying to write a Reylo oneshot I said I would write weeks ago? Oh, absolutely. But instead I got inspired to start a whole new series based off of Harry Potter, and so here we are. Sometimes I just have to follow where the inspiration leads, and if the several different Reylo drafts just aren’t working out, a George Weasley fic is what happens apparently. Anyway sorry to literally all of my followers who did not ask for this.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

Wordcount: 2501

Warnings: Death. Themes of war. Abuse of power. Injury/gore.

Magic is a tricky thing. It is alive in its own way, not a tool but a force, unstoppable and scarcely controllable, wild and bright. If you are lucky enough to see it, to touch it, to have it run through your veins and into your children’s, you can maybe understand something of the untamable nature of magic. It has been argued that magic does not choose, but that it is only transferred, passed down through those of the purest blood. But…over the years, you have come to see different. Much as the wand chooses the witch, you are inclined to believe magic chooses the witch as well, and doesn’t have much to say as far as blood goes.

Convincing Professor Binns of that in the longest essay you had ever been assigned would be considerably more work. The professor could be a bit archaic as far as muggleborn rights went, which was all the more infuriating for you as a muggleborn. However, the man was dead, so you felt you had to give him a certain amount of credit for even still grading papers and teaching class, half-hearted prejudice aside. Binns’ refusal to throw hands with Malfoy, while not perhaps relatable, was at least understandable. You also often found it difficult to feel any amount of passion or human emotion sometimes.

“I just want to go to sleep,” you groaned.

“Awww, is little Y/N tired?”

Fred Weasley cooed over you, clearly unaware of how dangerously close he would be to death if you just had slightly more energy. That being said, you didn’t have slightly more energy, so maybe this was strategically advantageous for him. Nobody ever accused the Weasley twins of being stupid. Well, except for you sometimes.

“Don’t mess with me right now Weasley.”

“Oh no Georgie, she’s using my last name.”

“Our last name, Freddie. Maybe she was talking to me. Y/N dear, which one of us were you talking to?”

“Yes.” Your voice was slightly muffled from where you had just leaned forward into the table, carefully avoiding your freshly inked parchment.

“Well now, that’s not very nice. What did I do?”

“I’m sick and I have the world’s longest paper to write from Binns and I am in turns hot and cold which means the fire is both my best friend and actual Satan.” Also we are on the verge of war. Also the Dark Lord is back. Also there is a pink toad trying to run Hogwarts like a dictatorship. “I’m not in the mood to be messed with.”

You glanced up tiredly, ready to give a baleful glare, only to find a concerned looking George Weasley. Fred hovered behind him, his face also worried as he took in your red nose, watery eyes and miserable countenance.

“Love, why haven’t you gone to the hospital wing?” George asked.

“Because I can’t bring myself to drag my way all the way through this stupid castle just to get a freaking Pepper Up potion. In short, I’m lazy.”

You patted the couch next to you, gesturing for him to sit down so that at the very least he could give you that concerned look in comfort. He sat like he was on pins and needles, which you shouldn’t have been surprised by.

As long as you had known him, George Weasley had never been one not to take action. Fred got much of the credit for being the idea man, but the truth was that if George Weasley wasn’t moving he was dying inside. He was also just a tad bit protective, especially of you.

You attributed this to the fact that when you were a sweet, innocent muggleborn first year you may have lost your temper and managed to completely eviscerate Marcus Flint without ever laying a finger on him. Not that it was hard to emotionally damage a 13-year-old boy with teeth that jacked up. Anyway, Marcus had decided to go for a less pacifistic method of revenge and George Weasley had swooped in to rescue you, Fred in tow. It didn’t take long to become friends with the guys who had saved you from the hospital wing.

You leaned into his side, sniffling quietly, only to have him launch up and swiftly be replaced by Fred trying to prevent you from falling over.

“I’ll be right back,” George said, a determined look on his face and no explanation on his lips.

You raised an eyebrow at Fred. “So, should I expect him back in 5 minutes or 3 hours?”

“I bet you a chocolate frog he’s back in 5 minutes.” Fred grinned.

“That’s not fair. You always win bets about George.”

“I wonder why.”

You rolled your eyes before resuming staring at the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, its warm flames licking the faded brick, staining it soot black, Death Eater black. These days it seemed like everything in your head came back to Death Eaters. And if it wasn’t Death Eaters, it was Umbridge.

You had to admit to being petrified by Umbridge. It wasn’t that she didn’t make you angry. She did. But you also knew what she did to students who misbehaved, had seen the scars settling into Harry Potter’s hand, had once even caught George trying to hide blood from you.

 “Georgie, what’s that?” You stopped him on his way up to the dorms.

You were up late studying, and it was well past the hours any decent human being should be awake. You were up though, trying to puzzle out a potions assignment and meeting with very little success. George, apparently, was also up, and clutching his sleeve in a very odd, suspicious fashion.

“It’s nothing. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He turned away from you, framing the arm in question in shadow.

“Did you hurt yourself working on new products again?” You asked, crossing the room to inspect his arm. You pushed the sleeve back, chatting as you went. “You really have to be more careful. I know there’s a lot of demand, but you can’t put your health at risk just fo-”

You gave a small gasp when you saw the words scrawled into his arm, blood still fresh, jagged little bits of skin speckled with red darker than his hair, more ominous. I must not make mischief.

“Who did this to you?” You knew the answer, but you had to ask.

“Really, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. Go to bed.”

He tried to pull his arm out of your grasp, but you held on, careful not to hurt him. Gently, you edged a single finger around the clean skin surrounding the wound. Your other hand had found its way into his, fingers lacing together in your horror, tears in your eyes.

She shouldn’t be allowed to do this to him. No one should be allowed to do this to him. This shouldn’t happen to good people like George Weasley. He didn’t deserve it.

“Hey,” he said softly, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s alrigh’ love, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”

“We should uh..” You took a shaky breath. “We should clean it up.”

You lead him over to the couch, leaving him to wait while you headed to your room and grabbed some spare bandages and ointment from a first-aid kit your mother insisted you take to Hogwarts with you every year.

“We’ll have you better in no time,” You promised with false cheer.

 “Pepper Up potion!” George announced triumphantly. “Fred and I use it all the time when we’re testing products. We’ll have you better in no time.”

You had more reason to be afraid of Umbridge than just what you had seen though. The truth was that while you tended to be docile as a lamb when people attacked you, you didn’t like it when people attacked the people you loved. You had gone after Umbridge and paid the price in long sleeves and muggle makeup, but some mean, dark, spiteful thing inside of you said that every detention was worth it despite the pain.

You couldn’t let the twins know though. If George saw the words carved into the back of your hand and up your arm in your own loops and swirls he would have a fit.

I must not be a know-it-all.

You knocked back the potion quickly, shaking your head vigorously as it burned through you.

“I swear muggle alcohol has nothing on that crap,” You muttered.

“Hey, don’t complain. I just magically cured you of all your ails.”

You snorted lightly, grinning up at him. It was true though. Your stuffed nose and wheezing breaths were gone, replaced by perfect health, more or less.

“My hero,” you said.

“My angel.”

You blushed, shaking your head at him. Always so dramatic, the Weasley twins. Speaking of drama, some seemed to have found its way to you now.

Neville Longbottom ricocheted down the stairs, his face white with terror, as blank as a muggle who’d seen a ghost. If it were any other student, you might have been terrified, but Neville was somewhat more prone to bouts of fright. You stood calmly, smoothing out your robes and reaching casually for your wand.

“You alright there Neville?”

“B-b-boggart,” the boy stuttered.

“Don’t you worry Neville, Y/N will get it sorted. Never seen anyone cast a better riddikulus charm, myself,” Fred said.

“You give me too much credit, Fred.” You were already heading up the steps of the boy’s dormitory though, confident in your ability.

You could hear George speculating on how it must have gone missing from some closet in the deeper reaches of the castle. There were so many nooks and crannies in Hogwarts that there was always at least one boggart somewhere, even if you never saw it. Wand at the ready, you opened the door to Neville’s dorm, knowing exactly what to expect. Except you didn’t find what you expected.

You pulled in a deep breath, legs shaking as you stared at what was before you. It was supposed to be you tied up or in a straight jacket or just generally somehow trapped, your worst fear. Or it had been your worst fear, before you went to war.

His red hair was plastered to his pale face, blank eyes staring. All the light and mischief sucked right out of them. You fell to your knees just outside of the circle of blood pooling around his body, and a choked noise came out of your throat, the only sound you could make.

One of the boys must have heard you, because you vaguely registered Neville calling up to ask if you were okay. You couldn’t answer though, transfixed by the sight before you. You knew you were supposed to riddikulus it, but you couldn’t move.

At some point, the boys must have come up the stairs, because you heard a quiet voice behind you mutter, “Bloody…”

You thought it might have been Fred, but you weren’t sure.

“Come on, angel.”

George’s soft voice filtered through the cold mist that had a grip on your mind, his hands gripping your arms, gently but firmly lifting you back up to your feet. With a flick of his wand, he cast the charm, breaking the boggart’s spell over you as his dead body turned to a comically fake version of the same picture, ketchup and all.

An arm over your shoulders, George steered you away from the dorm as you tried to process the shock of what you’d just seen.

“I never…It wasn’t…It used to be…”

“I know,” George said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

You shook your head. “Last spring…last spring it was just me being trapped.”

George pulled you closer into his side, and you realized that hot tears were falling out of your eyes and onto his uniform.

“A lot’s changed since last spring,” he said. “It’s alright though. I’m here. Everything is fine.”

You realized with a grateful start that George was leading you back to your own room so that you didn’t have to cry in front of everybody in the common room, shielding your body with his own. The stairs appeared to accept your unspoken desire for him to be here as permission enough as he lead you up them without a hitch.

“It won’t stay fine though,” you managed to work out.

“I’ll still be here then,” he said.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can. No matter what angel, I can guarantee you one thing. You and I, we’re going to stick together.” He opened the door to your dorm room, blissfully empty as most of Gryffindor tower was out on the first winter weekend with clear skies you’d had in a while. “And Freddie, of course.”

“I thought that was a given,” you joked.

“There she is,” George said, watching you smile a little as you took a seat on your bed.

“It’s just been a little…harder lately.” You defended your tears. “With everything we know and what the ministry’s doing and the Order and Umbridge’s de-”

You cut yourself off, quickly revising your choice of words. “Umbridge’s devastating ability to make me want to kill her.”

George laughed. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d probably call it high treason against the ministry or something. Say you were in cahoots with You Know Who.”

“Ugh. You Know Boo is more like it. Never met a bigger buzzkill than the Dark Lord.”

“Technically we’ve both had the good fortune not to meet him yet.” George leaned against one of the posters of your bed.

“We will eventually. Then I can tell everybody whether or not Harry was making it all up.”

George stiffened. “You think he’s lying?”

“Yeah, kinda. I mean, a guy with no nose? He had to have made that part up. There’s no way the big baddie doesn’t have a nose. Harry’s just yanking our chain.”

He burst out laughing, sparks flying from his chocolate eyes.

“It would be a good laugh too, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, the best. Positively historic.”

“Oi, Georgie!” Fred’s voice bellowed up from the common room. “What are you two doing up there? Don’t make me call Minnie!”

You heard a chorus of laughter from the common room and groaned.

“Could you please ask him to stop convincing the school we’re dating?”

“I’ve asked, but you know Fred. He can be…”

“Stubborn?”

“An independent thinker.”

You huffed another laugh. “Okay, well you better get down there before he gets everybody to start independently thinking some very inappropriate things about us. I have a reputation to keep, you know.”

“Reputation as a stick in the mud, when we’re not around.”

“You love it. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

You watched his scarlet head of hair disappear down the hall, moving like wildfire with each step, and grinned to yourself. You supposed if they were going to spread wildfire rumors about anyone, it would be George Weasley.

#harry potter #george weasley #fred weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley series #harry potter fic #harry potter series

[lettersofwrittencollective]

WIP WEDNESDAY!

Creators: work on or post something from your WIP. Tagging a few folks who may be interested @stiles-o-dylan24 @nicole-lynne @emichelle @blvckcanry @mummybear @dreamwritesimagines @deanwanddamons @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @rhabakoli @negans-lucille-tblr

Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!

#feel free to ignore

[inforapound]

I don’t know if you are aware of the drama between @waiting4inspiration and @dreamwritesimagines but there is a lot of shit talk about their stories being similar. But you wrote the Shimmering first. Do you feel like your ideas were ripped off?

First- um, what?

Second - Omg, I would f’ing love it if either of those incredible writers ripped anything off of my novice self. They wouldn’t have to. I’d give it to them along with my heart and a kidney if they were in need.

Third - Neither of those writers need my ideas. I doubt they even read my stuff AND I have only written two chapters of The Shimmering.

Anon, please get productive and don’t stir the pot. These women you are talking about are talented, incredibly supportive writers who put a lot of effort into their writing that they share with all of us - for free. Be grateful. Reblog it. Leave a nice comment. Don’t ruin it. Please.

#for the love of god #all fanfic is ripped off #tropes are the same idea written over and over duh #eye roll #don’t pretend you’re concerned

[rhabakoli]

Be Mine

This is the thing y’all have been waiting for! It’s must, who would have tought???

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines​ @riviawitch3r​

"You never loved me, did you?" You could swear you had caught the infamous Witcher off guard, with the way his eyes snapped to yours, "What?" "I hoped for it, I- I wanted it but that's the truth. You didn't love me." A growl escaped from his lips, "Careful. You have no idea what you're talking about, princess." 

"I think I do have an idea." You said, narrowing your eyes as you took a step closer, "You only wanted what those men downstairs wanted. Merely an illusion. You don't care about me, and you certainly don't care how those- those men pay those women to act like me when they bed them." He was on you so fast, you had no chance to dodge him. His hand was clamping down on your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks. “I’ve had it with your behaviour, princess.” He snarled the words, the whole room suddenly shrunk down to just him, his presence filling it completely. “Those men are the scum of this earth, and if they weren’t human, I’d have slaughtered them all, even before you had a clue about their existence.” He was furious, he was frustrated. His hold was bruising and hot and send shivers down your body. “How dare you say I never loved you.” Geralt pressed in, made you stumble backwards until you hit the wall. “I lay my heart out at your feet, and you dare to say shit like that?” Your heart somersaulted, your stomach flipped in synch and you thought your lungs might just explode. It was rather hard to breathe, with him all up in your space, taking your air and your sanity, word after word. His hand shifted, slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck and then up into your hair. “I never loved anyone like you, princess. None of all the women I had can give me what you can.” You were speechless. All the fear and anger were just gone, had taken all rational thought with them and left nothing but lust, desire and a wetness between your legs that grew more intense by the second. And then he pulled. You knees buckled, you gasped and your spine felt like it became liquid. Geralt caught you, however, pinned you against the stone with his hips, with a hand against your shoulder. His thumb caressed the line of your collarbone, sweet and so, so teasing. When he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a deep rumble, a growl that made you want to whine. “You’re so responsive, my princess. And so, so blind.” He bit his lip, followed the trail his fingers found with his eyes. From your collarbones to the soft, vulnerable spot right above your sternum, then up, up along your throat. You were trapped, completely at his mercy, his discretion. He was so much larger, so much stronger than you could ever be, and it should not be such a turn on for you. But when his fingers wandered across your skin, left impressions you’d feel even after he was gone – oxygen was hard to come by, your blood was rushing deafeningly in your ears, and you wanted to die right then and there if it meant he’d be the last thing you’d ever see and feel. “You have no. idea. How much you mean to me, princess.”   Geralt chuckled darkly, not an ounce of humor to be heard. “You have no idea how it feels to have found the one person you want to live for.” His thumb pressed into the soft underside of your jaw, making you swallow hard. His eyes were piercing, almost glowing, and you fought so hard to keep your eyes open, keep looking at him. “You don’t know how it feels to have lived a dozen lifetimes alone. You don’t know how it feels to have someone, and then loose them again.” The bastard was hovering, his face so, so close to yours, his lips just a hair’s width from yours. You were begging already, with your eyes, your open, ready lips; your whole body. You were stretching, pressing into him, hoping to cover every inch of your skin with his, engrave his touch into your very soul. But when you reached for him, he hissed, took a step back and hauled you away from the wall. You were putty in his hands, willing to do whatever he wanted. He didn’t tend to hide himself from you, but tonight he was an enigma, a dark vision of his usual self. You did not mind. He'd crossed your arms behind your back, the hand that was previously in your hair now stroking down over your shoulders, checking if you were alright. “This is how you’ll hold yourself, unless I say otherwise.” Heat pooled low in your stomach, your heartbeat migrated between your legs, every beat stronger than before. “Geralt-“ “Shh.” The harshness of his voice made you jolt. He leaned in, let his nose brush against your neck and up, breathing in as he did. Then he planted a sweet little peck at the corner of your mouth and whispered: “Hands against the wall, princess.” What else could you do other than obey. The coldness of the stone was a relief, a sharp contrast to your burning up body. Geralt hummed low in this throat, as his hands slid down your back, to your front, up, up, and stopped just underneath your breasts, before he let go entirely. You strained to see what he was doing, but he tutted and pushed your chin to face forward with a single finger. “Just feel, princess. Your eyes lie to you anyway.” You expected his hands on you, his lips, no matter how bruising; you did not expect the sharp snap of laces ripping and the dress going slack around you.   “Geralt!”, you shrieked. “It’s just the laces, mylady.” More tearing fabric, and the corset you’ve worn was rendered useless. You didn’t have time to mourn it, as Geralt was sliding his hands across your shoulders, his fingers tucking into the sleeves of the dress. “Arms down.” The room was rather cold, contrast more extreme now, that he was at your back, but not your front. He was fire and ice, always intense, helpful, good, but deeply mesmerizing and had so, so much potential to cause destruction, fear, panic. And this is what he made you feel like. You wanted more, more, more, but you feared he’d hurt you if you got too close. His touch was burning you, devouring you, and you were an addict, were unwilling to leave off. It was a contradiction. He’d slipped the sleeves off, the corset and the fabric now falling to your feet. It left you in stockings and shift, hiding barely anything. He was intertwining your fingers, pressed his body against your back. He was still fully clothed, the buckles and rivets of his chestguard digging into your skin. Geralt raised your hands, kissed your knuckles and placed them back against the wall. He tippy-tapped his fingertips up your arms, chuckled at the hairs rising to stand, and smoothed down your shoulders, down your sides. “You’re beautiful, my princess.” He buried his nose in your hair, his voice barely audible. You were sure you’d pass out the moment he touched you properly. “You’re also smart and compassionate. And you have a weird love for life itself, for the quiet moments.” His arms came around your middle, and he just held you, his face still in your hair. “You came into my life like a thunderstorm, blew me away, made me crave the light you shine like a beacon.” He squeezed; made you gasp. “How can you say I don’t love you.” It wasn’t a question, per se, it was just… he wondered. Your eyes were tearing up at his words, at the softness of them, at their meaning. He nipped at your neck, suddenly all business again. “But you can’t see it, apparently.” He stepped back, his left hand now curling around your hip. “We can’t have that.” The sounds of buckles opening, fabric falling met your ear; metal meeting wood as Geralt set down his variety of weapons. You couldn’t wait, you just wanted him, in whatever way he’d let you. The thought lured a moan from you, quiet, low, and you rubbed your thighs together to create at least some kind of relief. “What are you doing?” Geralt had heard, of course, and was back in your space now, his hands like vices on your hips. “No, princess.” His knee came to push between yours, separate your thighs. He also knocked your ankles with his, commanded: “Spread them.” So you did. He knelt behind you, let his hands run up your legs, and take the shift with them; get it out of his way. You felt exposed, vulnerable. A cold hand gripped your heart, a vicious voice told you he wouldn’t want you now that you were used, now that he had had you once already. You tried to ignore it, but he was silent, frozen behind you. You hid your face against your arm instead and prayed he’d not just get up and leave. “Princess.” A kiss to your left cheek. “My princess.” A kiss to your right cheek. “Breathe.” He got up, stretched along your back, engulfed you in a violent hug. He brought his mouth right next to your ear and grabbed one of your wrists, to bring your hand down between his legs. “This is how much I want you. This is how much I need you.” You startled at his boldness. He knew what he was doing though, because it certainly helped erase any doubts you had. Carefully, you wrapped your hand around him, as far as it was possible. He was hard, hot, and leaking. You peeked at him, tried to gauge his reaction. His mouth had fallen open, a breathless groan fell from his lips. “Fuck, let go.” You did, and moved to turn back to the wall, when Geralt caught your hand and licked a broad stripe across the palm of it. “What-“ “One day-“ He growled into your ear, caused you to shiver. “One day I will come inside you, make you cum so hard you pass out, and then I’ll eat you until you wake up.” You felt his grin against the shell of your ear. That bastard. He nipped your earlobe and got back to his knees with your ass in his hands squeezing and teasing with his touch but never giving in.. “Oh, look at you. So wet and ready.” You whimpered, pressed back against his hands. You needed him, needed something. He watched your arch your back and couldn’t hold the warm rumble in his chest. “So pretty. Do you think you can take me already?” He didn’t really ask, you didn’t think. Geralt didn’t wait for an answer at least. His finger was enough to have you moan, and he wasn’t even inside you. No. He circled from your clit to your entrance, through your lips, gathering and spreading your juices. “I think I’ll have a taste first.” Oh no. “Geralt, st- hhhng.” He had no mercy, he lapped you up, held you close, pressed even closer. Your legs were shaking, your lips hurt from biting them. Moans and whimpers, breathless gasps when he caught your clit between his teeth; the room was filled with it. When he had enough, he gave your ass a soft slap and got up. You canted your hips, begged him to get it on; oh, didn’t he need to be asked twice. “Can do you me a favour, princess?” He held your hip with one hand, guided his dick between your folds with the other. You whimpered in answer, his name hissed in desperation. “I want you to let go. Don’t hold back. You won’t be able to, and no one knows who you are.” He breached your entrance, the stretch mind-numbingly good. You mouth fell open, your head fell back and you closed your eyes. “Geralt.” “Hm, louder, princess.” He pushed in, wrapped his arms around you and didn’t give you much time to acclimate. He went all in, covered you in kisses, in his scent, made you his; you’d never forget him. “Scream my name, princess. I want them to know that I am the only one who can make you feel like this. And I’ll always be the only one.” Every thrust pushed a breathless gasp from you. Your hands were scrambling for purchase against the wall, until you gave up and sunk you nails into Geralt’s forearms, half mad in hopes of some anchoring. He didn’t stop talking, he just went on and on, and you were so wet, you dripped. “All this for me. You’re so good to me, princess.” The way he said it. You thought you melted right then and there. He straightened, wrapped an arm around your chest and hiked you up until your toes barely even touched the floor. “Wait!” You slapped a hand against the wall, balancing yourself as you fell forward. Not that you could have gone far. The change in angle and the missing support from below had you roll your eyes so far back, Geralt half feared they’d get stuck. But then a shiver ran through you and you tried to move your hips. “Sh, I’m here, you’re alright.” “Geralt, please, please.”, you pressed out, your feet trying to get some leverage. “Please, just fuck me, please.” “As you wish, my highness.” He made sure to have a good grip on you, and then he started moving earnestly. He wasn’t pulling any punches, using his superhuman strength to keep you where he wanted you and where he could hit that one perfect spot that had you keening and begging. You’d have bruises later, but all you could think about right now, was the way his dick felt inside you, how warm he was, how safe you felt, and how good he was. Your mindless babble amused him somewhat. He wasn’t even halfway done; you’d learn to question him. He bit your neck, licked the spot and then murmured pet names and love words into your skin; you were ascending to heaven, it couldn’t be any other way. “Come for me.” It didn’t take more. You were so tense, the knot in your belly was just waiting for release. Geralt cursed when you went rigid around him, clenching so hard he could barely move. “Fuck, yes.” He set you down and buried his face in your hair, just breathing and trying not to blow his load. He had Witcher stamina, but not even that was any help against the spell of you. “Fuck, I love you.” You were too far gone to hear it, your orgasm having you completely in its hold. Geralt held you up, peppered kisses all over your shoulders and neck as he waited for you to come back to him. “I’m not yet done with you, princess.” He slipped out, ignored your whine and threw you over his shoulder with an arm wrapped around your thighs. You protested, vaguely really. Your mind was still processing your first orgasm, and definitely wasn’t able to consider the possibility of another one. Geralt dropped you on the bed, nipped your shoulder and straightened. “On you belly and arms where I want them, princess.” You were a bit drowsy, out of it; he smirked. You fiancé wouldn’t be able to fuck the memory of him out of you. He’d make sure he was branded into your flesh, into every fiber of your body, nestled into every crook of your mind. “C’mon now, be a good girl.” You rolled onto your belly and crossed your wrists behind your back. It was as much as you were able to do; your limbs didn’t exactly obey you. Geralt shook his head. “You can do better than that.” He kneeled between your legs, uncrossed your wrists and rearranged your arms to his satisfaction. The position wasn’t as strenuous as before, but you’d not be able to get out of his grip anyhow. Your cheeks was smushed into the mattress, your hair in knots and loops, your body exhausted, your cunt leaking. “Keep them like this.” He let go of your arms, grabbed your hips and lifted, causing you to automatically bring your knees in. Your gasp didn’t go unnoticed, nor did his deep appreciative rumble. Your arms threatened to fall to your sides, but Geralt was faster. One of his huge hands wrapped around them and kept them there. “Geralt, please..” You thought you were going to die, if he touched you right now. You were still clenching around nothing, still pulsing. “What, princess?” He covered your ass with his free hand, smoothed down the outside of your thigh, just to switch to the inside and tease you as his fingers travelled closer and closer to your soaked cunt. “Do you need something?” His fingertips brushed over your clit; he was trying to kill you, no doubt. “No, please,-“ Geralt chuckled. You shouldn’t be so attracted and influenced by a simple sound, but fuck if you didn’t press your face into the fabric underneath you and spread your legs further. “Oh, you want more?” He pressed a single finger inside you, pulled out, pushed it, pulled out again. You were dripping, and he loved it. His fingers swirled through the wetness, his chest heaving as he filled his lungs with your scent, your neediness. “Just a moment, princess.” His dick was still hard as stone, so it didn’t take much more than some of your juices to help him along. He stroked through your folds, gathered enough to slather his cock with it. When he lined up, you wriggled your butt and clenched around air, trying to get him in faster, or maybe make it harder for him, you didn’t even know yourself. You knew you were crazy about him, his touch, his voice. He’d be your first and your last, if you’d any say in it. He situated himself, leaned forward to make sure you’d stay where you were. “Scream, princess. Let them know who satisfies you.” He pushed in, didn’t give you even a second to acclimate. He pounded you into the mattress, his hips slamming into your ass. Your knees started slipping, giving out, and your brain was sludge. You felt as if it was leaking out of your ears, your lungs denying you air and your voice raising with every move. “Fuck, Geralt, oh please, please.” He was grunting, huffing, cursing even, especially when you clenched around him, as if you tried to keep him with you forever. It was raw, animalistic, and you loved it. He didn’t hold back, every touch of his hips hitched you further up the bed before he pulled you back against him. It didn’t take long for your second orgasm to roll through you. It slammed into you with the force of a war horse and you were left scrambling after your mind. “Yes, oh fuck.” Geralt let go of your arms, brought them down onto the mattress and pulled out. He stopped for a moment to admire the view of your red and swollen cunt, how your juices and his precum were mixing and clinging to you both. If he wasn’t so keen on making you come around his cock once more, he’d eat you. If he was a lesser man, he’d be openly drooling. But he was a goddamn Witcher, and he could keep his wits about him. “Geralt.” The softest little moan, barely audible. Or maybe not. He flipped you over, gathered your legs, held them against his chest and slipped back into you. You jolted, whined, gripped his cock. His golden eyes roamed all over you. Your flushed skin, your stiff nipples, your mouth, raw and swollen from biting. You were beautiful. So beautiful, it made Geralt almost look away. How dare he touch you with his soiled hands? He'd stopped, his hands on your thighs, his fingertips leaving bruises. Why didn’t he move? “Geralt.” You reached for him, eyes merely slits, tongue peeking out of your mouth as you wet your lips. “Geralt, please. Please.” He grunted, slid a hand underneath your lower back to support you and moved. He may have dirty hands, bloody and brutal, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were the best thing happening in his life, aside his daughter, and he wasn’t willing to let you go without making you understand how much you meant to him. You were his. His alone. Your fucking fiancé would have to brainwash you in order to get you to moan any other name than his. He’d make sure of it. “No one will ever get to be on your mind like I am, princess. You’ll never find another one who’s going to be so good, so darling to you, ever.” You nodded, his voice making it’s way into every nook and cranny of your soul, rooting there, festering. He wasn’t going to leave, not without a fight. “I’ll make sure no other dick will ever be good enough for you. No one will be able to fill you like this, make you feel whole and stretched and loved.” His hips moved faster and faster, his dick slamming in like a hammer; every thrust made you keen, your fingers clawing at the sheets and trying to find purchase. He made you feel like you were floating. “You will not be able to forget me, princess. You’ll maybe sleep with your fiancé, but I’m the one you think of, I’m the one you will dream of. I’m the one who will make you come, even when I’m not there.” He let your legs fall, spread your knees and leaned in, essentially folding you in half. “Scream my name, princess.” The new angle made you see stars, made you feel like you were short of exploding. “Come for me, princess.” One hand snaked between your bodies, to play with your clit. “Make me proud, princess.” You had forgotten how to breathe, your whole focus was on Geralt, beautiful, gentle Geralt. “I’m yours, princess. Be mine.” Your whole body locked, your legs trembled, your cunt clenched rhythmically. And this time, you did scream his name. Geralt cursed, pushed in until there wasn’t anymore to go and tensed. “Fuck, princess.” You were sure you’d passed out for a moment there, because when you became aware of your surroundings again, you were curled up against Geralt, tucked into his side with your face pressed into the crook of his neck. Your body was aching, some places more than others, but it would be a pleasant reminder of what you’d done. His fingers treaded through your hair, detangled some of the knots in it; his breath ghosted over your skin, his warmth had leaked into you, thawing your ever-so-cold toes. Geralts rough voice interrupted your thoughts. “I love you.”

#The Witcher #smut #Geralt x reader #a dreamwritesimagines production #pissed Geralt fucks well #it's a thing #dirty talk #kinda kinky #dom/sub dynamics

[rhabakoli]

Virgin No More

unbetaed, bc late. smut, beware.

this is the missing smut from Beautiful & Damned’s latest chapter. 

@dreamwritesimagines​ @riviawitch3r​

He was determined, focused, but so, so gentle. His hands were wandering over your body, his lips never left yours. He was completely covering you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your night shift bunched at your hips, and it was everything you ever wanted, It was safe; HE was safe. He shielded you from the outside world, from anyone seeing you like this. He kept you to himself, was the only one to see you this open, this beautiful; the only one to make you feel safe while being at the most vulnerable you ever were.

His teeth caught your lips, one of his hands reached back and smoothed down your thigh to grab your ass and squeeze. You couldn’t hold back a silent gasp, but Geralt just smiled and a growl rumbling through his chest. He felt your body under his, curves and scars and blemishes and he wanted to explore all of you. He needed to. He needed to make you feel like you lost your mind; needed to make you writhe underneath him, this vulnerable, to see your skin tinted with a gorgeous rosy dust, to hear your heart beat faster and harder, hear it beckon him to match his hips to the rhythm of it. He needed to be the only one. Your only one. You could tell he was lost in his emotions, lost in his head. His hips were circling against yours, core against core; it was like he wasn’t aware, too animalistic, too wild, too driven by his desire. His whole body was thrumming with it, growls and grunts from deep inside him, making you shiver all over, press closer to him, feel him, let yourself be taken. He was licking along your jaw, painted your skin wet with just the tip of his tongue, before he latched onto your neck. You screwed your eyes shut, tried to keep your wits about – but holy ass, was it hard. “Geralt, please.” He was clothed still, separated from you by straining leather and linen, but you needed him naked, bare, inside you. “Geralt, take it off, take it all off.” Your voice was low, gentle, a little shaky. But he still heard, of course. He stilled above you, a couple deep, hot breaths against your throat, then he was gone. The sudden loss of body heat had you shivering, had your nipples harden even more. His golden eyes were sharp, intense, and didn’t leave your figure, not one second. He knelt between your legs, his hands on your knees at his sides, his eyes going from your face to your chest, to your stomach and lower. His view was obscured by your nightshift, and he snarled at it. He went to rip it off you, probably destroying it in the process, but you reacted in time and pulled it up, up, up, over your head and let it drop to the floor next to the bed. You were rewarded with a shaky intake of breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at your knees. “Come on, Geralt.”, you lured him, breathless yourself. “Please, don’t make me wait.” Finally, he reacted. You watched as his fingers opened the laces of his breeches, quick and deftly, and your brain immediately thought of other used for those skilled appendages. Piece after piece fell to the floor, bared him to you more and more. Your mouth watered, and you had to get your mouth on his body. Where your confidence came from? You didn’t know, maybe some weird sex demon possessed you. But maybe it was all in the way Geralt, this beast of a man, so kind, so gentle, looked at you. How he reacted to you, how he wanted you, and didn’t even think to hide it. Therefore, you didn’t either. You just did what you thought felt good. You sat up, curled your hand around his hip and pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his heart. His fingers curled in your hair, cupped the back of your head. He huffed, your name on his lips like a prayer, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him. You let your hands explore, feel his skin under your hands, the warmth radiating off him, the tenseness of his muscles, the coarse hair sprinkled all over his chest and trailing down. It was like a path to paradise, like a promise of what’s to come. “Oh, fuck.” You grinned, your lips still pressing kisses to his skin, little scrapes of your teeth for variety. You let your fingertips drift along the waistline of his breeches, ever so softly, touch barely there. He was still kneeling, your legs now around his thighs. It brought his crotch to a comfortable height. In a sudden onset of boldness, you curled your fingers into the waistband and tugged. His cock, hard, heavy, hot, was definitely happier once you’d gotten rid of its prison. Your nails scraped along Geralt’s thighs, lured a deep, rough groan from him. He was focused on your face, the fire in his eyes spurring you on. The gold of his irises was nothing more than a thin line, the rest was swallowed by the deep black of his pupils. It sent shivers down your back. You pressed a kiss just underneath his bellybutton, then one to the jut of his hipbone. “Shit.” He was… proportional. His dick twitched every time you moved; Geralt barely holding back now. It made you feel invincible. To have him wrapped around your finger, to be able to do this to him? It was a rush of power and trust you didn’t expect. And it made you want to protect him, so that no one else ever would get the chance to abuse that sense of intimacy. His hands wrapped around your wrists, brought them together to hold them with one of his, while the other came to tilt up your chin. “Princess, that’s enough.” He’d explode if your mouth got any closer to his dick than it already was. And you looked so curious and bold tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if you actually tried. Instead, he raised your crossed wrists over your head and back, effectively bringing you down on you back once more. He wasn’t far behind, needed to feel your chest pressed against his. “You’re beautiful. Precious.” You were slick already, but with his voice on your ear, his breath against your skin, his cock rubbing against you – you could scarcely breathe. The leather of his pants dug into his thighs, restricted his movement, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to eat you up, eat you out, breathe you in until your scent and taste were burned into his brain, soaked into his skin. He wanted to bathe in your very essence until he would be able to remember all of you to his dying day. “Hold onto something.”, he commanded. You couldn’t not, your hips raised into his on their own accord, made you gasp. He smirked at that. “You will have to be very good for me. Very quiet.” Geralt kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. His hands next to you caused the mattress to dip, made you feel caged in, but content. In any way, he was teasing, and you hated him a little bit. One hand stroked down your side, your stomach, before coming to rest with its thumb on your clit. The touch was soft and short, but you were so worked up, it sent shocks through you anyway. You jolted, gasped, and then his hand was on your mouth, silencing you. “Princess, as much as I want to make everyone listen to you scream my name, it wouldn’t do you any good. Your mother will be in here before I can even get my mouth on you, and neither of us wants that.” His thumb has taken to circling your clit, flicking left to right from time to time. It had you keening, but you tried to keep quiet. He released you and crawled lower instead, his mouth now latching onto your right nipple. “Ah, don’t-“ His tongue came out, a broad lick across the sensitive bud, and the ending of what you were going to say came out in a breathless sigh. “-stop.” He chuckled, shifted his hand and dipped low, his index finger now teasing your entrance. He pushed inside, just his fingertip, then he stopped. His while body tensed up, his cock jumped, grew ever harder. You were so wet, so ready for him, he was close to completely loosing it. Your fingers were clutching at his shoulders, then slid up to his neck and head. The way you said his name, not yet a moan but close enough, had him thrust shallowly into the air. “Fuck, what did I ever do to deserve this.” You laughed at that, unbelieving as well. “You love me.” He hummed, pulled his hands from you and pushed himself even lower. He was hungry, and diner was served. His mouth on your cunt made you sit up, a loud curse on your lips. What in the world? “Lay back princess.” He wasn’t going to stop. He’d not stop until you’ve come on his tongue, until you were dripping. Your heart was beating so hard, it was deafening; you were sure it was going to explode any second. And then Geralt did something with his tongue that had you seeing stars; suddenly you had to concentrate really hard on being quiet. The room was filled with the sounds of your wetness, of Geralt’s growls and happy hums, your moans, your stifled curses when you were aware enough to clap a hand over your mouth. It was dirty, heady, delightfully so. Your hips jolted when he pushed a finger in, carefully, and you gasped so loudly, he was concerned for a moment. “Are you okay?” Your right hand came up to pinch your nipple, your left buried itself in Geralts hair and held on. “YES.” He didn’t hesitate long and dove right back in with new energy, more tongue and with more pressure. He licked you, he ate you like a man starving. His finger dragged out, then pushed back in, producing such a delicious teasing friction, you had to wriggle your hips. He didn’t like that. His free arm came to wrap around you, hold your hip down and still.   You didn’t realize your small movements weren’t the actual reason, not before pulled out, spread your cunt with middle and index finger and licked up your slit in one broad swipe. “Oh fuck, Geralt, ple-“ He hummed, the vibrations shooting through you like little shooting stars. You started to lose feeling in your toes, and still they were tingly; it spread up your legs, warmth pooled in your belly. You knew you’d not be able to hold on much longer, but Geralt didn’t want you to. “You taste amazing, my princess. I want to never taste anything else again. Never. “ He started fucking you with his tongue, swirled it around, pushed in, pulled out, licked up and down and made you writhe and see stars. You grew hotter and hotter, muscles coiled tight and ready to let go, when Geralt hummed once again, then let off just enough to talk. “I will make this my dinner every night from now on. You’ll learn what it means to be satisfied, my beloved.” He leaned up onto his elbow, looked down at your drenched, wrecked cunt. “You’ll crave me.” One finger slipped into you. “You will beg for me to come visit you at night.” Back out. “I won’t be able to sleep before I had a taste of you, Princess.” Back in. His leisurely pace had you keening and fisting the fabric under you. “Never will I be satisfied with anything less than the taste of your arousal on my lips.” He smiled at you, softly, adoring. “Never again do I want to miss your presence, my Princess.” Geralt gathered up your juices, pushed them back in and then he was right back where he loved to be. Head buried between your legs, lapping up your wetness and not wasting a single drop. Barely half a minute later, you were going tense, your legs closing around Geralt’s head, trapping him there, and then you came. You bit the palm of your hand as not to scream his name, but you surely did thrash in place, your body shaking from head to toe. Never had you had such an intense orgasm, and you’d never thought it would even be possible to feel like this. Your blood was rushing in your ears, your lungs refused to work, and you were sure Geralt was talking to you. Were you passing out? No, you didn’t think you were. A giggle spilled over your lips then, and suddenly you couldn’t stop it anymore. Geralt had finally gotten rid of his pants and now he was crawling back over you and brushed your hair from your face. “You alright?” You nodded, still giggling.   “Good.” He cupped your face with one hand, kissed you and then nuzzled underneath your jaw, like a small puppy. Which, he wasn’t. Not at all. You still felt very sensitive and twitchy, so you were grateful that he wasn’t touching you anywhere below your hip. In a sexual way, at least. Instead he was stretched out at your side, his leg thrown over yours, and his arms pulling you close. You calmed down after a while, Geralts steady breath at your side reassuring. The two of you laid like that for a while, just breathing, Geralt’s hands wandering in soothing patterns, his nose pressed into your skin. You took way long to realize he was still hard, poking into your hip. Before, you would have been mightily embarrassed, maybe would even cover your eyes and roll away. But, he’d just had his head between your legs, had eaten you out like it was his first meal in a while. He had shown you more than once actually, how much he loved and desired you, and how nothing whatsoever could change it. Instead, you rolled over, wrapped your arms around him. “Do you need help with that?” Geralt laughed, pressed a kiss to your temple. “Do you offer?” With the cheekiest smile you could procure, you pinched his ass. “I might.” Sadly, he didn’t really react, but you guessed his Witcher abilities might have influenced his pain perception. You stretched, your bones groaning and aching, before snapping back to where they belonged. He straddled your thighs, his hands spread and covering most of your ribcage; he was ginormous. A mountain. Nonetheless, you’ve never felt safer and more content than right now. You smiled up at him, wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss his lips, then nip at his jaw. “How do you want me then?” Geralt licked his lips, made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “I want you naked, wet, and all the time.” You let your arms fall back into the cushions, knew the stretch would make your breasts rise and taunt him. “What are you waiting for?” He loved how relaxed and open you were, how you teased him, how you didn’t shy away from him or his nakedness. He loved you, body and soul. “I love you too, Geralt.” You’d seen it in his face, Over time, you’d become quite adept in reading the witcher and his moods, and this face was definitely not one he should show in public. He nuzzled your cheek, bit teasingly at your nose and kissed your lips, just to mumble: “So much, my beloved.” And then he got off you, made you spread your legs once more and sank down between them. You wrapped them around his waist, dug your heels into his butt when he teased you with the head of his cock and accidentally scratched his bicep when he positioned himself. “Shh, it’s okay, we don’t have to.” “No, I want to.” You looked up at him, how his hair fell down around his face, like a curtain shielding you from reality; he was divine. He was an actual angel and you should thank your parents for calling him. He followed the lines of your face with his fingertips, tapped the tip of your nose. “You should try to relax then, Princess.” You tried, you really did. But he was huge. How was he supposed to fit in you without accidentally hurting you? He’d never forgive himself if he did. He knew, of course he did.  Stupid enhanced senses. Geralt cupped your jaw, lips pressed against yours and then the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your chin. You had to giggle at his antics, not used to such playfulness; it was nice. He breached you, and you gasped, sucked in as much air as possible and tensed up. “No, no, breathe. You have to breathe.” You willed your muscles to unclench, your lungs to expand and closed your eyes. “That’s it, yes.” You continued to just breathe, your nails digging into his skin where you were clutching his arms, but he didn’t even acknowledge it. He was busy scanning your face for major discomfort and any sign to stop, while he slowly pushed it.   But there wasn’t. You soldiered on, and once he was buried inside, you took a deep breath, released it and opened your eyes. Geralt started to pepper your face with kisses once more, praising you, showering you in compliments. Your heart swelled, then burst and you melted into a puddle of goo. Which, ultimately, was Geralt’s goal. “This okay?”, he asked, as he started moving. It was agonizingly slow, but he couldn’t risk hurting you. A nod, then you pressed your head back into the pillows and focused on the sensations. The ladies in court had one way of talking about this kind of experience, and it was usually a very negative one. You should have known that it wouldn’t be like that at all, not with your witcher. He’d rather cut off his own arm, than hurt you. “You’re doing so good, so good, princess. “ You hummed, smiled. The stretch started to dissipate, made place for pleasure and heat. It wasn’t long, and you had to urge him on, roll your hips, meet his thrusts. It wasn’t perfect, your inexperience made it sloppy and he just tried to roll with it, but – fuck. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The familiar heat built in your belly, your toes tingled, and you keened when Geralt suddenly hit a spot that made your whole body jolt.   He just chuckled darkly, wrapped his hands around your hips to keep you in place and started assaulting that same spot. Only seconds, and then you saw stars, felt sensations you were a stranger to, and then you exploded. A hand came to keep your mouth shut, Geralt still thrusting inside you, faster and faster, his forehead pressed against your temple. His left hand kept your knee up and in place, so he could thrive in at a better angle. You couldn’t anymore, you couldn’t. You were shaking, your whole body out of control. There were tears racing each other into your hairline, and then warmth. Warmth pooling inside you, where you weren’t sure it was supposed to be. And then you realized. Geralt just came. Inside you. You were a bit sad you had missed it, but you concluded there’d be more occasions where you’d be less distracted by your own orgasm. When you came down, your felt light, boneless; deeply satisfied. Geralt had sat back onto his haunches and gathered your legs, your feet planted onto his thighs. His hands were wrapped around your ankles and his chin was placed on your knees. “You’re well?” You glanced down at him, sleepy and exhausted and nodded. “Just a lot to process.” Then you raised your arms, gestured him to come hug you. He seemed relieved, kissed the inside of your right knee and let your legs drop to the side, then came to gather you into his arms. You let yourself be manhandled and positioned, you didn’t have the mind to protest. You came to rest with your head on his chest, his arm around you and his nose pressed into your hair. He wiped away the tears and hugged you even closer. “You came in me.”, you mumbled, barely awake anymore. Geralt hummed, played with your hair. “Witchers can’t procreate.” “Oh, okay.” The low tone of his voice was the last thing you were consciously aware of, before you drifted off into sleep.

#the witcher #smut #geralt x reader #b&d #Beautiul & damned #a dreamwritesimagines production #first times #loss of virginity #soft geralt

[rhabakoli]

Don’t Go

It’s my obligation, as ‘the smutty friend’ to take care of any smut scenes coming up in any of @dreamwritesimagines stories. so, here we go. 

Tagged: @cloudberrysims @habitchi @this-is-whump-dammit

**

She was scratching Roach’s neck, trying to keep her face neutral. In truth, her heart was in pain. Geralt was going back into the forest. He barely came out alive last time, after some gruesome monster surprised him and almost impaled him. Not that Geralt would ever have told her about it, no. She had to hear from Ciri, who heard it from the Bard. Jaskier was – ironically – the only one not lying about his missions. 

She didn’t notice Roach’s ears turning, her head raising as she nickered at her rider. “I thought I’d find you here.” His warm voice startled her, sent her tripping over her own feet as she turned around. Geralt caught her around the waist, pulled her flush against his body. “Don’t hurt yourself.” The princess looked up at him, into his golden eyes, and had to remind herself to breathe. Especially when his free hand came up and smoothed along her cheek. At first she tried to back away, but his hold on her didn’t budge – and he was wearing gloves. As always, around her. I don’t want to waste just one second pulling gloves on, when I could be having my hands on you instead. She blushed at the memory, still speechless; and frankly, her priority right now was to burn his face into her mind, so she could draw him over and over again. At the end of this mission, he’d be gone. Or, if he was gone, the mission would end. Either way, odds were high she’d never see him again. Geralt observed her face, tiny smirk on his lips. “I really would like to kiss you right now.” Which – oh god. Good that he was holding her, because her knees were giving out. He came closer, his hand going from her cheek to the back of her head. “I wont. But I really want to.” His voice dropped another octave, she could feel the vibrations in her chest. Her throat was dry, her lungs struggled to get air. “I wish I could touch you the way I wanted. Make you feel good.” His hand smoothed down to the small of her back, barely stopped before he was cupping her bum. “Maybe when I’m back.” Now, that brought her back into reality. She found her strength, placed her hands on his chest, ignored the little voice in her head that told her to never take her hands away, and shoved at him. “You asshole.” He tilted his head in surprise, blinking owlishly. “What?” “You fucking asshole.” It wasn’t appropriate behaviour, not for a princess and not even for a lady, but she didn’t care. She was so furious. “How dare you talk to me like that, make those loose promises, when you know very well you could die!”, she hissed at him. His crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes turning to slits. He knew, he wouldn’t get a word in, not when she was this angry. “How dare you play with my heart this way! I feel like this whole situation is tearing me apart, and you’re not helping, Geralt!” He used the break in her rant to advance upon her, clap one hand over her mouth, the other pressed to the small of her back to pull her against him once more. He’d never get tired of feeling her body under his fingers. He’d had dreams about this. He kissed the back of his hand. “Let’s not discuss this here, shall we?” And so he pulled her along, out of the stables and to her room, where there was at least the illusion of privacy. There, he let her go, waved a hand through the air in a ‘go on’ motion and waited.   She was staring at him, pouty and annoyed. His not-kiss had surprised her and made her wish for this wretched curse to be gone already. She’d almost forgotten what she was so angry about. Oh, right. “You are mean.” Yes, well done, very eloquent, very witty. Seeing him in her room had her eyes fill with tears, and she couldn’t stop them. “I hate that you have to go, and then you come here, and say all those things! And I know this couldn’t ever be real, this couldn’t ever happen, because the moment the curse is lifted, my mother will be throwing suitors at me like I was a field to be sown!” Geralt had to hold back a sneer at her words. No one would have her. No one. As long as it made her happy, he’d be the only one touching her. “Don’t go.” “What?” She was pleading him, to stay, not to fight. “You could hide out here for the day, and then say you killed her but she refused to lift the curse – please don’t leave, I couldn’t bear if something happened to you.” Geralt’s eyes softened at her words. His precious princess. “I can’t. If there is any chance to lift this curse, I have to try it.” He stepped closer, hands reaching out once again. She willingly went to him, stepped into his embrace. Instantly, she felt safe, protected, like nothing ever had to worry her again. She looked up at him, wanted to cup his face and kiss him, but instead she placed her hands on his chest and rested her head against them. Warmth radiated from him, his voice was low, deep as he continued. “I’ll come back. I’m not willing to let anyone else have you.” “How selfish.” “Can you blame me?” He looked down at her, pupils dilating as she bit her lip. “Can you really blame me, when you look like that?”   His fingers traced the laces of her dress, teasingly pulling here and there, not actually doing anything, because, well, obvious reasons. The little tugs grated on her nerves though – but in a good way. Tension was building, she could feel the heat pool in her belly at the thought of feeling his hands on her. His big, strong hands, with those long and deft fingers. Surely, he’d know how to use them. She blushed at her own thoughts, and turned her head away. Geralt noticed. Of course. A hand came up, one finger guiding her chin, so she’d look back up at him. “Tell me, princess.” His other hand still played with the laces, made it hard to think.   “Can I see how far that blush goes?” His voice, his words sent shivers down her spine; she gave a curt nod. The pressure around her ribcage lessened as the laces gree loose. “Are you sure.” Hungry eyes were drinking her in; never had she felt so safe and wanted under such an intense gaze. “Yes.” A growl left Geralts chest, his fingers now working faster to peel the heavy dress off her. “You are divine, princess.” How he could say her title with such fondness, such reverence, almost like a prayer – she’d never know. But she did know, she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. “Geralt, please.” The dress was off in less time than they needed in the mornings to get it on; much less time. This left her now in her shift, thin linen which hid nothing. His hands flexed on her hips, a groan and a curse filled the air. And suddenly, she was off the floor. He’d grabbed the back of her thigh, the other supporting her back, and lifted her up, turned and pressed her back to the wall, his hips pressed against hers. She could feel him hot and hard against her pelvic bone. He looked down at where they were joined, and rolled his hips once, twice; it was delicious. She’d helped her needs before, she was not completely innocent, but this. Never had she had a man, never did she think it could be like this! And Geralt was still fully clothed, still wearing gloves.  God, there was still a dagger strapped to his thigh. He was ranting, telling her what he wanted to do to her, how he wanted to make her feel good, and that he wouldn’t let her leave bed for days, if he could have his way. it did nothing to calm her racing heart, to stop the heat from pooling in her belly, to keep her heartbeat from wandering down to her clit. Nothing. And he knew it. Her legs were around his waist, his hands wandering, never staying still. One pinched a nipple, the other palmed her ass, then wandered down to her knee and up to wrap around her waist and keep her exactly where he wanted her. “Say, princess.” His hip bumped against hers, the bulge in his breeches meeting her centre right on, making her let out a small moan. “Did you ever think of me? At night? In a dream?” She couldn’t answer, the constant friction, his consuming presence, his words in her ears; it was too much for her. She just nodded, then bit her lip when he rubbed against her with more force. “Did you touch yourself?” Another nod. It made no sense to lie to him, to deny him anything, not when he made her feel this good. He froze. “Princess. Darling.” His hand came up, thumb over her lips. “Don’t move.” And he pressed his lips to his thumb, just for a second, before pulling back and fixing her with those unique eyes of his. “One day, I’ll kiss you. I’ll properly kiss you.” His thumb swiped over her lower lip. “Here.” Then his hand left her face, fingertips traced a path down her neck, her chest, her belly, until he reached where he wished he was buried already. “And here.” His thumb pressed down on her clit, circled it, flicked it. His gloves felt strange, combined with the linen, but oh so good. Her hips bucked, completely out of her control, and Geralt just mirrored her. They fell into a rhythm, spurring each other on, driving them towards the edge faster and faster until they stood right there. Geralt ducked, one hand underneath her, to hold her, one at her clit, still working her; ducked down, his lips ghosting over her clothed shoulder, whispered sweet nothings against her skin and just when he felt her coming, he bit her shoulder, left his mark. No one would see it anyways. She was tense in his arms, her orgasm wracked through her, her breathing stopped for a moment, until she gasped and panted. He was still hard, still going, but he didn’t wanted her to grow oversensitive. His lady, his princess, this wonderful human being, reached down, cupped his dick and applied pressure, gave him something to rut against. “Geralt, please. Please, come.”  HIs fingers digged into her skin, most likely leaving bruises, with how hard he was pressing. But she didn’t mind. It was something to remember him by. “Geralt, come on. I’m yours.”  “Shit.”  His hips stilled, his dick twitched under her hand. Geralt groaned, closed his eyes at that. He shot his load into his pants, like a boy. This woman will be the death of him. Their pants filled the air, mindless giggles filtering in, when she came back to herself. “This is not what I expected.” Geralt turned his head from where his forehead was pressed against her shoulder and glanced up at her. “What can I say? You’re beautifully terrifying when you’re furious.”

#the witcher #Beautfiful and Damned #b&d #a dreamwritesimagines production #geralt x oc #i guess??? #no names mentioned #also def not my best work #but here you go #smut #have fun

[rhabakoli]

Hold my Heart

This is a very late addition to @dreamwritesimagines​ Writer’s Block Challenge. I’m amazed that I managed to get anything out at all, so suck it. 

11. Just give me the name and I will give you the directions to their grave 

The Garrison was bursting at the seams, smoke blurring the air, the smell of it mixing with the stench of tabaco and alcohol. The blend penetrated the pub's every pore, not one poor, damned soul in the building was spared. The employees had given up hope to ever be clear of it, for it clung to their hair and skin and every fibre of their clothes. The barmaids, if they hadn't already, started smoking themselves; even shared with some customers, as it pulled even more money out of the poor fools pockets. Men were easy. A little smile here, a little slip of skin there, a cigarette dangling from sinfully red painted lips and they were goners. Elise found herself amidst the wild crowd. She only had come to pick up her brother Ben, but he was buried under a pretty blonde and tried to eat her face. Elise wasn't prude - by god, no, the amount of times she'd been caught fooling around with a guy in some dark alley... But she'd rather not see her baby brother loose his virginity in this dump of a bar. She had to grin at herself. "Better not let the Peakies hear." Arthur would probably throw a bottle at her, like he had done with the last person who'd misspoken. "Lass, aren't ye a bit lost?" 

She turned to see a tall, obviously drunk man lean against the bar where she stood. He needed it to keep upright, otherwise he'd keel over any moment now. "I am not, but thank you for your concern.", she answered, not sure if she should just scream for her brother or keep quiet. Drunk men were not her forte, she didn't like the smell, didn't like how they forgot how to behave, didn't like how it lowered their already exceptionally questionable inhibitions. He took a step closer, reached for her cheek to pinch it. "A sweet lookin' lass like ye shouldna be in such a dark place, eh?" "I'm fine, thank you." Elise took a step back, out of his reach. The man followed, but stumbled, fell. His hand caught her shoulder and pulled her down with him. Her shriek slashed through the thick air like a whip; caught everyone’s attention. Her brother's, most importantly. Ben looked up, and murder crossed his face as he laid eyes upon the situation at the bar. He peeled himself from the blonde and hastily came over. The drunk giggled and squeezed her cheeks with one hand. „Yeh soft in all the right places, lassie.“ Just a second later, he was gone. Ben had hauled him up by the back of his shirt and more or less threw him to the side. The look on his face softened as he helped his sister up. "You okay, El?" Her brother grabbed her by the arms, eyes flitting down her body. "Yeah, he just caught me off guard." "Ye have a nice scream, lassie. Ye always like that?" He didn't get to add another word, because Arthur came and hauled him up. "If ye can't be a gentleman around the ladies, I'll have ye kicked out, bastard." He shoved him over to some of his subordinates, kicked his arse and gestured them to bring him outside. "I'll have no sweetheart in here harmed, make him remember."  Elise shuddered at the thought of 'making him remember' That was Peaky-code for 'make him choke on his own tongue'. He'd barely remember his name tomorrow. She already opened her mouth to protest - it was really not necessary-, when her brother shushed her, and then turned towards Arthur.  "He better remembers not to get piss drunk around my sister."  The eldest Shelby grinned under his moustache and slapped the younger man‘s cheek in a brotherly gesture. "He will, if he knows what good for him, eh?"  Elise sighed. Sometimes even she forgot. Ben wasn't officially part of the Peakies, but he did know the Shelbys rather well. He'd been to war with them, stationed in that hellhole and barely survived. And even though her brother was sunshine and cheekiness personified, he surely had his dark days. The Shelby brothers were his go-to address then. The times she'd woken up to one of the Peakies pounding on her door, delivering her unconscious brother, or to a couple of men sleeping in her living room, surprising her in the morning when she went to make breakfast – she’d stopped counting. "Thanks, Mr. Shelby.", she said, her hands folded in front of her. She didn't always call him that, but in public she wanted to draw a line. His eyes went soft, but the twinkle didn't cease. "Love, I've slept on ye fuckin' floor, don' ye think it's a bit weird to call me Mister?"  "She's fucking proper, what ya think?" John appeared by their side, his arm thrown over Ben’s shoulder and his head turned to look at Elise over his head.  "Has manners, and all that fucking shit." He then looked down at Ben, smirk pulling at his lips. "I sometimes wonder if ye are actually related.“  He pulled the toothpick from his lips and gestured between the siblings with his hand. „There you got a fucking lady, and here you got a fucking rabid, horny dog." Elise had to laugh. John and Ben were so alike, always teasing and cheeky. They'd gotten on like a roof on fire from the very beginning. If they'd met earlier, before the war, they'd have annihilated the whole neighbourhood.  "I'm going home, Ben.", Elise said. "Will you come?"  He didn't get to answer, Arthur was faster. "I'll take ye home, sweetheart. Let the youngin' live a bit."  "Don't talk like yer fuckin 50.", John laughed, whirled Ben around so he could get to Elise and give her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Good night, sister I wished was mine." Yeah, well. There goes the line. John really didn’t just step over it, he pulled out a machine gun, targeted her carefully crafted wall and then shot it down while laughing like a maniac. Their banter was helping her relax though, therefore it was easier not to be mad at him.  „Oi, dickhead! You got a sister! Leave mine alone, or I’ll piss on your grave!“   „Ye’ll do that no matter what, I know ye.“

**

It’s been a couple quiet days. As quiet as Small heath could ever be, at least. There haven’t been any fights, no drunk escapades that escalated into mass brawls, no gang business handled on open street. It was like the calm before a storm, it was treacherous. It made Elise itchy. She stood in her kitchen, hands dusted up to her elbows with flour. Their parents birthday came up, and as always she’d serve her father’s favourite pie and pour her mother’s favourite wine. It was hard to get, but she had her ways. 

A knock at the kitchen door interrupted her work, forced her out of her headspace. With a deep sigh, she called out to whoever it was. “Come in!” It squeaked horribly, like a slaughtered pig, as it opened. The sound of dress shoes on her kitchen tiles caught her attention. Ben’s army boots made a softer noise, duller. She glanced at her guest and had to swallow a snort. “You really shouldn’t just let anyone in, Elise.” Tommy fucking Shelby. Right in her kitchen. There was the storm she had been waiting for. “I wasn’t aware you Shelbys were ‘just anyone’?” The corner of his mouth lifted at that. Just a tiny bit. “I stand corrected. You shouldn’t let anyone in, but us Shelbys and your brother.” Elise finally looked up, took him in properly. He carried a big bouquet of flowers, white roses and greenery and whatnot. “Who are those for?” “You.” Elise froze, just a second, before she tilted her head and repeated it back at him in the most bewildered tone. “Your mother, to be precise.” He looked down at the flowers, pulled out one or two wilting leaves before he sat the flowers down on the table. “I heard she liked them.” Who and when, Elise wondered. And then she remembered who she was talking to. He probably knew the size of her bustier.   She held her hands up in apology. “I'd put them in a vase, but I'm in a bit of a bound.”  “It's fine, just tell me where you keep them.” Alright. This was a weird day.  “Cupboard to your right.”  She watched Tommy roam through her cupboard. It felt surreal. Maybe she was just dreaming.  He wore his signature cap. The razors sewn into the edge of it were reflecting the light of the sun falling into her kitchen.  How often did they cut themselves with those things? Surely there'd been a finger or two lost.  While she was staring at his cap, wondering about potential accidents, Tommy had found a vase suitable for his needs and put the flowers in. “There. May they keep long enough to delight your mum.”  When he got no reaction, he looked up at Elise.  She was staring at him, through him, more accurately. Her eyes were blank, focused on something else entirely. It gave him a moment to take her in. Elise was a proper beau. She had the same soft, light hair as her brother, long lashes that made her eyes seem bigger- and those freckles. They were all over her face, her neck, and he bet they reached much farther than that.  Tommy scowled at himself. He had to keep her safe, not rope her into his dirty, dark world, much too dangerous for such a precious ray of light as Elise. Ben survived it, could cope with it, but Tommy wasn’t willing to risk infecting her. „Elise?“ His voice ripped her out of her daydream and she immediately focused on the man in her kitchen. Her eyes were piercing, and Tommy had trouble breathing for a second. He almost felt naked, as if she was looking right into his soul, stripped layer after layer off him and read all his little sick secrets. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he had to fight the urge to take a step back.  „Sorry, I-„ she stopped, then smiled bashfully. “I was just wondering how many times you guys cut yourself by accident.“  She was pointing at his hat, smile slipping when he simply kept looking at her, not reacting. But he did have to supress a grin at her comment. Finn almost cut off a finger just a couple weeks before, the little munchkin.  Elise raised her hands when he didn’t answer. „Never mind, forget it, it’s fine.“  She turned around, back to her dough, and dug her hands into it.  No, he couldn’t just leave it at that. He didn’t want to have her feel upset or embarrassed. He took off his cap, shrugged off his coat and jacket. He hung them over the back of one of the stools at the kitchen table and started folding his sleeves.  Elise didn’t notice any of that, she was too focused on scolding herself for asking such stupid, invading questions. She was mumbling to herself. Adorable. She was so. adorable.  Tommy walked over to her, leaned his hip against the counter, not caring about the flour ending up on the fabric of his pants. „Here.“  Elise startled at the sudden proximity. Her kneading stopped, her eyes were big with surprise, as she looked from his face to his outstretched hands.  He presented the palms of his hands, blue eyes fixed to her face. She didn’t understand at first, but then he started talking again.  „I was seven.“ He rubbed the thumb of his right hand along a scar spanning from his pointer finger to his ring finger. „Dad had left his cap on a chair in the living room. Arthur almost pissed his pants when he saw all the blood.“  Elise’s eyes trailed over his hands, taking in every single scar and crease, every little dip and dry spot on his skin. The mental picture of little Tommy scaring his brother with a bleeding hand made her chuckle.  He turned the very same hand, now showing her a small nick right on his wrist bone. „Freak accident was trying to keep Arthur from bashing some poor fellows face in.“  He wanted to turn his hand over again, when Elise reached out, completely ignoring her sticky, flour dusted hands. Her fingertips smoothed over his roughed-up knuckles and the long, thin scar across the back of his hand.  „What happened here?“  Her voice was soft, like a lovers caress.  „Brawl back in the war.“ She hummed at him, understanding. Her gaze was soft, but inquiring, and Tommy found himself relaxing under her actions. She knew about the occasional mild brutality in his life, no need to lie to her about it.  She switched to his other hand, inspecting it. She asked about his other, various nicks and scars, and he all too willingly answered. He sometimes omitted some of the more gory details, but he rather enjoyed the softness of her hands on his. This is all he’d allow himself, this is enough. It had to be.  Elise laughed at a story about pre-puberty John climbing a fence to get on a horse that was labelled dangerous. It had ended in John taking a dive into the mud and Tommy acting a shield between a very angry horse and his brother. He had fallen into the fence and presented the perfect target for a nail.  „You were a bunch of mischievous little shits, weren’t you.“ It wasn’t a question, not really.  „I feel like we probably still are.“  It made her snort, which resulted in her going red and raise the back to her hand to hide her giggles.  Tommy couldn’t stop watching her. He felt light with her, younger. He could forget his problems, murder and violence looming just out of his sight. Almost.  Elise suddenly remembered the state of her hands, and quickly let go of his. It was too late already, but he didn’t mind. His hands, usually dipped in blood, could use a new reason to be sticky.  „Oh, I’m so sorry.“ She looked up at him, and froze. Tommy was barely a hand width away, his face close enough to count his freckles. They had migrated toward each other, invaded each other’s personal bubble, and neither ever noticed.  A pleasant tingle spread down Tommy’s back. His hand snaked around her left wrist, needed to pull her closer, needed to – The screeching backdoor caused them to jump apart.  Elise’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest, her face took a colour similar to fresh, ripe tomatoes. Tommy was more subtle. He straightened, clenched his jaw and raised his eyes to the opening door.  „Love, is the pie done? I have a craving!“ Arthur stepped in, followed by Ben and John, and suddenly her kitchen was crawling with Peaky Blinders. Ben squinted at the pair in the kitchen, before he was almost barrelled over by his friend, who attempted to greet Elise like an overly excited puppy.  At the sight of his brother however, John stopped. He looked from his bare arms to the jacket on the chair, and back to Tommy, and then to the mass of dough still on the counter.  „Were you fucking baking?“   His voice was squeaky, his face a mask of surprise and wonder. Elise had to bite her lip to not laugh at him.  For the first time since she knew them, she saw Tommy not having an immediate answer. Instead, she jumped in. „He did, actually. I seem to have hurt my wrist, back when-” She gestured, knew they’d not need her to elaborate. Arthur simply grinned at her, her brother looked less than pleased to be reminded of that particular incident.  John nodded veeery slow, then he grinned. „Wait till Alfie hears about that.“

The rest of the day consisted of the brothers moaning about pie, drinking the wine she had to grease a few palms to get, and whining about having to go outside to smoke. „I will not have the smell of these in my house, I told you all before.“ „El, yer fucking bossy.“ „I’d call it opinionated.“ Laughter erupted, and Arthur raised his hands in defence and quickly got up, lest she threw something at him. Ben came to stand next to where she was leaning against the kitchen counter, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. „They would have loved this.“ „Gangsters in our kitchen?“ „We’d never have told mum that, she’d have chased them away with a frying pan.“ Elise slung an arm around his waist and snuggled into her brother. „You’re right. Dad would have been right in there, giving them all sorts of stupid ideas.“ Tommy watched the two of them. The siblings were so alike, and so different at the same time. But both were cheerful and witty, which they definitely got from their parents. They must have been terrific people, to raise such amazing humans. Elise‘s laugh made his skin tingle, his fingers twitch. She was happiness and sunshine and smiles, she was pure, unblemished.

He feared the day this would change.

**

The weather was grey, the streets wet, the wind relentless. It felt like a message, telling of doom, announcing the end of the world. Tommy was itchy, anxious. He had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how often he checked up on their operations, their plans, his family. Something was not right, and he wouldn’t know before it happened.

When Polly stormed through his door, worry edged into her face, it felt like someone ripped out his spine with an ice-cold grip. He was up in an instant, followed his aunt through the door, thundered down the stairs and had only a second to wonder about the open front door, before his ears caught the angry voices and the much quieter, softer pleas. Elise. The moment he saw her, curled up in an armchair, his fear gave away to fury. He couldn’t- „Tommy-„ And that was about all she could get out, before he was upon her, hands on her face, eyes cataloguing every little cut, angry red skin, every piece of her, that wasn’t as it was supposed to be, as he last had left her. She was crying, cheeks were wet, both from blood and tears. He knew his brothers were around, Ben too, but Elise was all he could focus on. Her lip was cut, her left cheekbone swollen to the point of bursting. Half of her face seemed to be swollen, hot to the touch, already shimmering in three different colours. Blood was crusted in her hair, which was matted to her head. Her hands were cut up, as were her knees. „What happened?“ Elise clawed at his shirt, clutched at it with all her might and didn’t seem willing to let go. „They,-“ She wheezed, fought to get air into her lungs, but she couldn’t. It was like something blocked her airway. Her eyes swam in a sea of tears, and the state of her agitated him to the point of mindless screaming. But he wouldn’t. Now was not the time. Tommy barked at Polly to get water, at his brothers to shut the fuck up. „Elise, breathe. You’re safe.“ Ben was by her side, stroked her hair out of her face. He shared her hurt, evident in the pain on his face as he looked at the wounds. He shushed her, pressed a kiss to the side of her head that was not mottled by violence.   „It’s okay, El, it’s okay.“ Arthur was pacing behind them, John was leaning against the window sill, almost biting through his toothpick. Polly came back with a glass, gave it to Tommy, who raised it to Elise’s lips and silently urged her to drink. The cool wet felt like a blessing to her parched mouth, but it hurt to swallow. They’d gotten her good. Tommy and her brother were still hovering, keeping contact, telling her she was safe in words as well as actions. She tried to breathe, and it was easier. Her hands were still clenched in Tommy’s dress shirt, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go. He noticed her staring and covered her hands with one of his. He didn’t say anything, but the warm pressure on her shaking hands helped. She pulled air into her lungs, braced for the words. “I was on my way home.” The buttons of Tommy’s shirt were black, matte. Some had little scratches, some were alright. One was going to come loose soon, judging by the way the yarn was sticking out. “Some men grabbed me, pulled me into a car.” Hands on her, grabbing, pinching, leaving bruises where they touched. “They told me to bring you a message, Tommy.” Throat closed up once more, swallowing hurt. “But they never gave me one.” The chest under her hands heaved, strained. Tommy was trying to keep calm around her, not to scare her. He exchanged a look with Ben. Behind him, Arthur and John cursed, something clattered. Polly looked heavenward, probably working on an excuse for dead bodies found in their vicinity. They knew exactly what the message was. Tommy was fighting the anger inside him. His heart quickened, his face looked like he was short of having a stroke. Until he regained control. Elise hadn’t seen him this way, not ever. The transition was terrifying. He went from tortured by her pain to cold and calculating. He used the white rage in his chest to focus. Ben looked from Tommy to Arthur, disbelieving. “My sister got beaten up, because of you?” He was brooding, like a volcano. One wrong word and he’d explode into their faces, probably break some noses. He focused on Tommy, eyes sharp and harsh. “Why would they use my sister, Tommy?” He stood, Thomas followed. Elise curled into herself, before Polly came to sit on the armrest of the chair, hugging the woman to her side. “Why would they be sure that the message would reach you?” Ben’s whole posture was as cold and close to feral as the Shelby’s was. “Huh? Fucking why, Thomas?” Arthur was just about to intercept – imagine that – when Thomas gave a wry laugh. “From the fucking way you’re asking me, I’m guessing you already fucking know.” “Apparently you haven’t been overly subtle about it, haven’t you?” Elise’s brother was spitting the words into the elder’s face, clearly challenging him. “I thought I was.” Elise couldn’t decide who to look at. Her brother, who so boldly accused Tommy of something she couldn’t fully wrap her mind around, or Thomas, who was barely holding it together and looked like he wanted to run his fist through a wall. Or a skull, maybe. “Uhm, what-“ Ben raised his voice even more, completely ignoring anyone else in the room. “Shit, look what happened!” He gestured at his sister. “She looks awful, she’s hurt, and --“ He poked Tommy’s chest with every word. “It’s. your. fault.”

Elise wanted to protest, but Tommy finally snapped. “I goddamn know it is. I fucking know that I should have stayed away, that I should have kept her save, but fuck me, Ben, it’s not that easy when she’s right fucking there all. the. fucking. time!” He gestured wildly, rage spilling over, emotions running high. “I fucking despise myself for bringing your sister into this situation, that she has to suffer just to convey a fucking message, for fucks sake!” He was breathing hard, his eyes were bluer than ever, nailed Ben to where he was standing. “But damn me, if I won’t do everything in my power to find them and make them pay. Just give me the name and I’ll give you the directions to their gave.” **

Which is precisely what happened. Elise could give them a name, from when they had a particularly stupid moment, and then they were off like madmen. She was still holed up at the Shelby residence, didn’t dare to go against Tommy’s order to not move even an inch. The armchair was too comfy to leave anyway. Polly was tending to her injuries, while she spent the time staring at the door. The water in the bowl to Polly’s feet went from clear to pink, then to a dusty red. A bath would help her feel better, cleaner, but she wasn’t so sure if her legs would carry her. Another reason for staying right where she was.   Ben and Tommy decided it was better to focus their rage elsewhere and not rip each other apart right there in the living room. But what had come to light before they managed to rein themselves in, was… interesting. Elise had been replaying it in her head, again and again, until she doubted whether it was words, or an alien language spoken. “Why did they decide to hurt me, Polly?” At first, she thought she hadn’t been heard. But when Polly let the rag fall into the bowl and sat straighter, she was smiling in a very unsettling way. “Because they figured out how to hurt Thomas. Their first and last taste of intelligence.” Elise played with the hem of her skirt; her forehead creased. It was hard to think in an orderly fashion. Her head felt foggy, like someone stuffed wool into it. Polly’s lips curled at the corners, then she helped the younger up. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

**

 The bed dipped, warm fingers stroked over her cheek, pushed hair back behind her ear. Elise was fast asleep in Tommy’s bed. And he didn’t mind one bit. It was a nice sight to come home to. She stirred under his fingertips, winced when she moved, and shot upright as she realized someone was sitting in her bed. It took her a moment to come to, and then she sagged into herself, suddenly exhausted and weary. “How are you?” She had laid back, and now gave him a stinky side eye for his rather dumb question. “What does it look like?” Her tone was snappy, almost back to her ‘opinionated’ self. “You look rather cosy to me. How’s my bed?” “Like a cloud.” She gathered the comforter closer, squinted at him. “And I was beaten up because of you, so you can have the sofa. I won’t give up the bed.” Tommy smiled at her. “You’re alright.” He moved to get up, when she curled her fingers around his wrist. “Thomas.” Uh oh. “Why me?” Maybe not so alright then. He sat back down, took a deep breath, or two. Her hand didn’t leave his arm, but he wound his fingers between hers to hold her hand instead. “You’re my weakness.” Her brow furrowed, and she sat up once again. “What?” “You hold my heart in your hands and I can’t have anyone know, because they will use you to destroy me, as they tried today.” He looked up, watched her watch him. “If anything happens to you, I will go mad. And your brother with me.” Elise didn’t understand. Until she did. “So, you… like me?” Very eloquent, Elise. Well done. Tommy huffed in amusement. “Yes, Elise. I like you.” He opened his mouth to say something, probably something stupid about him being at fault for today and Ben being right to almost jump at his throat and whatever else his bonkers brain would fabricate – But he never got to say any of that. Soft lips met his instead, a small hand grabbed the back of his neck to keep him there. Instinctively, his free hand came to lie on her hip, then wandered around until he had wrapped an arm around her waist and could pull her close, out of her comfy nest of feather-stuffed blankets. Elise tasted sweet, like everything he’d ever dreamt of, and he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. A clumsy nip of his teeth made her hiss and pull back, her fingers untangled from his and came up to press to her lower lip, which was now bleeding again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.” “It’s fine. I was aware of the risks.” His hand mirrored her move from earlier, fingers curling around her wrist. He pulled her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I will keep you save. I will end anyone who has a single thought of hurting you. I promise.” “First you have to survive my baby brother, Thomas.” He groaned, but it was good natured. “I’ll take him on, he’ll go easy on his beloved sister’s man.” “Oh, you’re my man now?” “Have been since the very beginning.” He grinned, bumped his nose against hers before dragging it across her uninjured cheekbone down to her jawline. “Since the day you picked up your brother from recovery and verbally obliterated him for running into that German bunker.” He pulled her even closer, felt her body against his, pressed his face against her neck and took a deep breath. He was home, she felt like home. “Good to know you like a verbal lashing. Maybe I’ll find it in me to scold you both for almost fighting each other.” Tommy hummed, left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck. “How about we go to sleep first? You’ll need your strength for that.” Elise simply nodded, pressed a sweet little kiss to his lips and slid off his lap, back into the bed. She arranged the pillows and blankets to her liking, while Tommy got up and shed his shirt and shoes. He just had unbuttoned his pants, when she said: “You don’t even have to sleep on the sofa.” The grin on his face was boyish, careless; it lit up his whole face and made him seem years younger. “Didn’t think so.”

#a dreamwritesimagines production #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #trigger: violence

[rhabakoli]

Veneration

smut, what else would it be, coming from me? 

@dreamwritesimagines​ story Untouchable, set between chapters 10 and 11. 

You were on the floor, in front of the fire, like the most cliché romantic scene ever. But you didn’t mind. Not when such a gorgeous man was giving you all his attention and didn’t even think to demand yours; who was willing to go at your pace.

“Darling, doll-“, He exhaled against your lips, hovering just out of reach. “You are the very personification of my dreams.” 

His voice was low, rough; you wanted to bathe in it. It furthered the flame in your belly, thawing the ice-cold spot inside you. His fingertips dug into your hip, as if he was trying to pull you closer and closer evermore, forced you to your knees. His fingertips danced down your body, to grip the back of your thighs and spread them, bring them forward. It brought you right into his lap, hovering above him. His eyes were observing your face, your every reaction, like a starving man in front of an oasis. Your fingers found his hairs, both hands ruffling it and then came to rest at his shoulders. “What did I do, to deserve you?” “Something terrible, I’m sure.” His sly smile brought out Goosebumps, and you loved it. His hands came up, ever so slow, and cupped your butt, squeezing each cheek and humming low in his throat. “No, I must have saved an angel, to be here with you.” Your stomach was somersaulting, almost came up your throat, together with your heart. “You’re a nerd.” He looked up, his eyes hooded and bit his lip. “I am. But I am your nerd.” Another really clichéd thing to say, but oh lord. You took a shaky breath, not used to this kind of emotional assault. Bucky didn’t expect you to say something, he just leaned forward, guided your hips forward and pressed his lips to your stomach. “Beautiful.” He left a trail of kisses, first down to the waistband of your panties, then up to the lace of your bra. Your hands were still holding onto his shoulders, and your nails kept catching his skin whenever he came close to where you really wanted him. His breath was hot on your skin, his stubble tickled and scratched where it rubbed against your skin. His hands wandered as well, down your legs, up again, fingers dipping under the fabric, teasing you. Your breath was already coming harsh, loud in your ears. You couldn’t remember the last time you were worked up this fast. Or, at all, to be honest. “Doll, you smell divine.” “It- it’s the bath oils.” He continued to press kisses against your skin, his fingers now worming their way between skin and lace, right where your bum met thigh. His fingertips found what he was looking for, and your knees gave out. Bucky caught you with an arm around your mid to hold you up, low chuckle vibrating through his torso. “Are you falling for me, darling?” You supressed a moan, as his fingers continued dipping and searching, delving deeper. “You’re so wet, darling. All that for me?” Your fingers became claws, nails breaking skin when he pushed in. He hissed at the sting spreading from his shoulders, bit the skin of your stomach and then rested his chin there, so he could look up at you. His eyes were sharp, you could feel his gaze upon you; how he took in every little change in your features, every gasp or moan, every. Little. Thing. He drank it up, consumed by your beauty, by the light that shone through you even though you refused to think so. He wanted to erase any doubts you had, wanted to show you how worthy you were, how you could have anything you ever wanted. But for now. He just wanted to make you scream his name. Make you forget every other man who ever had you, make you see him, only him. His face when you fell asleep, his name on your lips when you came, his skin under your fingers and his smell in your nose. He wanted to overwhelm your senses, as you did with his. He wasn’t aware that his thoughts were bubbling out, falling from his lips like pleas. You were shivering in his arms, his fingers still in you. Your juices were dripping down his hand, and you were. so. close. His name left your lips, breathy, moany, begging. For what exactly you didn’t know, but more. Moremoremore. he littered your torso with kisses, bites, licks; his fingers worked inside you, the sounds filling the room, mingled with your breathing, the moans and the filthy words still spilling from Bucky’s lips. “I’ll worship you like the goddess you are, doll. I’ll make sure to be the only man you ever want.” Your muscles fluttered, and he displayed such a filthy, smug smile at that. “Yes, that’s it, love. Come for me.” You did. It wasn’t as earth-shattering as you anticipated it would be, from the onslaught of emotions; it was softer, longer. Drawn out, made your whole body go limp and Bucky had to carry your weight once more. “That’s it, darling. Let go.” He pulled his fingers from you, licked them clean and wrapped his other arm around you as well. You’d sank down onto his lap, thighs bracketing his hips, head tucked against his neck. He held you for a moment, murmured sweet words at you, let his hands stroke up and down your body. He let you calm down for a couple minutes, let you breathe. Then, when you shifted in his lap to press a kiss to his skin, he stopped his strokes and gripped your sides. “Are you alright?” “Yes.” “Good.” And with an agility you hadn’t suspected he possessed – which was stupid, as he was a freaking soldier – he had you on your back, his hips settled between your legs. “Because you will need to keep up with me for a little while longer, if that is alright with you, darling.” Never had anyone asked that. Never. Your breath hitched, you bit your lip. “Nothing else I’d rather do.” “Good.”, he rasped, bent down to kiss you, deeply, passionately. You raked your nails down his body, applying just enough pressure to make him feel it, and managed to get your hand inside his pants. You could feel your clit throb at the sound he made, at the way he dropped his head to watch you. Watch you as you jerked him of, expertly twisted your hand on the upstroke, flicked your thumb over his head. “Fuck, doll. Darling, don’t-“ You tightened your grip, kissed wherever you could reach. You needed to hear him moan, you needed to get more reactions from him. You needed him to become as fucked out and desperate as you were right now. But he wouldn’t let you. His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopped you. “I’ll blow my load right there in a second, if you don’t stop.” He observed your beautifully flushed face, smirked. “And we don’t want the fun to be over so soon, no?” He took your hands, held them above your hand – loosely, you could pull them away any time – and pressed kisses to your neck, your shoulder, while his fingers found your slit again. “I want to make you aware of what you do to me, I want you to tell me what you want, so I can give it to you. Let me do that. “ He looked at you, when he said those last words. It sent shivers down your back, once more. “Make me forget everything.”

#Untouchable #a dreamwritesimagines production #smut #bucky x birdie

[rhabakoli]

Date ruined(?)

my other contribution to @dreamwritesimagines Writers Block Challenge, and late as well, of course.  I tried something new, but I think it’s fun.  Enjoy this little snippet of Skittles and Billy on a totally regular date.

**

“Jesus Christ, Skittles, come here.” “Stop pulling, this is cashmere!” “Bullets don’t care if it’s cashmere or wool, it will rip through it anyway. Move!” “No need to get all bossy, sir.” “I’m trying to save your ass, Skits.” “5 minutes ago you were talking about bruising my ass, so excuse me for being confused.” “Could you be more annoying right now?” “I could try. You got a little blood there.” “I know, some dude got me with his knife- don’t look at me like that, I stabbed him in the eye.” “Good.” “You planned this, didn’t you?” “Oh, of course, I thought a shoot out in some dive bar with some drug gang would be a fun date activity.” “Are you capable of saying anything that isn’t sarcastic?” “Billy, dumb questions demand dumb answers.” “Duck.” “Where? We have to save it!” “If you catch a bullet today, I’ll kill you. Fucking stay down.” “Honey, pressing my head down with force will not slide in the bedroom, let me tell you.” “Not the right moment.” “That’s not what you said yesterday-“ “Shit, c’mon, back doors clear.” “Not as clear as you might think.” “I mean there’s no one in here, I’m not saying it’s clean.” “No shit, my shoes will need a bath in chlorine.” “I’ll buy you new ones. Wait till I say, I’m going out first.” “Yessir.” “Skittles, come. Hurry.” “That’s what he said.” “I’ll actually nail you against this wall if you’re trying to be difficult on purpose. “ “That actually sounds like a nice date, can you? – Gee, don’t look at me like that, you know you’re a whole kink.” “I’m what now?” “Babe, anything you do is hot, and when you do it with competence, I’m ready for anything.” “How about we cut this short and go straight home?” “That might be the best thing you’ve said today.”

#a dreamwritesimagines production #Billy Russo #Billy x Skittles #Billy Russo x OC #not my oc tho #Once a year #OAY

[rhabakoli]

A Rocky Night

Y’all. This... 1.8k words. pure smut. I don’t even know. 

Inspired by this  ask.

@dreamwritesimagines @tofadavidson @seriouslynogood (your moodboard, damn)

“Hi, Billy.”

Her voice made him look up from where he sat on his bed, leaned against the wall and read a book. They had the luxury of actual walls this time, no idea how they managed to do it. But he relished in it, since the walls did keep some of the heat out and the chill of the night in. “Skittles?” He put the book away, sat straighter and looked her up and down, surprised and not exactly sure what he was supposed to think. She was wearing a flowy skirt, long enough to cover her knees and a thin tank top. How did she get here? “I’m here to gratulate you on winning the gene lottery, Billy.”

Oh. Sure. Made sense.

He reached out to her, and she willingly took his hand, gathering the long fabric of her skirt and scooting across the bed, before she made herself comfortable next to him.   She asked him about his last couple weeks, what happened since he’d last seen her. He was currently telling her about the picture one of his mates got from his girlfriend, and how he was basically floating the next couple days after it, when his longtime best friend moved again, straddled his lap and laid her hands on his shoulders. “Must have been a naughty picture then, huh?” He felt her weight on him, her round behind pressing against his thighs, her torso slightly curved towards him - she looked delicious, ready to eat. She planted her breasts directly in front of his nose, inviting him, taunting him.   “Don’t you want to float as well?” She leaned in, her lips against his ear, breath ghosting down his neck. He shivered, could feel his blood pumping, draining his brain.

Wait. This was so wrong. She was his best friend. There were people around.

He found, the thought didn’t bother him all that much, it made it more exciting, if anything. Still, he had to at least try. “There are people around, what are you doing!”, he hissed, hands on her hips as if he wanted to lift her off his body. But then she moved, rolling her hips and building friction. “Shit.” His fingers pressed into the fabric of her skirt, into her hips, and he groaned, when he realized that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath. So now she rubbed her pantyless self against his pants, knees on his sides, spreading more little by little.

Okay. He was no saint. How was he supposed to refuse her?

He pulled her in, big hand pressed to her back, the other trailing a path up until he could wrap it around her neck, feeling the soft, sensitive skin under his fingers, feeling her swallow. His eyes traveled over her hips, her breasts, her neck, her lips, up to her eyes. “My dear. If we are to do this, you need to be quiet. There’s my mates sleeping, others are outside, patrolling and they gonna be on alert, at the slightest noise. You wake anyone, get anyone's attention but mine, and we have a problem, do you understand?” She nodded, shiver going through her, his voice encouraging her to continue with her little movements against his crotch. He pressed his thumb to her lower lip, pulling down and cursed, when he watched it fall back into place. “You’re so beautiful, and sexy, and, Lord, how are you real?” Before she could answer what was a rhetorical question anyway, he kissed her. He nipped at her lips, soothed with his tongue, teased her. His hands found her behind, squeezing, pulling her closer, his own hips now moving in the smallest, tiniest circles. She let out a guttural moan, when he bucked against her, the rough fabric of his uniform rasping against her soft skin. He had a hand over her mouth, leaned into her, nose brushing her cheek as he warned her. “Another sound, and I’ll make sure you will regret it.” Her nose flared, her eyes closed and she nodded. Billy smirked and stroked down her neck, followed her collarbone, then teased her nipples through her shirt. He flicked at them, pinched, before he bent his head and flattened his tongue against one, while still paying attention to the other. He slipped his free hand under the shirt, grinning as he found his suspicions confirmed. She didn’t wear a bra. This woman. She drove him crazy. He bit her breast, making her flinch and hiss. She was so obedient, so good. She really did not make a sound. But, if he was honest. He’d love to hear a bit from her. Just the tiniest noises, just for him. He’d keep them close and treasure them. Make sure no one else got to hear them. He wasn’t aware he was talking, he didn’t realize, how she seemed to hold onto his shoulders for dear life. Billy continued playing with her, leaving pinches here and there, stroking her soft skin. Additionally, he latched onto her neck, lathering it in kisses and bites, marking her up for everyone to see. She’d not be able to hide anything in this heat and her flimsy clothing. He’d parade her in front of his mates, show them what they couldn’t have. He slipped a hand under her skirt, hand spreading on her thigh. Her skin was soft, so warm, he wanted to lick and bite. He bet, she bruised well all over. Soft skin did so easily, no? She reacted instinctively, spreading her knees more, making her sink lower on his lap, seemingly closer to his exploring fingers. “Please.”, she breathed, barely audible. “Please, Billy.” The wicked grin on his face made her whimper and fist the material of his soft shirt.   “I’ll make you scream, dear. You will want to, but you can’t. They’d find us, they’d see you like this. Squirming in my lap, moaning like you’re in heat, like you don’t have control anymore.” Her head fell forward, against his shoulder, as he teased her clit with his forefinger. She was so wet, she was positively dripping. “Look at you. Wouldn’t you like that? You want them to find us like this?” He circled her clit, then flicked it. She bucked in his lap, head whipped back, not having expected that. He could see the desperation on her face, how much she wanted to let it out, to moan, to have an outlet. He kissed her again, soft, loving, gentle. It was a last moment of piece, before he gathered up her juices and pushed in. Her mouth fell open, a silent gasp against his cheek, then hot breath on his skin, as she took deep breaths. Billy added another finger, stretching her, absolutely loving the feeling of her. Silky, hot, so goddamn wet, he couldn’t believe it. She was moving her hips with enthusiasm, her hands still on his shoulders, flexing. He was crooking his fingers inside her, stretching her and forcing her to adapt. Which, finally, got him what he wanted. She let out a long moan, suppressing it still, but she broke her silence. “Damn, love, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” “Sorry, Billy.”, she mumbled. He moved faster, watched as her head fell back, how she presented her mottled neck.

There was no blood left in his body, that’s how hard he was. He’d make her come on his fingers, then on his face, and then he’ll make her ride him. Yeah. That sounded like an exceptional plan. 

He sighed, barely able to keep calm. He fisted her hair, pulled, got another moan from her. He chuckled, loved how she reacted to him, how every little action made her shiver, moan, her insides flutter around his fingers.  His lap was a mess, really. Her arousal was slipping down his fingers, dripping from his knuckles. “You’re so hot. So fucking hot, I don’t have the words.” Her skin was sweaty under his hand, hot and damp, and he loved it. He wrapped his free hand around her neck, felt her rapid pulse under his fingers. He increased the pressure, not exactly squeezing, but enough to let her feel his hand, to let her imagine what he could do.   “You deserve so much more than this, love.”  And so she got more.More fingers, faster moves, thumb on her clit and teasing, circling around, gently flicking it. She was so sensitive already, she whimpered and almost hopped off his fingers.  But he held her, tutting at her. “Can’t keep quiet anymore? Do I need to stuff you loud mouth?”  She faltered in her movements, eyes wide, unfocused as her brain went over what Billy had said.  Then, sweet jesus, she nodded.  Billy had to lick his lips, take a deep breath. Holy fuck, she was trying to kill him, wasn’t she?  He moved his hand, pressed his thumb against her lips, to which she more than willingly opened. Immediately, she was on him, licking and sucking, closing her eyes as she did. Her hips moved again, faster, more forceful - riding his fingers, he couldn’t find another word for it. He let her, pressed closer and kissed her jaw, her neck. Pulled out his fingers, rubbed them together and marveled at the wetness coating them, before he pushed back in, letting her go wild. And, go wild she did. She let go of his shirt with one hand, just to bring it up to his wrist, holding on while she doubled her efforts, seeing stars.  Billy could feel her flutter around him, and he knew she was almost there. He murmured into her ear, how beautiful she was, how he would have her another two times, at least, how he intended to bring her to orgasm every. fucking. time. How he loved to see her so mindless, so loose, only for him, only for his eyes -

A thundering boom made him shoot up, ready to defend his life. The floor vibrated, the sound echoed. In the cot next to him, Frank looked up from his book, listening into the far, trying to catch the seriousness of their nightly interruption.   Billy noticed he was sitting up, letters in his lap. He must have had trouble sleeping. Most of the occupants were sitting up, poised to fight. “Was too faint to be in close vicinity to the camp.”, Frank murmured. Billy nodded. A messenger stuck his head into the room. “Was not us, guys. Next shift joins the soldiers out there patrolling, the others can go back to sleep.” Frank shook his head, Billy groaned. His dream came back to him, as his heart stopped racing. Which, honestly. That was just torture. “You looked way happier when you were sleeping, Billy Boy. Had a nice dream?” “You try being woken up by a might-be bombing and then let’s see how you look.” “Been there, done that.” Frank grinned and mockingly saluted. “Fuck you, Frank.” 

**

Part 2                                                                                                                            

#Billy Russo #not a drabble anymore #and defenitely not safe for professional environment or around kids #the punisher #Ben Barnes #Once A Year #A Dreamwritesimagines Production #Billy x Skittles #that's such a weird tag to use #smut

[rhabakoli]

Infinite White - 12

Previous chapters here

not beta read, as always. (anyone volunteering?)

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

After Alvin finally gave up - not without flipping them off - Fenja grabbed Ragnar's hand and pulled him along, out of the hall and into the stairwell. It was quiet there, not a single soul in sight.

“Okay, what the fuck?” She whirled around, hand on her hips and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“What's gotten into you?!”

Ragnar’s expression was grim, determined, and maybe a little bit pouty. “I don't know what you mean.”, he answered. Definitely pouty, he sounded like a boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I am talking about the shit show in there, and you basically going all Wolfie McWerewolf on Alvin!”

Now it was Ragnar who was raising an eyebrow. “You telling me you like the guy? Want me to go get him then? So you can pity the fool?”

His mood had swung back to venomous and angry so fast, Fenja thought she'd get whiplash.

“What?” She was clueless, about the whole situation. “Did you even hear what I was saying? I'd rather lick the bottom of your shoe, than enjoy the company of a guy who thinks a boyfriend could make decisions for me.”

Ragnar took a step forward, caging her against the wall, face just in front of hers. “Why are you defending him then?”

“I am not!” Fenja let out a groan, then a sigh. Fighting him on this wouldn't help, he wasn't even listening to what she said.

“I don't want you to get into trouble, idiot.”, she whispered into the space between them. Ragnar didn't react, he just kept watching her face. So she watched him back, observing his posture, how he was tense all over, the look on his face she couldn't find the right name for. Maybe it was a bit of frustration, anger, desperation?

She raised her hands, took hold of his face and stroked her thumbs over his cheekbones. “What is going on, Rags?”

Hearing her use his nickname for the first time, had him deflate. His shoulders relaxed, his hands weren't pressed to the wall anymore, his arms bend, as he blew air through his nose and leaned his forehead against her shoulder. “I don't know.”

Fenja's hands wandered to his neck, one went up into his hair, the other remained. Her nails were scratching his scalp lightly, sending shivers down his back, forcing him to relax, rest more of his weight against her.

“It's okay. We'll file it under 'bad day’ and be done with it.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, just above his ear, and pulled him close, an arm now wrapped around his middle, never stopping her head scratches. Ragnar, despite towering over her, never had been more comfortable, more at home. He turned his head, pressed his face against her neck and brought down his arms, hands gripping her waist.

His breathing wasn't as even and deep as it could have been, so Fenja started to talk to him, talk about that day in the zoo, where her parents fought over what stuffed animal to get her. In the end, she went home with double the amount sane parents would have approved of.

Warm puffs of air tickled her skin, a particular deep breath here and there, the soft strands of hair under her fingertips made her wonder if he really did steal Aslaugs conditioner, or if she was just forgetful. Ragnar was coming back to himself, conscious about his behaviour and so embarrassed. He pressed his face harder against her neck, his nose dragging over her skin as he burrowed in. He never wanted to look at her again. He behaved like a crazed animal, a complete lunatic. A jealous monkey. “I'm so sorry.”

It was muffled, barely audible, but she felt it against her skin, felt the vibrations going through his chest.

She patted his back, gently grabbed his hair and pulled slightly, making him raise his head reluctantly.

“You okay now? Can we go back to your sister?”

His hands flexed against her sides, telling her how indecisive he actually was.

“We can also stay here a bit longer, Ingrid will call if she needs anything, but I'm sure she's fine, being surrounded by a bunch of fellow intellectuals.”

Her voice was soft, a teasing lilt to it, her hands a comforting weight on his skin.

“But how about we sit down, you're twice my height, Rags, holding you up is a two woman job, at least.”

He let himself be lead over to the stairs, his mind going through the last couple hours, trying to pinpoint where and when he lost it.

“Stop thinking.”, Her voice came from behind. Fenja had sat down behind him, bracketing him with her legs and rubbed her hands over his shoulder blades, up and up until she could drag the back of her nails over his scalp again.

“I'm sorry, Fenja.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what exactly happened there.”

“That I know too.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

He turned, one large hand wrapped around her calf, the other scratching his stubbled cheek. “I guess, I went a bit overprotective there.”

Fenja grinned, nodded and pulled his ear lobe. “I know, it won't change anything, but, man. You read don't have to be protective over me, Ragnar.”

Oh, yes. Yes, he definitely had to be. She was so precious, so valuable, not only to him, but to so many people, he couldn't let anything ever happen to her. Some day, he'd tell her. For now, he just nodded. “I know. I didn't think.”

Fenja smiled at him, kissed his head and resumed the coddling.

**

“Mom.” Queenie looked up at her youngest, who was standing in the door to her office. “Hi, sweetie! How was the presentation?” “It was awesome. And thanks for not telling the others. I’d probably have puked from nervousness, if you all had sat in the crowd.” “Of course. but, so you know, your father hired a camera guy, who filmed the whole thing.” “You’re kidding.” “No, child, I am not.” “Oh hell no.” Ingrid was petrified. She had been filmed. On stage. Hell to the no. “I’m afraid so.” her mother waved her over and pulled her close by her side. “I’ll make sure no one ever gets to see it, love.” “Thanks, mom.” Then she remembered why she even came to her in the first place. “Mom, uhm, we have a problem.” “Why? What happened?” Her voice was concerned, as was her face. She immediately went through a million solutions for a problem she didn’t even know yet. “Your son happened. He turned into dad.” Ingrid sat down in one of the comfy arm chairs. “You remember that guy you met during dinner once? The one who was in love with you back in High school?” “Oh no.” “Oh yes.” “So, he knows?” “No, he’s kinda overwhelmed and doesn’t know where to put his feelings.” “He really is like his father, wow.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Okay, thank you, love. We don’t want to lose Fenja, no?” “I like my future sister-in-law very much, I’d like to keep her.”, Ingrid shrugged nonchalantly. “Are they here?” Ingrid nodded, pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “In the living room. She’s cuddling the dog, and Rags is absolutely trying to not pine.” She grinned at her mother’s eye rolling. “Sometimes I think he’d be better off, if he was all me.” “Yeah, I bet.”

**

Fenja was on the phone with Maeve, walking down the pier - freaking rich people - and told her about Ragnars little freak out.  “I’m telling you, you’ll kiss before summer.” “Only when hell freezes over, bitch.”  “Uh hu. Sure. Anyway. How was Ingrid?”

**

“We need to talk about your son.” When he looked up, his eyes fell upon his wife, standing in his office, hands on her hips and staring him down with those beautiful eyes of hers. “You mean our son.” “No, not when he’s behaving like a wild, mad boar trying to mark his territory and just barely managing not to piss on his girl.” Both his eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “He’s what?” “Apparently he has your jealous behaviour. Has better self control though.” “He hasn’t.” “No, he has.” “How do we know?” “He almost attacked a guy at Ingrids convention. He looked at Fenja too long, ir with the wrong mimic, could be anything with you Ragnarssons.” “He has you genes as well, love.” “So?” Ivar grinned. “My sweet, sweet wife. You do remember blackmailing my Eco Professor so he’d move Arna into another course?” Her face was blank, void of any emotion, as she shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t.” Ivar reached out, wanting her to come over to him. She did, leaned her butt against the edge of his desk and crossed her arms on front of her chest. Ivar rolled his chair closer, curled his hands around her knees, his fingertips tickling the back of them, slowly stroking up her thighs, increasing the pressure. He also leaned in and pressed a kiss to her belly.  “I always liked your jealous side, wifey.” “It’s not healthy for Ragnar to be like that. He needs to know how bad it can get.” She raised a hand, ran her fingers through his hair and watched him closely. He nodded, pressed his head against her hand, like a cat demanding scratches. “I will. I promise.”

**

Ragnar was face down on his bed, when his father walked in, knuckles knocking on the door. “You got a minute?” “Mhhm.” “I heard about your little slip-up.” The deep groan and muffled “Just kill me please” coming from his son made him laugh. “No, I don’t think we need to pull such disastrous measures.” He sat next to him, hand on his back. “C’mon, we need to talk.” Ragnar turned his head, glanced at his dad with one eye and - wow, he reminded Ivar of himself when he was young and in love for the first time. “I know it was stupid and impulsive. I don’t know what happened. I just know I wanted to bash whats-his-name’s face in.” “Now you know how I felt the first, I don’t know, six months of your mums and my relationship.” Now, that got his son’s attention. “What do you mean?” “Son, I’ve done some humongously stupid shit, believe me, I know how you felt right then. And trust me, it gets that much worse.” He cleared his throat, sat straighter. “Did your mum ever tell you about that one time I almost destroyed everything we ever built?” Ragnar was clueless, shaking his head. “I heard something, I believed it, and accused her of cheating and some other stuff. It’s like a dark version of tunnel vision, you can’t get out that easily. Neither of us want that kind of thing to happen to you, ever.” “Mom would never cheat on you!” “I know, I know. That’s what I am saying. You have my temper, when it comes to the people you love. We need to learn how to control it, how to ignore that hot, all-consuming pit in us. That’s the only way to ever have a healthy relationship.” Ivar scratched his cheek. “I also doubt Fenja would put up with even half the shit your mother put up with.” “I think your marriage contract might have played some part in that, no?”   Ivar smacked his cheeky son over the head and pointed a threatening finger at him. “We pretend it didn’t.” He became serious again. “Son, you know we love you, we want to help you as much as we can. Come to us when you’re overwhelmed and don’t know how to deal.” Ragnar nodded, face somber. “Good. Also, think about why you reacted that strongly to a guy talking to Fenja. And then finally tell her, boy.” He leaned over, pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead and then got up. At the door, he turned around and winked at him. “Tell us how it went.”

**

The Ivarsson kids and Fenja were strewn throughout the Library, Fenja and Ragnar on the loveseat, her feet in his lap as she hung her upper body backwards over the armrest to pet Bear. “That looks mightily uncomfortable.” “I am not though.” “Are you sure?”   “Absolutely.” Ragnar was listening to her conversation with his sister, while he watched her arch and bend, and tried not to groan out loud. The convention definitely was a hit to the head, and the conversation with his father definitely had helped him get his head on right. But now he couldn’t not think about her, think about having his hands on her at all times, about…. “Ragnar!” He flinched, looked up at his sister. “What?” “You okay there?” “Yeah. I’m fine.” Ingrid squinted at him.  “Sure. Okay. Aslaug was just talking about her date with that guy from her Uni.” “Yeah, and I also said I’d never see him again and I’ll let our parents arrange a marriage for me.” “You don’t mean that.” “Oh, but I do. Did work out amazingly with theirs, didn’t it?” That made Fenja shoot up, her back making the most painful noises, but she ignored it in favour of gaping at her friends. “Excuse me, what did you just say?” All three of them turned to her, then threw each other looks. “Oh. Right. She doesn’t know.” Fenja scooted closer to Ragnar, her knees now bend over his legs, and he couldn’t resist putting a hand on them. “Yeah, their marriage was arranged. Mom was, what, 20?” Aslaug nodded. “Something like that. Dad wasn’t much older. Their parents wanted their empires to merge, but in a way that was more intimate than a simple business thing. Their children were just the right thing to use for that.” “Oh, come on, you make it sound like they were forced into it.”, Ingrid protested. “Well, they were!”   “I can’t imagine either of your parents get forced into anything, to be honest.”, Fenja interrupted, getting their attention again. “They weren’t.” Now all their eyes were on Ragnar.   He shrugged, the palm of his hand rubbing over Fenja’s knee. “Mom told the story at least a hundred times. Was my favourite bedtime story when I was a cheeky wee lad, apparently.” Fenja ignored the ‘cheeky wee lad’, instead she scooted even closer, clasped her hands under her chin and looked up at him with wide eyes, expecting to get the story out of him. Her heels were pressing into his thigh, effectively trapping him. “So? What’s the story?” “Dad had seen her around, on campus. They went to the same university. And it seems, he had a little mishap when he first saw her. He completely froze up, and he hasn’t said a word against that marriage since then.” “Wow.”, Ingrid said. “The way you tell a story is amazing. Terrific, so detailed.” “Oh, fuck off.”, he laughed. “But, is there a contract? Can they get divorced?” “Yes.”   Fenja wasn’t finished yet though. “Is there a paragraph about where to live? How they have to run the company?”   She gasped. “Oh my god, were you all included in that contract?!” Aslaug promptly choked on air, Ingrid blinked at her, trying to follow her train of thought. And Ragnar just started laughing, head thrown back and face happy.   “No, love, no. We were just a lucky byproduct. Our grandparents weren’t that cruel.” “Wait, but, either of your uncles could have ended up in your dad’s place?” “Theoretically. But our parents were closest in age, so it fit.” Fenja didn’t catch the sweet name he called her, but his sisters definitely did. They were throwing each other looks, Ingrid clasped a hand over Aslaug’s arm, nails caught in her sweater. There was some internal screaming going on - both, because Ragnar was spaz enough to call her love, and also because Fenja was the most oblivious person ever. “So, they were in love?” “They still are, thank you very much.” “They are not seeing other people then?” Ragnar snorted, looked at his sisters. “Could you imagine either of them with someone else?” “Dad would probably run that man’s life.” “He would.” Ragnar had to think about what his father told him, how he felt when Alvin just looked at Fenja that way. “That man wouldn’t survive.” Fenja looked around, from sibling to sibling, then observed Ragnar closely. “If he’s anything like you, then I can imagine that very well.” “Yeah. Sorry bout that.” She just nodded, deep in thought. Then her brows furrowed, her eyes went all squinty. “Did you just call me ‘love’?”

#Infinite White #IW #FOH #faint of heart #Faint of Heart Au #Vikings #ivars kids #ivar x oc #Ragnar x oc #slow burn #best friends to lovers #jealousy #a dreamwritesimagines production

[rhabakoli]

One Last Rocky Night

smut, smut, smut all the way. you are warned. 

also, did read over it, but it’s late and I wanted to be done with this. It kept getting longer and longer, this fucker. so sorry for any mistakes

@dreamwritesimagines @tofadavidson 

Billy was loosening his tie and opened the first buttons of his dress shirt as he walked into his office, feeling slightly stressed and too big for his skin. All he wanted was some hard alcohol and a little peace and quiet. “Well, don't you look like a real sunshine today.” Female voice, familiar, no thread. He looked up, saw his best friend sitting on the couch, feet tucked under her bum and a tablet in her hands. Her pumps were on the floor, her blazer was thrown over the armrest closer to him.  “And you look awfully cozy there.” She locked the tablet, placed it on her thigh - where her skirt was riding up. Billy tried not to look too long, to get his thoughts off of… that.

He swallowed and took a deep breath, strode over to his mini bar and got himself a glass.

“Want some?” He held the bottle out to her, letting her read the label.

Skittles shook her head, and raised her own glass at him, from where it was placed on the little table next to the couch. “I'm good.” “Suit yourself.” With a groan, he sat at his desk, stretching his legs and breathing deep with his eyes closed and head back against the chair. “Hard day?” Billy just nodded. The hardest. Sometimes he wished he’d not have to jump in on the politics of running a company and wooing customers and investors. Sure, Afghanistan was dirty, but there were clear rules. You obey, you listen, you behave and you survive. Here, it’s eat or be eaten, which wasn’t even what he was bothered by. It bothered him that so called ‘allies’ could turn their back on you any second. “Wanna talk about it? Mull it over?” Her voice was much closer now. He opened an eye and saw her perching on his desk, legs crossed - and that goddamn skirt riding up again. Skittles saw him staring and smirked. “See something you like?” “Very.” He rolled his chair over, placing his hands on her knees and making place for himself between them. She looked down at him, smirk fast in place, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders, her blouse stretching over her breasts. She felt his hands wander up her thighs, slip under her skirt and up, up, up, till he could squeeze her bum. It was a rather tight fit, but he didn’t particularly care. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Billy was still strung high, tense all over, he needed an outlet and - he had such a sweet, darling option right here. He’d make it worth her while. Continuing the squeezing of her asscheeks - loved how they felt in his hands - he pressed kisses to the insides of her knees, then nipped at them. She pushed a hand against his head, scolding him. “Stop that, that’s my last pair of stockings.” He just hummed, his hands letting go of her bum. “I will push up that fucking skirt you’ve got there, until you’re bare for me to see.” She didn’t say anything, she just listened. “Then I will eat you out, until you’re dripping right to the floor.” He got up, a hand at her back to pressed her against his chest, one at the base of her throat, as he leaned in, lips against her ear. “And then, after you cum on my tongue, I will push you down on this table, bend you over, and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for days. I will make you cum until you can’t remember anything, but this. I will be the only one in your conscious, I will ruin you for anyone else.” He heard her swallow, felt her pulse quicken under his thumb. “You can’t deny it, darling. Your body betrays you.” Skittles felt like she was made of puddy. His hands on her, his voice in her ear, so close, so raspy and rough. She laid a hand onto his chest, pushing him back far enough to be able to see his face. “When did you hear me say I don’t want to?” Then she pulled him in, kissed him, wrapped her arms around him. He was eagerly reciprocating, pressing closer, demanding more and more. His hands slipped up her legs once more, this time taking the skirt with them. It bunched around her hips, giving him free access to her upper thighs, her panties - have mercy. He felt all his blood rush south, knowing she ran around all day wearing this underneath her clothes. Her garterbelt and panties were black lace, completely see through, hiding nothing, absolutely nothing, when she spread her legs in an invite. She could hear him groan, felt his fingertips trace the waistband of her undies, over the belts straps. His dark eyes were following the path his fingers trailed, a dark twinkle in them when he let the straps snap against her skin. “You’re gorgeous. And sexy.” He kissed her softly, whispering against her skin. She hooked her fingers into his belt loops, making sure he’d have nowhere to go. “Says the man who has me dripping wet with just a couple words.” She was only barely joking. She definitely felt bad for his desk, and hoped there wouldn't be any stains. Or, maybe… maybe some stains to remember this wouldn’t be so bad. Billy continued declothing her, right there on his table, in plain sight for anyone to see, but only for him to have, to touch. Heat started building in his gut, and he knew he had to do something, otherwise he’d explode.   Her blouse fell open in no time - she was surprised he didn’t simply rip it open - and he was covering every inch of her body in kisses, soft touches, little pinches. “Have you been planning this?” “No.”, she answered breathless. He was paying a lot of attention and affection to her chest, her nipples in particular. The cups of her lace bra were caught under his fingers, making way for his tongue and teeth. When he was satisfied with the peaked state of them, he pulled back, sat in his chair and leaned back, legs spread. He opened his belt, his pants, but didn’t take his eyes off her. His sinister smile made her almost whimper, her brain already delivering one fantasy after another. She watched his hand, as it pulled the shirt from his pants, and then slipped into his briefs. Her mouth went dry almost instantly, watching Billy giving himself a good few tugs. “Billy-” “Shh.” He came back to her, rolling over, he pressed his lips against hers, tongue sliding into her mouth, and all she could do was hold on for dear life. “Lie back.” She decided she’d obey, just this once. If he made his plan reality, she’d probably also need to find something to hold on to. “Attagirl.” He laughed, as his best friend raised her head to glare at him. “Can we please leave Frank out of this?” “Sure thing.” Distracted as she was, Billy managed to position himself right between her legs, her feet up on his thighs, presenting to him where he wanted to be most right now. But first, dinner. He released the garters with agile fingers, pulled down the lace pants and folded them, before stuffing them into his pocket. Skittles raised a foot to poke him in the ribs, calling him a proper pervert, and how she was not surprised at all. She’d probably gone on, but Billy’s tongue on her clit shut her up. Bright sparks of Electricity shot through her body, making her hips spasm. Billy hummed, the vibrations teasing her, making her gasp, the first moans spilling over her lips. This wasn’t even close to his last dream. This was a hundred times better. She tasted richer, her smell was more distinct. He licked into her, flicked her clit, his arms around her legs, keeping her still and in position. The noises she made were music to his ears, and he did everything to chase after them, get them to be louder, more frequent. Skittles was fighting against his harsh grip, sure he’d leave marks. She tried to roll her hips, ride his face as good as she could, but he held her, unable to get in a proper move. She groaned in frustration, which turned into a high pitched moan quite immediately, as he swiped his tongue over her entrance and up to her clit. And suddenly, her first orgasm today ripped through her, causing the breath to catch in her throat, her muscles spasming. “That’s how it’s done.” She could feel her juices slowly dripping out, making her shiver. If he fulfilled that promise, he won’t turn back on the other. Billy licked his lips, wiped his ching and stood up, leaning over Skittles, who lay on his desk like a broken doll. “I wonder, when was the last time a man had you this satisfied?” A finger traced circles around one sensitive nipple, then stroking over it in quick motions, then he pressed a kiss on it. “When was the last time, you were unable to breathe, because you came so hard?” He dragged his nose along her cheekbone, his body almost resting on hers, but not quite. It was definitely enough to make her feel his warmth, his weight, enough to make her feel safe. “When was the last time, you did not have to fake it?” “Last time I did it with Carter.” Skittles knew, he’d react rather explosive. And react he did. He bit her jaw, growled deep in his chest, and hissed: “I’d rather not have you take this name into your mouth, darling.” Billy’s face was furious, concentrated, determined, as he pulled her up and off the table, turned her around and pressed her back to his chest, one Hand at her throat, one stroking down her stomach. “I will have to do something against that, no? Make you forget his name. Make you forget he ever touched you.”   His hand tightened around her neck. “I will make sure, the only man you remember will be me, love.” With that, he let go of her, pushed her toward the desk instead. “On your belly, legs spread.” Skittles looked over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. He raised one back, tilting his head. “What, you don’t want to?” His right found her ass again, squeezing, his fingertips dipping into the shadows and gathering up stickiness. “I can also make you bend over, if you’d prefer.” That made her move. She raised her arms, stretched, arched her back, spread her legs. And then she bent over, slowly, provocatively shaking her butt, and stretched over the table, her hands wrapping around the corner, holding on. She could hear him take a deep breath, suppressing a groan, as he took her form in. He rubbed over the garter, left to right, left again. “This garter is a thing of beauty. I’ll never get a good night’s sleep, knowing you wear this underneath your clothes.” She could hear the rustle of his clothes, the belt buckle clattering, and then he was there. His hands were roaming over her back, her hips, her sides. He let the garter belt snap back against her skin, chuckling when she flinched. Again, he restricted her movements, holding her against the table, probably leaving more bruises. “You want me?” He took his dick in hand, rubbed the tip through her folds, gathering wetness, teasing her. “You want me to fuck you?” “If you don’t move, right this second, I am gonna leave and fihow hend me someone else.” She didn’t have to see his face, to know this was the moment he lost grip on his possessiveness. She felt it in the way his presence behind her grew heavier, darker. She felt it in the way his fingers burrowed into her hips. He pushed in, laid along her, tangled a hand in her hair and pulled, angling her head so he could hiss into her ear. “The only man you’ll ever want, after I am done with you, is me.” He pulled out, pushed back in, making her hips hit the desk. “I am the only one, who can make you feel this good.” Again, faster. “I am the only one, who knows you well enough, to give you what you want, without having to ask.” His hips were undulating, pistoning in and out, his dick hitting all the best spots. Skittles couldn’t hold anything back. Her moans were filling the room, mingling with Billys grunts and praises, their skin meeting, the wetness Skittles oozes. Just when she thought she’d come, he pulled out, leaving her aching and empty. “Feet together.” She took a second to react. When she complied, he bracketed her legs with his thighs, fucked up into her and let out a long, deep groan. It felt too good to be true. She was slick, the new position provided more friction to the both of them, and he was so close to dying. His forehead met her back, and he just rested there for some seconds. “Darling. You are divine. This is heaven. I am dead, and the devil doesn’t know yet.” “You’re rambling.” Her voice sounded strained, while his was raspy. “Yeah. Sorry.” He kissed her back, moved his hips, slowly, so very deep. Her whole body was tingling, tensing. She tried to move, to fuck back. All she could do, was take what he gave her. Billy was rambling again, praises and curses, his movements were growing faster again. The slide of his dick inside her, hitting her damn spots -  she almost felt the need to scream. From there it wasn’t long, until both of them reached their highs. Billy froze, when Skittles gripped him tight, and spilled right over. In the back of his mind, he recognized it for what it was. He’d marked her. He’d filled her up, she’d be dripping his seed when she walked out of here. He grinned, looking like a slight maniac, but she couldn’t see, so it was fine. Skittles was still sensitive, when he gathered his wits. He stroked over her hair, over her back, kissed down her spine. “You are so good, darling. I think you were born for me to have, as I am for you:” “Are you always this sappy after an orgasm?” “No. Just when I’m with you.” “In me, you mean.” He chuckled, circled his hips a bit. “Indeed. And I don’t actually plan on leaving anytime soon.” She reached back, tapped his arm. “You have to let me get up, Billy.” He let her, pulled out of her after all and watched his cum dribbling out. He stopped some of it, pushed it back in her, making her hiss and slap at him. “Stop that.”

15 minutes later, they were both dressed again, even though Skittles had to fight Billy for her panties. “You want to get some dinner?” “I can’t.” She picked up her tabled, shoved it into her purse and then fussed over her hair in the glassdoor, before giving up and pulling it back into a high ponytail. “I have to get back to Carter, and take a shower before that.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then went out the door. Meanwhile, Billy’s brain replayed that sentence over and over. Oh.

Fuck.

Not a dream, then.

#one last rocky night #the punisher #billy russo #A Dreamwritesimagines Production #oay #Once A Year

[rhabakoli]

Infinite White - 11

It’s kinda all over the place, probably full of typos, but I just want to get this up and then go to bed I think I might just collapse. 

Precious chapters here

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

**

“Do you have the posters?” 

“Yes.” “And your charger?” “Yes.” “Where are the extension cords?”

“Big bag, left pocket.” Fenja sat in the passenger seat, legs dangling out the open door, backpack on her lap and watched Ragnar be a nervous mother hen. Ingrid stood by the trunk, focused on her phone, probably typing an email to some colleague, and answered her brother without even glancing at him. “Ragnar, I think we have everything. You’ve gone over it three times already.” “Yeah, it will be fine, big brother.” He glanced between them, then sighed. “Yeah, okay. I just want it to go over without a hitch.” “It will. And now get in or we’ll be late and all your overchecking will be for naught.” Ingrid just nodded and gave her brother a push, before getting into the back. “Get in, dumbo.”

**

The drive to the convention hall was not long, but apparently long enough for Ingrid to get nervous. Fenja was turned to her side, talking to Ragnar about the YWA - who still owed her an answer, by the way - and kept glancing back at the teen. She mumbled to herself, going over her presentation one more time. “Sweetheart, you will smash it.” Ragnar was looking at his sister through the rearview mirror. Fenja felt her heart squeeze at their connection, their familiarity with each other. It was stupid, but she still tended to get moody. She didn’t have family like those two did. Sometimes it hurt to be around them.

**

Ragnar seemed to be super-sensible today; he touched her knee, glancing over at her. “You okay?” Fenja nodded, forced a smile to her face. She’d not bring herself into focus. Not ever, and especially not today. Today was sweet baby Ingrid’s day, and hers alone. So she turned around, peeked at the girl and asked: “Is the rest of the team joining us?” “No, most of them have important plans, some have family outings they couldn’t get out of, and Beatrice is scared of crowds.” “Oh. Well, you’ve got us, at least.” “That I did.” She looked down at her power point again, forehead in creases. Fenja couldn’t let her suffer by herself: “Want me to test you?”

**

The hall was bustling with con-goers and presenters, all ages and sizes, from big corporations to small one-person businesses. There were booths everywhere, neat and square in rows, the odd food vendor sprinkled into the mix. Ragnar took the bags from the car, not even thinking about letting either of them carry anything heavy - what a gentleman, Fenja rolled her eyes - and was currently looking for their booth. His girls were trailing behind him, elbows hooked together, taking in the loaded and busy atmosphere. Seeing Fenja fit so well into his family, being loved by them, really struck a chord within him, made him feel all warm and cozy inside. He hadn’t yet stopped to think about what it meant, but he knew, at some point he would be forced to. Either by circumstance or Aslaug. He finally found their booth, set down the bags and promptly decided he didn’t like the neighbours. Not even 10 seconds there, and they already were checking out his friend. He tried not to be to obvious about it, but he very much felt like holding their heads under water until the bubbles disappear. Ingrid and Fenja were already starting to empty the bags, hang up the posters, get their setup together. All the while, they were conversing and giggling, and Ragnar forgot all about the neighbours. Those two were important, and that Ingrid’s presentation would go over smoothly, and nothing else.

**

“Where’s Fenja?” “Spreading the word. Organizers allow posters everywhere, and she’s not going to let that opportunity go.” Ingrid was on her phone, her laptop next to her. Ragnar grinned at her laser-focus as she was typing away, little giggles coming out here and there. “How’s Ginger doing, eh?” “Her internship-mom wants a puppy but Internship-dad doesn’t and now Ging has fighting Internship-parents.” Ragnar halted for a second, blinked and then turned to his sister. “At some point you’ll have to explain the whole Internship-parent thing to me again.” “She lives with them during her internship, and they remind her of her grandparents, just younger, but she already has those and parents, so Bert and Lisa are her Internship-parents.” “Oh, yeah. Sure, makes sense.” He heard Fenjas laugh and turned around, mouth already open to ask something. But he snapped it shut again, eyes squinting and anger growing in the pit of his stomach. She was walking next to a stocky, blond guy, laughing at whatever he said. He was carrying the remaining posters under his arm, hands the pockets of his pants and eyes trained on his best friend like she was a steak. He did not like that. At all.

**

Ingrid looked up at the deep growl sounding through the booth, eyebrows raised in surprise. Who the hell brought a dog? She searched for the source of the noise, but could only find her brother at the edge of their designated spot, murderous look on his face as he stared off somewhere. Not a dog then. Ingrid took in his tense stance, his white knuckles and flared nostrils, his chest practically vibrating. Concerned, she followed his line of view. Oh boy.   She got up, quick on her feet and hung onto Ragnars arm, lest he try to go and kill the guy. Last time she’d seen that kind of a look on a man in her family, her aunt had to haul Bjorn out by his hair. “Rags.” He grunted at her, still squinting at the guy. Very subtle, that one. “Ragnar, wipe that look off your face, you’ll scare Fenja.” His face relaxed at that, but his eyes were still terrifyingly, piercing blue. They came closer, Fenja now grinning at the siblings and bounding over to join their huddle. “Why are we hanging off Ragnar’s arms?”, she asked Ingrid. Ragnar hadn’t moved much, except raising a hand and putting it over Fenja’s on his arm. “Are you satisfied with the posters now?”, he asked her, but still fixed the stranger with a mean look. “Yep..” She pointed at the guy. “Alvin here saved me from breaking my neck or destroying something.” Alvin shrugged, hands still in his pockets.”Thought you could use some help there.” “Yeah, thanks.” Fenja tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, an overly pitiful look on her face, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The world is harsh, when you’re tiny.” Ingrid watched the exchange with worry; how Alvin’s eyes raked over Fenja, and how she was completely oblivious and Ragnar’s barely suppressed anger. This would end badly. She let go of her brothers arm, stepped closer to Alvin and extended a hand to take to posters from him. “Thanks for the help, we’ve got it from here.” “You’re so very welcome. Anything else you need?” “No, thanks, I’ve got my helper.”, she said, and pointed at the tall guy at her back. Alvin was not the brightest, or maybe blind. Ragnar was not someone you’d just overlook. Ingrid took the posters, grabbed her brothers hand and pulled him and Fenja along, while throwing an excuse over her shoulder: “Sorry, we’ve got to go through our presentation again.” Ragnar took a deep breath, as soon as Fenja was out of Alvin’s sight. He blew the air harshly through his nose, making Fenja raise an eyebrow and look up at him. “You okay?” “Yeah.”   Didn’t sound like it. Fenja let go of his arm and instead stepped in front of him with her hands up, when he tried to leave. “Are you sure?” She felt his stomach flex under her hands, his eyes trained on hers as he tilted his head to the right. “I’m good.” Then he turned, left the booth and didn’t look back.

Ingrids only response to Fenja’s questioning look was a shrug.

**

The rest of the day was going over relatively smooth. If one didn’t mind a tall, broad, viking looking guy following one around and growling at any guy coming close. Fenja ignored him for the duration of the presentations, and instead just concentrated on little Ingrid going up there, and looking like she might just vibrate out of her body, mightily terrified and wide eyed. But as soon as she started talking, got to show her know-how, and her passion and telling an interested crowd about the project she had been working so hard for, everything else went away. She stood tall, she walked around the stage, gestured, made the perfect amount of eye contact. “She’s so good up there.”, Fenja whispered at some point, leaning into Ragnar, who was sitting beside her. “She’s got a knack for public speaking.” He just grunted, and nodded, and shifted in his seat, angling his body more towards her. His arm was over the back of her chair, caging her in, and he kept playing with the tips of her hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes. And now shh.” He cut her off harshly and pointed to the front of the room. “Pay attention.” Ingrid was at the end of her presentation, her hands clasped behind her back, the presentation on it’s last slide - a picture of the whole team, bunched together in a room, the huge table covered in papers, laptops, chinese take-out boxes. Half of them seemed to be asleep at the desk, one or two were stretched out on couches in the background. It showed the hard work, the close bond of the team and the love that went into developing this programme. It also gave the crowd something to laugh at, so there’s that. The teen smiled at the room, did a little curtsy and raised her voice one last time: “Thanks for coming to my TED-Talk.” Laughter all through the crowd, some amused head shaking here and there. “If you’ve got any questions I couldn’t answer just now, we are at booth 128.” Fenja grinned and clasped a hand on Ragnars thigh, getting his attention. “Let’s go.” He nodded, stood and followed her closely. So close in fact, that she could feel his warmth through her sweater, even though he wasn’t even touching her. “Let’s get out of here.”, he rasped, eyes skipping over the crowd, looking for his sister. She joined them just outside the lecture hall, talking a mile a minute, like a freight train without brakes. Fenja was paying attention to her, just let her rant until they were back at the booth.

Where Alvin was waiting for them. Great. Ingrid tried to keep the mood light, as she could sense her brother getting all tense again. He really didn’t like Alvin. Fenja was as oblivious as ever, telling him about the presentation, how proud she was of Ingrid. She did not notice, that the guy was undressing her with his eyes. But Ragnar did. And he did not receive it well. “If he doesn’t stop looking at her like that, I’ll smash his face in.” His sister blinked twice, then looked up at him. She was honestly afraid he’d do something stupid. And at the same time she was amazed, because he’d never looked more like their father than he did in this very moment. There was a very dark, sinister storm brewing behind his eyes, his posture was coiled, shoulders pulled up slightly as he leaned forward and fixed the guy with a look. Okay, shit. And, of course, before Ingrid could do anything, Alvin made the mistake of touching Fenjas upper arm and leaning in. To be fair, from their angle it did look a bit like he was trying to maybe kiss her? But that was neither here nor there, because Ragnar would have gone off in any case. Fenja was in the process of leaning back - because, wow, personal space much? - when she was pulled back and against a wall of muscles, shaking in anticipation and the effort not to actually do any bodily harm. Alvin looked at Ragnar with such distaste, he might have just bitten into a lemon. Fenja felt it more than she heard the growl rumbling through her friend. “You may want to fuck off, buddy.” “Or what?” In the back, Ingrid groaned. What an idiot.   Her brother actually took a step forward, but a hand to his front stopped him. He fisted the material of her sweater, trying to anchor himself, to not attack this sleazy fish physically. “You really don’t want to know, man.” Fenja felt like she had been sucked into some romcom, or a telenovela maybe. Or some best-friend-to-lovers-fanfiction. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure that this was really happening. But even if she was passed out somewhere because she hit her head, she didn’t want Ragnar to get in any fights. So she interfered, pressed a hand against Ragnar, trying to keep him from lunging. Then she looked at Alvin, still standing there, all puffed up and a steely look in his eyes. “Could you please just go?” “Why? Just because some guy says so? He can’t decide over you, he’s not your boyfriend!” Ingrid facepalmed. Yeah, wrong move, man. Fenja straightened, let go of Ragnar and stood in front of him. “Are you serious? Yeah, buddy, you better go now, because if he doesn’t punch you, I will.” “But-” “Shut up and go, Alvin.” She could feel Ragnars hand folding over her hip, holding onto her, and it made her feel more secure, stronger. “Fuck off, beanbrain. I don’t want you.”

**

Part 12

#iw #infinite white #best friends to lovers #slow burn #vikings #a dreamwritesimagines production #ivars kids #foh #faint of heart #jealousy #no kiss yet im so sorry

[rhabakoli]

Another Rocky Night

Part 1

tbh, i was too lazy to edit, so please, if you find mistakes, unfinished sentences, anything - pls tell me? 

also, do not read in work environment.

@dreamwritesimagines @tofadavidson 

He found himself at the bar, whiskey in hand and looking towards the entrance. Curtis was next to him, dressed to the nines in a tux, smirk on his face. “You waiting for your mysterious date?” “Yes.” Billy wasn’t in the mood to joke around. He was here to make connections, to pitch his plans to some could-be benefactors. But he was nervous. Frank, on his other side, chuckled. “He doesn’t have a mysterious date. It’s his best friend.” Billy ignored them, their teasing. Instead he focused on the fact, that he’d be way less nervous, if he had his girl by his side. He didn’t think he could even be anything less than confident and sure of himself. He was stroking over the lapels of his suit, the only sign of his nerves. The whiskey was burning all the way down to his stomach, but he really needed it. “Holy-. Who’s that?” Billy looked up, and promptly felt like he swallowed his tongue. God damn, that woman. He’d have to beat half the army with a crowbar to keep them away. He felt fury and anger hot in his stomach and unable to control it, he slammed the glass down on the bar, hissed an excuse and stalked off, long strides towards his best friend. As she saw him, she smiled brightly, spread her arms and gave him a big hug, before he could even say anything. Well, was enough to at least keep some of them away, he guessed. Those who at least had heard of him would be sure to keep away from the girl that’s his plus one tonight. “I am so sorry to have made you wait,, traffic was unbearable. And my mother tried to make me wear something - how did she put it - more modest.” Billy took her in. Her hair was in a very complicated looking updo, the dress was a deep shade of red, and seemed modest enough to him. It had no cleavage, it was floor length, what was her mother talking about? When he asked, she just shrugged, playing innocent. “You’ll see.” Oh god. He hoped he’d live through this night. He nodded towards his friends by the bar. “Wanna say hi?” Skittles waved them enthusiastically, striding towards them. The second Billy got a full view of her backside, he almost choked on air. It had no backside. However modest it was in the front, the back was non-existent. There were thin straps running across the back, barely keeping it together, but other than that… Her tush was covered, at least.

He ground his teeth, stabbing the men around them with looks, hooping to scare them off.

Frank and Curtis were greeting her, kissing her cheeks left and right, hugging her. When they touched her naked back, they shot Billy curious looks. They knew how he was, when it came to his longest friend. They’d have to keep an eye on him. He already had a bit of a crazed look in his dark eyes.

They had some pleasant conversation, met some potential investors and Skittles managed to charm every single one of them. It wasn’t too hard. Most of them were men, and the second she turned around to leave, they were ready to sign any deal.   One even dared to ask if she was an asset to Anvil. Billy had to reign himself in, to not deck the creep. His friend took his wrist in her hand and smiled at the man. “I will take up training with Billy, so I will be there once in a while.” She looked down at the filigrane watch on her wrist and dazzled him with another bright smile. “Please excuse us now, we have a call scheduled.” Billy followed her blindly, feeling tense and cornered all over. He barely held back a growl, as some guy took a step back from his table and almost collided with Skittles. She was steering them back to their table, forced him to sit down and stay there, while she went and got him a water. Frank watched them in amusement. “Everything alright? You seem a bit tense there.” “I am so close to just taking out the next guy staring at her. She is not a piece of meat.” “What did you expect? You of all thing should know. that being an asshole is a requirement to be accepted in the military.” Before Billy could possibly to anything stupid - like leap across the table and strangle his best friend - , his eyes fell upon his best friend of the other sex, leaning against the bar and talking to the barkeeper. Her long, toned legs were on display. His mouth dried out in a matter of seconds. What in the world. He looked closer- oh fuck. The dress had a rather revealing slit up the side, it went almost up to her hip. “That woman will kill me.” Frank just laughed at him. Billy got up, on a mission. He interrupted her talk with the bartender, a hand on her back, body pressed close to hers as he murmured into her ear. “Come with me.” He didn’t even wait for her answer, he just went off, out of the ball room. Skittles quickly told the bartender to deliver their drinks to their table, if he was so kind, and followed Billy.

Outside, she was whirled around, crowded against the wall, trapped between two strong arms. Billy looked down to where he felt a sharp poke through his dress shirt. He then raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you threatening me with your knife?” “Sorry, reflex.” She folded the butterfly knife and tucked it back up the slit of her dress, hiding it at her hip. His dark eyes followed the motion, his breath coming out in a hiss. He cursed, then grabbed her elbow and pulled her along.

“Where are we going?” “Somewhere, where I don’t have to watch out for creeps all the time.” He found a room at last. It was some kind of entertainment lounge. Sofas all around, a bar in the corner, billiard tables strewn throughout the room. “So, you in for a round of balls?” She snickered at her choice of words. Billy would be laughing, if he wasn’t tense as a spring. “Skittles, what did you think dressing like this? If you wanted men’s attention, congratulations, you managed to get half the ballroom horny.” His friend moved around the room, a billiard ball in her hands. “I don’t want men’s attention.” She dropped the ball on the table, hopped on it and crossed her legs as she leaned back on her hands. Her dress slipped, the slit on its side showing her bare legs, teasing Billy. “I always only wanted one man’s attention.” Something in her tone made him look up, look closer. “What do you mean?” “I think you know very well what I mean.” He did. With the way she was looking at him right now, he knew exactly what she meant. “Is this a good idea?” She shrugged. “I don’t really care, you know? I never could handle relationships with other men if my life depended on it, so… You always were endgame.” Billy didn’t need more. He was on her in seconds, kissing her, feeling her soft skin under his hands. She uncrossed his legs, making space for him to stand in. His fingertips trailed up her legs, slipped under the fabric of her dress, and- he cursed, leaned his forehead against hers. “You’re going commando?” Was she honestly trying to make him a mad man? Kill him? “Try wearing a dress like this and not having anything poking out. I am glad I could manage to have my knife on me.” His fingers left marks, with how hard he pressed them into her skin. He whispered her name, again and again, his nose bumping against hers, their breaths mingling. She chased after his mouth, making him grin and pull away. She whined, grabbed him by his hips, bringing him closer. Her shoes thudded to the floor, one leg wrapped around his, one of her hands traveled from his hip to his front, teasing him by dragging a finger along the waistband of his trousers. He cupped her cheeks, angling her head to kiss her, nip at her lips, tease her with his tongue. He left hickeys here and there, made her moan, gasp, as his hands traveled all over her body, into the sides of her dress, feeling her warm skin, the shivers going through her, the goosebumps adorning her. Her fingers opened his trousers, pulled the zipper down, reached in and cupped him, felt him hard and hot under her hand. He hissed at her move, his hips bucked the slightest bit, making her chuckle. His head fell back, his whole body leaned towards her, his fingertips stroked her cheek, tapped along her cheekbone. His other hand found it’s way down her arm, joined her hand in his pants, covered it and pressed down, building friction. He couldn’t stop the groan ripping out of him, filling the room. She observed, loved his reactions, loved to see him lose control, one little crack after the other. He was putty in her hands, one massaging his hard dick, one cupping his ass and keeping him close. Billy gathered his wits, which took him longer than usual, considering his predicament. But still, he managed. His friend noticed, and almost whimpered at the look he gave her. He looked like a man starving, absolutely ready to consume her, to take her, ruin her for everyone else. His eyes were pure, deep black, even more than usual, his jaw was tense, his nostrils flared. A smirk stretched his lips, lifted the corner of his mouth. “Stay still.” His voice was deep, rough, traveled like a good whiskey. Burning, sharp, but with a smooth note and left you wanting more. When he got down to his knees, she leaned back on her arms, watching him lick his lips, brush her legs with his lips and paint trails with his tongue. It all served a single purpose: Making her scream his name and forget her own. He wanted everyone to know she was taken, she wasn’t for them to look at, she was precious and his to keep safe. He gathered her dress, pushed it aside and grabbed her legs, which were spread for him, her knees on both sides of his shoulders. He teased her, light touches, his stubble against her inner thigh, kisses and little licks, wandering further up. She was going crazy. He definitely knew what he was doing, and she hated every woman he had practiced this on. She held back her moans, her begging, her desperate gasps for air. And it got worse, when he finally touched her where she needed him the most. She was already so wet, she was positively dripping. With a rough chuckle, he licked some of it up, getting a little taste of what’s to come. Billy’s name started to spill from her lips, soft and quiet, interrupted by silent pleas. He decided he didn’t want to wait anymore, and dove right in. He dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit and back, alternating between just the tip and the flat of it. One of her hands was in his hair, destroying his carefully coiffed look. It spurred him on. He licked, nipped, bit, pulled out every trick he knew. He dipped the tip of his tongue into her, ate her out like it was his first meal since he came back from the tour, and added a finger, then two. She became wetter and more sensitive, started wriggling and thrashing. Soon, his other arm was draped over her hip, keeping her still, close to his face. She grew louder, her breathing faster, her movements more frantic. She was close, he knew. He fucking knew, and therefore he doubled his efforts, feeling her flutter around his fingers, her body-

Billy sat up, suddenly wide awake, his heart galloping in his chest like a race horse on the track. His bedroom was dark, peaceful. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Unbelievable. That was the second time, and again he couldn’t… Bad karma, he thought. He fell back against his headboard and grumpily looked down on himself. He was hard. With a sigh he took himself in hand and decided to let at least someone come tonight.

**

Part 3

#Once A Year #A Dreamwritesimagines Production #smutty #hes starving andd she's an all-you-can-eat buffet

[rhabakoli]

Infinite White - 9

previous chapters here

Taglist:  @dreamwritesimagines  @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper  @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

**

He stood in front of the mirror, pulling at his shirt, feeling ridiculous and not comfortable at all.  “Are you okay?” Ragnar jumped, heart tripling its efforts. “Can you knock?” Aslaug stood behind him, arms crossed and looked him up and down. Bear sat to her feet, big, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. She was wearing a gorgeous green knit-sweater.  He didn’t get it. “How do you women always look so effortlessly flawless?” “Because we are.” She came closer and picked a hair from his shoulder. “What has you all worried?” 

“I’m not worried.” He didn’t have to look at her to know the face she was making. “You’re standing in front of the mirror, apparently going through your whole closet, for a family dinner? There’s something going on.” She gestured towards his bed, covered in shirts and sweaters and dress shirts he’d have to iron once again. “There’s not.” “Oh.” Aslaug grinned, mischievous smirk on her face. “Fenja’s coming?” “Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?” Ragnar knew she wouldn’t buy it. He still tried the path of denial. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” She turned, shoved at his clothes to make some place for herself on his bed. “So, is it a crush, a squish, do you want to marry her and raise a bunch of cats?” “What the hell is a squish?” “A platonic crush. Like, you want to be friends really bad, etcetera.” Ragnar made an understanding sound and grabbed a dark grey long sleeve. “You’re going to wear that, it looks nice.” His sisters tone didn’t allow for objection. Bear barked at him, tail wagging wildly.   Ragnar looked between them and shrugged. “If you say so.”

**

Fenja stood before her closet, hands on her hips and deep frown on her face. Maeve was watching her from her bed, concerned about the unmoving state of her friend. “Are you okay?” “No. What do I wear? “ “What’s the plan?” Maeve knew that Gala was Ragnars aunt, and she knew that she wanted to meet her friend. She hasn’t been at the lecture, but the breathless, borderline hysteric phone call was telling enough. “Family dinner.” “Oh wow. Sounds… a lot?” Fenja waved a hand through the air, a dismissive motion. “Nah, they are cool. It’s just… I’ve met Bree, and she’s awesome. But not Gala. And I am nervous. I mean, Gala Ragnarsson, for fucks sake!” “She’ll will love you. I mean, they basically adopted you already, didn’t they?” “Bjorn welcomed me to the family, if that’s what you mean.”  Maeve grinned, and shook her head slightly. “Totally. That’s totally what I mean. Also, just call Ragnar, he’ll help, I’m sure.”

**

Ragnar’s phone rang, sending him into a frenzy. It was buried somewhere under his pillows, and he threw them off the bed in rapid succession, to get to it. “Fenja, if you call to cancel, we have a problem.” “Not cancelling, still having a problem.” “Why, what’s up?” “I don’t know what to wear.” He stopped pacing, thinking he misheard. “What?” “I don’t know, should I wear something fancy, is it going to be more casual?” “Fenja-” “I slept through the last friday night dinner, I’d be the last one to know about any dress codes.” “Fenja-” “Also, your aunt? I don’t want her first impression to be that I am a slob. Or a wannabe rich trust fund kid that wears a robe for a casual dinner with family.” “Fenja-” “Granted, not my family, but whatever. Same principle:” She was unstoppable. She was ranting, going on about her dress choices, what felt okay, and what felt over the top to her. “Will there be any red sauce?” “I don’t know, I don’t think so. Why?”  “I’ll not wear any white or light colors then.” Ragnar just sat, elbows on his knees and listened, answering questions on the odd occasions she let him speak.  “I’m coming to pick you up, alright? I’ll be there in half an hour.” “Don't expect me to be dressed by then.”

**

Maeve snorted at her roomies words. “Poor fool will imagine you in your underwear.” “Oh shut up, he won't.”

**

True to her words, she wasn't dressed, when he arrived. Their portier let him up, and Maeve opened the door for him. “Hi, giant. How's life?” “Exciting, thank you. And you?” “Oh, lot's of brain and body exertion. But I've got just one exam left. I'm almost free.” Ragnar laughed at her little happy dance and looked around the dorm room. “Where's Fenja?” “Taking a shower.” Maeve sat down cross-legged on her bed and gestured Ragnar to do the same. He did, leaning back against the wall, left hand rubbing over his knee as he took in Fenja’s side of the room. Her desk was laden with papers, her laptop, pens strewn everywhere. The shelf above her desk was almost giving out with the amount of books resting there. They were everywhere. Under her bed, on her closet, she even used a tower of them as nightstand. “You'll need to get a bigger room, if she continues buying books.” Maeve chuckled, sorting through the papers in her lap. “No kidding. I have to thank you for letting her go wild in your library, by the way. Keeps her from buying.” “My pleasure. That way I can at at least try and feed her healthy meals.” She looked up, amused. “You noticed, eh?” He nodded. “She polishes off a family bag of nachos like it's a light snack.” “Oh, you haven't seen her chips eating habits yet.” At his questioning expression, she grinned. “Cream cheese and vinegar chips.” “I'm friends with a monster.” “I feel like I should have warned you, but you seemed quite stubborn when you were chasing after Fenja, so I didn't.” “I didn't chase after Fenja?” His tone was so adorably confused, she almost believed him. “Sure you didn't.” Then she threw her papers at him. “Test me, I need to know this in my sleep.”

**

Fenja barged in, door banging against the wall, her hands in her unruly hair, trying to tame it as she's holding her towel in her mouth, a crazed look in her eyes. When she found her friends on Maeves bed, she froze. “Hi?” Ragnar wriggled his fingers at her and continued to question Maeve about different, commonly occuring sport injuries and their causes and treatments. Fenja gave up on her hair, took the towel out her mouth and threw it on her bed. “What you doing?” “He's testing my knowledge for this godforsaken exam I have.” Maeve pointed at her, eyes all squinty, accusing tone in her voice: “How dare you keep such an amazing study buddy for yourself?” Fenja frowned. “I did ask you multiple times to join us-” “I feel betrayed!” “It was your own choice!” “You TRAITOR!”, She screeched, at the top of her lungs. Fenja rolled her eyes and gave up. Instead she turned her attention to Ragnar, who was looking comically big on their tiny dorm beds, and who had a weird mix of amusement and desperation on his face. “This okay?” He blinked a couple times, clueless, like a little racoon dropping its cotton candy into a puddle. When he didn't answer, Fenja repeated her question, while waving her hand up and down in front of her body. She was wearing jeans, a thin, knitted sweater, oxfords.  “Oh, uh, yeah, great.” He cleared his throat, smiled at her.  “Okay then. Let’s go.” She took her bag, and went out the door, calling back to Maeve. “Bye, idiot!” 

**

“Hey, Mum.” Queenie looked up, at her youngest standing in the kitchen. “Hey, Sweetie. Everything alright?” “Yeah, they’re here.” She rolled her eyes. “They are so disgustingly cute, I swear I’m gonna barf. And they don’t even have a clue.”  Ingrids mother laughed at her daughters exasperated tone. “How’s Ginger, by the way?” Instantly,  Ingrid became pouty and defiant. “That’s completely different.” “Is it?” “Yes. She’s my actual girlfriend, mom.” Ingrid raised her chin, giving her mother a playful stinky eye. “And she’s fine. Her internship is going great and she misses me.”  “I’m sure. Now take the salads and put them on the table, please.”

**

Dinner was going great. They were all here, Bear was snoozing under the table and warming their feet, their bellies were full and Ragnar even considered opening a button. He shouldn’t have eaten that second bowl of potato salad, he’d known it. Next to him was Fenja, deeply immersed in a conversation with his aunt, who willingly answered all her questions and then proceeded to squeeze all her favourite books and authors out of his friend. Not that she was troubled by it, quite the opposite. He was fairly sure the two of them would vanish into the library at some point that evening. A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to his right, towards Aslaug.  “You gonna tell her?”  “What?” “That you’re in puppy love with her?” Ragnar tensed. Aslaug should be very happy about her superior whispering abilities, otherwise she’d be dead meat.  “What are you talking about?”  “Oh, again?” She flicked his ear. “Just do it, oh god.” “No. And I won’t talk about this anymore.”

Their mother rose, hand clutched in her husbands, and asked for attention. “Seeing, as all the people we love and cherish are here tonight, we don’t want to wait any longer with this. Also, the cake needs another minute.” Forgotten was Ragnars crush. This sounded important and probably life changing. Ivar smiled sweetly up at his wife, kissing her hand and pressing the back of it against his cheek, in silent support. Fenja shrinked in her seat, feeling overwhelmed and out of place by Queenies words, but Ragnar wasn’t having it. He seeked out her hand and intertwined their fingers, stroking over the back of her hand, winking at her. “This hasn’t been planned, we’d not have waited 15 years if it was.” Fenjas eyebrows shot up, a suspicion already forming. Queenie stole a last look at her husband, then looked at her family. “I am pregnant.” It was silent. Dead silent. And then, suddenly, Bjorn started laughing, booming and happy. Queenie couldn’t even react, before he had her in a hug, raised off the floor and pressed against his chest. After that, all hell broke loose. The children collectively lost their minds. Ragnar and Aslaug had dark flashbacks, Ingrid was mostly grimassing because ‘oh my god, my parents had sex.’

Questions were thrown around, and Queenie just laughed, while Ivar hissed at his brothers not to be so rough with her. “How far along are you?” Bree hugged her best friend, kissed her cheek. “3 months. I didn’t want to tell you too soon, in case something happens.” “Oh, I am sure you’ll be fine. Ivar slapped Ubbe, probably because he asked an inappropriate question. Fenja would never get that creepy face he’d made out of her head. Good thing he wasn’t her professor at school. It all was very familiar and cozy, the atmosphere high strung with anticipation and happiness. Ragnar looked around. His sisters were already picking out baby shower decoration, his aunts were in it as well, his uncles were teasing the future parents. Fenja was next to them, getting roped into a hug by his mom - he hadn’t even noticed her going over -, and then leaving the room. She was all smiley and happy towards his parents, but as soon as no one could see her face, it got all clouded and dark.

Concerned, he followed her out, catching her out in the foyer. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow, pulling her gently to a halt. “You okay there?” “Yes.” She didn’t look up at him, angled her face down, keeping him from seeing the truth. Or so she thought. “Mhm.” He was sceptical. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.” She just shrugged, so he took matters into his own hands and guided her into his room. Maybe she’d say more behind closed doors. “What’s up?” “Nothing.” She was standing there, right in his room, hugging herself and looking… scared. “Fenja, please. I can see that something is wrong.” He sat on his bed, leaning forward and touching her arm. “This evening is not about me, please, can we not do this right now?” She swallowed, voice breaking. Ragnar sighed. Stubborn girl. “Sure thing, princess.” So he got up again, hand not leaving her arm. “Need a hug?”

**

An hour after receiving the news and cake, Ingrid whipped out Cards Against Humanity, since most of them refused to play UNO. Not when there was still cake around. Ragnar felt the strong need to give some money and his help to charities, and Bree even went so far as to get up, go over to the window ‘looking for a shred of humanity’. It was brutal. Fenja and Gala were off to the side sitting sideways and turned towards each other on the couch, with Hvitserk leaning on Gala’s back like the big manchild he was. They seemed to enjoy themselves, the dark look on his friends face was gone for now. He wondered what brought that mood swing on. After Bree had laid down a particularly vile card, Ragnar decided to step away and instead joined the unofficial book club on the couch. “How’s it going?” “I offered her an internship with the YWA.”, said Gala. Ragnar almost choked on air, definitely not having expected that. “What?” “In case she doesn’t get accepted as a writer. It’s good to have options.” She patted Fenjas hand. “There’ll still be a whole process, but I can open some doors.” Fenja was speechless, barely managed to nod. Gala just smiled brightly. “Thought so. And now please excuse us, I think it’s past his bedtime.” Hvitserk whined in protest, absolutely, completely proving his wife’s point.

**

Part 10

#iw #infinite white #Ivars kids #A Dreamwritesimagines Production #faint of heart AU #foh