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stuckinthesun · 11 months

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The Jacket // R.G. x Fem!Reader

Summary

Rick catches you pleasuring yourself while wearing a familiar article of clothing

Warnings

nsfw, dark themes, kinda murder couple vibes, fem masterbation, voyerism, Dom!Rick, mean Rick, teasing, pet names, fingering, p in v, overstim, pussy slapping

Word Count

2.8k

You don’t even remember what you came into his room for. The moment your eyes landed on the familiar brown jacket, your mind became fuzzy and all other thoughts were forgotten.

That jacket.

The one you’ve seen Rick brutally kill dozens of people in, you could even still see blood permanently stained in the wool collar of it. And when you walked into the man’s room to find it just lying on his bed, heat instantly pooled between your legs.

You’ve been in love with the leader of your group since the moment you met him, and that love only grew the more he protected your group from the dangers of the world.

The two of you weren’t together though. There was tension, to long looks and lingering touches, but never anything more. Life in the apocalypse was so brutal and fast paced that it never left time for anything like that, so you were left to pine.

But now here you stood, in his room, staring at his jacket, the jacket you’ve fantasized about him fucking you in countless of times.

You walked further into Ricks room, like you were in a trance, until you were standing at the foot of his bed, and running your fingers along the rough material of the brown jacket.

It wasn’t just the fact that Rick looked damn good in it, that was just a bonus. No it was the fact that, the moment he got this jacket, something shifted.

You remember being reunited with him after the prison fell, under the dirt and blood he was wearing this coat and you remember thinking, he’s different.

You picked up the jacket, it being heavier than you expected, and buried your nose into the wool collar. It was surprisingly soft against your skin as you inhaled, smelling the old detergent everyone used, soap and something that was distinctly Rick.

It was musky and heady and filling you with warmth, making a small whimper leave your lips. Your fingers gripped the material harder, bunching it in your fists and almost hugging the jacket like a pillow.

You should feel embarrassed, you should stop and walk away before someone undoubtably catches you, but you can’t stop. It feels too good when you squeeze your thighs together, thinking about the way Rick looked killing Gareth, wearing this exact jacket.

“Fuck-“ You moan, finally sparring a glance at the bedroom door. Empty, not a soul in sight.

Am I really gonna do this?

“Besides… I already made you a promise.”

Fuck.

In a split second decision, you rush over and close the door, before going back toward his bed. The jacket feels almost heavenly as you slip it on, the smell of Rick enveloping you and making goosebumps appear on your skin.

You’re on your back instantly, fingers undoing the button and zipper of your jeans. You quickly slip your hand under the waistband of your underwear and pants, fingers sliding between your folds and feeling just how wet you already are.

Moaning you turn your head to the side and bury your nose into the wool collar of Ricks jacket again. His heady scent making your eyes roll back and your hips buck against your hand.

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears, the rush of adrenaline only turning you on more and you had to bite the material to stifle your moans. Your fingers rubbed small, quick circles on your clit, your movement’s limited due to your jeans blocking you.

It wasn’t enough, you needed more, you needed him.

A frustrated whine left your lips.

“Maybe it would feel better if you took your pants off.” A deep, familiar voice said, startling you.

You paled with embarrassment when you sat up to see Rick leaning in the doorway. His arms were crossed, and he wore a smirk as he looked at you with amusement.

“R-rick I–“

“Don’t mind me, keep going sweetheart.” Rick cut you off, stepping away from the doorframe and closing the bedroom door.

He turned around and resumed his position, this time against the wooden surface. His piercing blue eyes burned holes into you, making you squirm, “What?”

“Keep. Going.” Rick said, tone dropping and his face changing from amused to something darker.

The heat in your abdomen returns in full force and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together. You watch the smirk return to Ricks lips as he watches, and with an embarrassed flush you lay back down.

You resume the position you were in before, on your back with your hand shoved down your pants rubbing your clit. This time though, when you turned your head to bury your nose into the jacket, you turned to face Rick.

Soon your embarrassment was forgotten as you let out a moan, your fingers circling your clit just right. You stared directly at the man of your desires, watching for a reaction.

Wanting to see how Rick would react to you touching yourself on his bed, while wearing his jacket.

All you got was Rick pulling his lips back against his teeth, making a ‘tsk’ sound, as he got off the door and began walking over toward you, “You’re so desperate for it you can’t even properly undress yourself?”

His boots rang like thunder against the hardwood floor, and if you were of clear mind you would’ve found it strange you didn’t hear it earlier. Instead the sound just made your hips buck, and you watched as he stopped in front of you.

You whined as Ricks hands touched your knees and slid down your thighs to rest at your hips. He began pulling your jeans and underwear off, and you stopped rubbing your clit, eagerly lifting your hips up to help him.

Suddenly Rick stopped though, and when you looked at his face confused, you saw he was glaring at you, “Did I say you could stop?”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. This only made his glare deepen and he tilted his head as he said, “Use your words.”

“N-no, you didn’t.” You choked out, feeling yourself clench around nothing.

“Then keep. Going.” Rick hissed, and you nodded frantically as you began rubbing yourself again.

Seeming satisfied, Rick started removing your pants and underwear again, exposing your aching core and your fingers playing with your clit.

Rick stared at you like he was in a trance, and it made your embarrassment come back while adding to your arousal. You flushed at his stare and moaned as his hands ran up and down the inside of your bare thighs, pushing your legs further apart.

You could feel your release getting closer and you rolled your hips as you whined, “Rick please.”

“Please what?” He asked, his voice sounding hoarse and his eyes never leaving your movements.

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” He answered plainly, hands squeezing your thighs as if to prove his point.

His grip only pushed you closer to the edge and you let out a frustrated groan, “But I’m gonna c-cum if I keep-“

“Then cum.” Rick said, finally looking into your eyes, “Isn’t that what you wanted? To make yourself cum while wearing my coat, laying on my bed?”

You moaned, arching your back and clenching around nothing, and his eyes flicked back to your center, “Now I just get to watch.”

That was it, that was all it took. You came with a loud shout, hips bucking against your hand and head turning into the wool collar.

Ricks hands were still rubbing along your thighs as he talked you through it, “That’s it, good girl. Let me see just how good you feel.”

You had barely finished riding out the high of your orgasm before you felt two fingers push inside of you, making you gasp, “You’re drenched from just rubbing your clit?”

“Rick wait!” You cried out, trying to move away from him. His fingers inside of you were too much, the pleasure turning painful. His free hand moved to your abdomen, holding you in place as his fingers curled inside of you.

“A minute ago you were begging me to touch you and now you want me to wait?” Rick teased you, that mean smirk back on his face.

A sob escaped your lips and you closed your eyes as tears filled them, “T-too much!”

“You can take it, sweetheart.” Rick leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Tell you what, doll. I’ll stop teasing you and just fuck you, if you tell me what it is you like about that jacket so much, Mhmm? Sound good?”

As if to seal the deal, Rick began thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace. You cried out, arching into him unintentionally. Your hands came up to weakly push at him, trying to get him to stop, but it was useless.

“Come on baby, it has to be something.” Rick cooed, pulling away from your ear to watch your face closely, “I mean, you came in here and put it on to touch yourself. Obviously you like it a lot.”

“I-it’s y-yours!” You managed to get out, hands no longer pushing him away but holding on for dear life.

You opened your eyes saw Ricks pupils dilate but he just shook his head, “No. That might be part of it, but that’s not the whole thing. Come on, why do you like it so much? I mean, it still has blood stains.”

The loud moan that escaped your lips startled both of you. Ricks fingers stopped and your eyes widened in panic.

Shit! He’s going to think I’m insane and kick me out and-

The smirk Rick had before was replaced with something almost manic, “So that’s it.”

His fingers were moving inside of you again, curling instantly to find your sweet spot and making you see stars. The hand on your pelvis began sliding up, pushing your shirt along with it, revealing more of your skin as he stared at you in wonder.

“That’s what it is, you like that I’ve killed so many people and walkers while wearing it, huh darling?” Rick asked, and leaned closer to you. His words, his fingers and his closeness were all pulling you back to the edge. The pain from overstimulation completely gone, and now you were rocking against his hand between your legs.

“So what is it exactly that gets you this wet, huh baby? Is it that I’ve killed people? That I’m capable of killing people? Or that I’m willing to protect the people I care about at any cost?”

You looked at him with teary eyes and choked out, “T-that you’d be willing to k-kill for m-me!”

Ricks face softens just the slightest bit, “Oh sweetheart, I’ve already killed for you.”

Your orgasm ripped through you suddenly, making your hips come off the bed and your juices spray everywhere. You didn’t even realize you were squirting, your senses were zeroed in on how Rick felt finger fucking you as you came down from your high.

Soon it became too much again and you started pushing at him, and this time Rick actually took pity on you. He slipped his fingers from your sopping cunt and put them in his mouth. You heard him moan around the digits as he licked them clean and you blushed when you finally realized what a mess you made.

The front of Ricks shirt was soaked, along with the bed and the jacket underneath you. You blushed deeper at the thought and covered your face with your hands as you huffed out tiredly, “I’m sorry for- Ah!”

You were cut off by a rough slap to your pussy, sending a shockwave through your body and making you flinch violently. You uncovered your face and looked at him, completely taken aback.

Rick just glared at you as he began unbuttoning his shirt, “Finish that sentence and I won’t fuck you.”

Your eyes widen and you instantly clamp your mouth shut. He smirks, shrugging his shirt off, “Good girl, now undress for me.”

Sitting up, you only hesitated a little before letting the jacket slip from your shoulders and pool around your waist. As you pull your shirt over your head, you hear the buckle of Ricks holster. Throwing your shirt to the floor you watch as he sets the gun on the bed next to you.

The idea of fucking with it on the bed makes you squirm in excitement.

The sound of a belt buckle draws you back to the man standing above you, and you look up to see him smirking at you, “You’re one kinky little slut aren’t you?”

You blush a look away from him, instead focusing on unhooking your bra. When you finally got the damn thing unclasped and you let it fall from your chest, you heard Rick make a noise.

Looking up you saw that he was staring at you again. This time at your now exposed chest, and he reached one hand out to squeeze one of your breasts, while the other pulled his belt from the loops of his pants.

You sighed at the feeling of his palm pressing against your nipple, “Please hurry Rick, need you.”

“So impatient for someone who’s cum twice,” Rick teased, letting go of you to pull himself out of his now unzipped jeans.

Then he did something that both shocked and delighted you.

Rick reached down and slid his jacket from around your waist, before bringing it up and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

You shivered at the sight of him, in that jacket, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes you. Then you realize the positions you’re in, him fully clothed except for his cock and balls, and you completely naked and already soaked in your own juices.

“Fuck,” You moan, and you just can’t help yourself anymore. Reaching up, you grab the collar of the jacket you love so much, and pull him in for a kiss.

Rick instantly kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to hold the back of your head as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. You hum into him, and allow him to push you on your back.

You feel the drag of his cock between your folds, gathering your slick up, and you moan breaking the kiss. Ricks teeth sink into your bottom lip as you feel the head of his cock push against your entrance.

Letting your lip go he groans, “You’re gonna take my cock like a good girl, right?”

“Yes! Yes please let me take your cock please!” You cry out, desperately trying not to roll your hips to try and push him inside of you.

“Good,” Is all the warning you get before Rick pushes fully inside of you in one thrust. You cry out and instantly wrap your arms and legs around him to ground yourself.

You didn’t really register how big he was a moment ago, but now that he’s inside of you, you can feel every inch of him splitting you open.

“R-Rick!” You sob, shaking in his arms, and you feel his beard tickle your skin as he kisses along your neck.

“Take it sweetheart, I know you can.” He growls against your skin, biting down in the crevice between your neck and jaw.

You barely got a moment to adjust before Rick started moving. His thrusts were quick and hard, making your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curls. One of his hands gripped your thigh so tight you were sure you would have finger shaped bruises, while the other stayed planted next to your head.

“Fuck,” It was Rick who moaned, and the sound made your eyes roll to the back of your head, “Feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

“O-oh god,” You whine, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging.

“Shit baby,” Rick groans, hips stuttering slightly. “This what you wanted, Huh? Me fucking you while wearing this jacket you like so much?”

“Yes! Yes fuck!” You yell, rocking your hips to meet his, “I’m so close Rick please!”

“Come on baby,” Rick grunts, squeezing a hand between the two of you to rub at your sensitive clit, “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you do exactly that. You cum so hard it almost hurts, nails digging into Ricks skin so hard you’re probably drawing blood.

The feeling of you squeezing around him like a vice pulls Rick right over the edge with you. He spills inside of you with a grunt, filling you with his hot seed.

You lay there limp when you come down from your high, limbs slipping from around Rick as he carelessly pulls out of you and fall to lay down at your side.

You’re both breathing heavily, you’re throat feels raw from how much you screamed and the cum cooling between your legs feels gross.

You’ve never felt better.

With a happy sigh you turn your head to the side to see Rick already looking at you. There’s a smile on his face and his eyes hold that same amusement from earlier.

“So… my jacket, huh?”

You playfully push his face away.

…idek

#rick x reader #rick grimes #rick twd #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes fanfiction #twd rick #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead fanfiction #twd x reader #twd x y/n #twd x you

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blackleatherjacketz · 6 months

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Frostbite

Loki x Female Reader

Summary: Set before the events of Thor (2011). You’ve been having sex dreams about your friend Loki for weeks now. After your betrothal to another man, he gets jealous and lets you know he’s been having them, too.

Warnings: 18+ Only! Explicit Smut, Mature Content, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sex Dreams, Sleep Walking, Dubious Consent, Confessions of Love/Lust, Asgard, Enchantment?, Kissing, Face-Grabbing, Groping, Possessive Loki, Jealousy, Loki Using His Frost Giant Powers To Go Down On You, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Bonus points if you catch my Hamilton reference.

Word Count: 2.5k+

Thank you to @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for brainstorming this with me!

Read more Loki!

The crickets are well into their nocturnal symphony as the flames from the worn down torches illuminate the great hall. Their warm, amber glow radiates into the apertures and hallways that branch off from the main path, highlighting them just enough to guide your way. You can’t recall exactly what had awakened you from your slumber, or when you had left your chambers in the royal palace, but your feet somehow seem to know exactly where they’re taking you.

Just as one accepts an amount of false realities in their dreams, you can’t help but accept this blissfully hazy version of your friend graciously greeting you in his personal quarters. You’ve dreamt of him like this before; his face always a little blurry and the details a little bit fuzzy, but a few things about him remain the same. His scent as he draws you near, the flavor of his kiss and the way he cries out your name always seem to stick with you, haunting you well into your waking hours. These dreams have increased in frequency as time went on, eventually making it harder for you to look your beloved friend in the eye. You had almost resorted to ignoring him completely during your everyday life, anxiously awaiting your time together once you resigned again to the mansions of rest.

You can smell him again here and now as you walk in the twilight of consciousness, that deep crisp scent flooding your senses as his face slowly comes into focus, the sharp angles of his features more beautiful than ever in the wavering light of the torches.

Wait a minute, that’s never happened before.

“You’re really here.” His voice is clear and undistorted, yet softer than the one he puts on for Thor and Odin. This gentle timbre must be reserved only for you.

“Wait a minute, this isn’t…” You blink a few dozen times to try and focus your vision, squinting as you look around his bedroom to make sure that you are where you think you are. You can clearly see the ornate details carved into the furniture at your side, noting that none of the designs are shifting or blurring together like they often did in your slumber. “This isn’t a dream?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid.” He shakes his head blithely, a satisfied grin curling his lips upward as he approaches you.

“This time?” You ask, wondering how he could possibly know about the fantasies that kept you coated in a film of sweat beneath your covers at night. Has he been watching you? Reading your mind when you weren’t paying attention? Or is he merely toying with you like a cat would a mouse before biting into its neck?

“I’ve been having them, too, you know,” he starts, the deep collar of his nightshirt revealing a peek at his chest as he gets closer to you. “The dreams we dare not speak of.”

He knows. Your heart drops into the bitter acid of your stomach, tightening your insides as he stares at you expectantly. But wait a minute, did he just say…?

“I thought it was nothing more than a mere coincidence until you started to avoid me.” He touches a strand of hair that cascades down your shoulder, contrasting against the sheer material of your night dress that barely covers your naked form. “Until I noticed your cheeks flush scarlet at my gaze.”

You watch his eyes darken as they take you in, forcing those dreamlike feelings of longing to rush to the surface once more. That all too familiar moisture begins to pool between your thighs, triggered by the mere warmth of his touch as he slowly breathes in your scent.

“I don’t,” you try to protest, cheeks blushing again despite yourself as you try to find the right words, any words in fact, to defend your reaction. “I didn’t…”

“I wanted to see if it was more than just some misconstrued fantasy of mine,” he ignores your mindless bumbling, snaking his fingers through your locks up to the base of your neck. “And after tonight’s announcement, I knew I had to find out for myself.”

It’s all starting to make sense now, the sudden betrothal Odin had announced at dinner tonight had caught you both off guard, forcing you to glance up at each other in a shared, silent panic that you didn’t quite understand until now. You knew that this day was coming eventually, but you didn’t think it would be this soon; that a complete stranger would show up and derail your hidden feelings for your best friend whom you were secretly dreaming about for months now.

“I didn’t have any control over that,” you admit.

“I know that!” He spits, grabbing onto your face. His thumb and forefinger press your lips into a pucker as he all but picks you up and backs you up against the wall. A jealous shade of green flashes wildly in his eyes, nearly drowning out the icy blue in them entirely. “It’s maddening to think that he gets to taste you every night! Like he even knows how to please you, how to make you moan his name in every pitch on the scale after all that we’ve done together!”

All that you’ve done together? Your chest heaves as that twinge of jealousy turns to a dangerous hue of anger as he bares his teeth at you. “Loki, those were just dreams.”

“Were they?” His voice cracks for a split second as his lashes flutter against your cheek, his stifled breath hot on your lips as he holds you in place.

With your heart beating wildly against your rib cage, you recall the deeply manipulative nature of his powers, wondering just how coincidental these shared dreams actually were. Had he enchanted you into falling for him night after night, or were your romantic feelings there for him all along? As impossible as it is to say which came first, what you can tell Is how strong your feelings are for him right now, and what you can do about them in this moment.

You decide to close the gap between you by pressing your lips against his, feeling him willingly lean into your embrace as he loosens his grip on your face. All those dreams from all those nights have finally led up to this, his hands finally venturing down your shaking frame, surveying every curve of your body as he presses his against it. His fingers grasp at the linens of your dress, hurriedly pulling them up above your thighs as his tongue parts your hungry lips in order to taste in earnest what he’s been dreaming of for so long.

Without breaking the kiss he lifts you up, hoisting your hips onto his as he squeezes the muscles in your thighs to bring you even closer. He stumbles backwards with your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands feeling their way up your backside as he fumbles against chairs and tables, desperately squeezing onto your cheeks. An ancient vase topples over in his attempt to guide both of you onto his bed, shattering into hundreds of pieces before he tosses you onto his bed with a force you hadn’t seen him use before.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he says under his shortened breath, lifting up your skirts to needily massage your inner thighs. “For so long.”

“So have I.” The sight of him above you like this is absolutely unreal, the gravity of it not quite sinking into your brain as his fingers graze deftly over your needy center. In your dreams, this part always seemed to merge together with your inevitable climax, his groans mixing with yours in a cluster of images and sensations, the details never quite being laid out before you… until now.

A single strand of hair falls in front of his eyes as his fingers pass over the length of your swollen heat, taking their time to spread your lips apart as your hips instinctively roll toward him. He grins at your eagerness, dipping his head down just enough to blow his ice cold breath over your sex. It freezes your nerve endings in a prickly, tingling sensation you didn’t think possible, shocking you to your core. It forces your body to shiver, contracting your muscles in rapid succession as you hear him laugh mirthfully before dropping his head down even lower to lick a strip up your now frozen cunt.

“Loki!” You breathe out, limbs already shaking from his little parlor trick as the chill runs up your spine, hardening your nipples even more. Your teeth begin to chatter as he spreads your legs further apart, his saliva now warming your icy organ as every hair on your body stands on end.

“You look even more beautiful like this than in my dreams,” he huffs, his mouth finally melting the liquid barrier of your opening as he slides two fingers inside. His tongue dances over your bud as he pushes his digits in, working together in tandem to stimulate that internal organ as sparks of pleasure shoot up into your core.

“Oh gods,” you mumble, the shivering in your limbs finally calming down enough for you to reach down and stroke his hair as he enthusiastically thaws you out.

Those internal sparks come faster each time, speeding up as your convulsions from the ice die down, the two opposing forces balancing each other out as every sensitive nerve he touches inside you comes alive. You let your eyes fall shut as he bites down on your clit, adding yet another sensation to your nervous system as a needy whimper escapes your lips. He sucks your bud into his mouth, greedily tugging on it as he nibbles just hard enough to turn those sparks into flames. His ministrations send them blazing their way up through you as they light a path through your muscles into every layer of your skin, igniting them into the very tips of your fingernails and strands of your hair.

You cry out his name as your pleasure finally combusts, exploding into a giant firework of ecstasy as your body shivers and shakes despite the freezing cold that was there only moments ago. Your internal warmth vibrates within you as you instinctively clench down, pulling his fingers in even deeper as he relentlessly dines on your melting flesh, hungry eyes glancing up at you periodically as your bones rattle in delight.

Wow, you should have sleep walked into his bedroom a lot earlier.

“That never happened in the dream,” you jest, still shaking as your bliss gradually fizzles out.

“No,” he smirks, finally coming up for air with a sinister gaze. “Let’s make reality better than our dreams.”

He slithers up your body, his mouth leaving a messy trail of your juices on the fabric of your dress while what little remains glistens on his nose and chin. His hands peel your sleeves off your shoulders, exposing your breasts just before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He groans into it as your hands travel down his neck and back, massaging the muscles along his spine beneath his shirt as he tastes your skin. The twinge of his teeth on your nipples send your body into overdrive as your moans occur more often, growing in volume.

“You’re making so much noise and I’m not even inside you yet,” he chides, kissing his way up your chest and neck as your moans reverberate in your throat. He pecks at your chin and jawline as your body relaxes from the brief lack of stimuli, your hands smoothing their way up into his hairline as he finally kisses your lips. He tastes even better than before, his frosty tongue mixing with the tang of your arousal as he rhythmically thrusts his clothed erection between your legs, all but soaking through his night clothes.

“Wouldn’t want to wake Odin, now would we?” He chuckles haughtily into your kiss for a moment, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin as he slowly leans back from your embrace.

Your body yearns for him already, addicted to his touch as that short amount of time devoid of contact seems to last too long already. You watch him push his pants down past his hips, freeing himself from the only barrier left between you as your hands reach out, grazing up his biceps and over his shoulders as he crawls back on top of you.

“Only I get to ruin you like this,” he whispers, his voice dropping an octave as he grabs hold of himself, gliding the tip of his cock over your well spent cunt. “Not him, not anyone.”

You nod as he blinds you with pleasure, passing over your bud a few more times before pushing all the way in, filling you up without mercy. His girth stretches you out, his length hitting your cervix with each needy thrust up into you as he gives himself over to you again and again. His breath hitches as his mouth catches yours, his moans turning into whiny whimpers, nearly losing himself before sliding his arms beneath your thighs to push them up toward your chest.

“I want you to think of me every time he touches you.” His hips snap against your thighs, hitting that bundle of nerves at a delicious new angle as they promise another orgasm to rival the last. You want to wrap your thighs around his waist, to pull him in as close as possible in order to share the impending euphoria just as you had your dreams. But he continues to hold your legs in position up by your shoulders, straining your muscles as he keeps rocking into you. It triggers your body to convulse again as it nears the brink, the rhythm of his thrusts a little more desperate each time. “I want you to promise that you’ll always be mine.”

His efforts flip a switch inside you didn’t even know was there, encompassing you in a delightful ethereal glow that makes you feel as if you’re floating, levitating through all nine realms at once. It’s beyond exhilarating, washing away any other thought from your head besides him pumping mindlessly inside you. Nothing else seems to matter now; not Asgard, not Odin, not your betrothal… all that matters is Loki. All that matters is this.

Your skin tingles as he slides into your cunt at a much more frantic rate now, sweat dripping down his chest as his eyes roll back into his head, a sudden deep shade of blue flushing over his skin. A breathy growl rattles in his chest as he sheaths himself inside you faster, further, deeper before he comes undone and that blue tinge fades just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Promise me!” He collapses on top of you as he finishes spilling himself inside your walls, his chin tucked snugly into the base of your neck as he finally releases his grip on your thighs.

“I promise.” You kiss into his forehead, hearing him pant his way down to a regular rate. You can feel his heart beating against your own now, a detail your dreams never seemed to give you as his breath chills the skin behind your ear as he remains inside you. “I promise I’m yours.”

“Good,” he whispers softly, lazily tracing the outline of your face. “I’ll be sure to visit you in your dreams even after you get married.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki smut #tom hiddleston #loki series #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki x you

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

CRYBABY — armin arlert x male reader

w.c: 2.5k

genitalia terms: cock, hole, dick

WARNING: humiliation, dirty talk, impact play (face slapping, spanking), edging, restraints (spreader-bar, undisclosed hand restraints), degradation, subspace, sadism, bottom reader, specific body type (taller/bigger than armin, other than that nonspecific!), amab reader. CHECK REBLOGS.

“To be fair, you’re pretty girly, Armin,” Hange chirps, wrapping their arm around Armin’s shoulders with a sly grin. Their hair swings over their face, a dark shadow casting over their gaze. His striking blue eyes watch in amusement as the rest of the Survey Corps nods along in agreement. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the speculations, albeit a little strange how interested his coworkers are in his sex life, he can’t blame them for being so interested when he has a boyfriend like you. Plus, he’s come quite far from how he used to be— his hair is shorter, cheeks less rounded out by babyfat, shoulders broad and square. He doesn’t need to prove anything. “You let a big rock like that push you around every night?”

The blond coughs into his fist, squeezing his big, cerulean eyes shut to stifle a laugh. You’re much taller than Armin, even on a bad day, with a permanent glare in your eyes. You’d make mountains shrink if they could, with your piercing gaze. Even as you trail behind your boyfriend like a puppy, they see nothing but a guard dog, its canines bared and sharp and dangerous. Your intensity almost surpasses Levi’s, even if they were too scared to admit it.

But it means nothing when you’re under him.

You look up at him like he means the world, glassy eyes blinking against crystal tears as he pushes his cock deeper down your throat and forces you to gag on it. Your eyes roll, drool falling down your chin and down your chest that he loves to squeeze and fondle. You’re such a good boy, the way you writhe and squirm with every orgasm of yours he ruins— just thinking about it makes his dick harden in his cargos.

Armin tugs at the collar of his shirt with his index finger, bending the fabric absentmindedly. His comrades snicker at his flustered display, and the hard smacks to his back lurching him forward, back and forth.

“Bet he really makes you his—“

“… bitch, huh?” His voice is fuzzy in your ears, sweet and tantalizing as rope digs into your wrists. Your legs are bent, knees reaching your head as a spreader-bar holds your thighs wide open. Your back is pressed into Armin’s small mattress, which dips and sinks under your weight. No matter where you turn, you’re consumed in Armin’s warmth, his soft hands roaming along your naked body. He lets you whine, your head lulling back and forth as you knit your eyebrows together.

“Huh…? M’sorry.. m’sorry,” You pant, not quite sure what you’re apologizing for, probably because you’ve lost your train of thought, because you couldn’t hear what filthy things he was saying because he’s fucking you stupid.

“Oh, honey,” The blond's voice is coated in just that, sweetness dripping from his tongue as he grips your cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head. The bars at your knees stop you from bucking your hips, as he squeezes the base of your cock the second you start to pulse a little too much. “Such a dumb whore. What happened to my big, smart boy?”

Degradation. You love to hear it, especially from Armin’s lips. If you thought too much about it, had it whispered in your ear until your brain melted, you could cum from that alone. Your cock throbs in his hand, as he spits down on it with a quiet ‘p’tuh’ and grins as you shudder. The wetness of his saliva feels too good, too warm against his skin as your rut and flex in his hand. “Mm, your cock is so pretty. Too bad it’s useless.”

You try to fuck into it, chase the feeling that has you wailing, writhing in your restraints and struggling to kick your legs. It’s too much, the squelching in your ears as Armin’s warm breath pans lower and lower down your chest, your abdomen, closer to your throbbing, needy dick. He sighs, open mouthed and breathy, watching your cock jump in retaliation— nearly out his hand. Nonetheless his grip tightens, pumping uppp and dooown, smearing precum until it covers your cock in a thin, shiny and tempting layer. You moan between your teeth, eyes glued on his skinny fingers milking you for all your worth.

“Feel good?” Armin grumbles against your thigh, voice hoarse as he stares down at your weeping cock. With a jumbled moan you nod frantically, toes curling as he twists his fist around your sensitive head and— fuck, you’re cumming. Your eyes roll back, body clenched as a thick rope—

“Aht. Whose cock is this?” Armin’s hand is quickly tightening around the base of your dick cutting off whatever orgasm you were about to feel, whatever ropes of cum that were supposed to spray across your thighs, your stomach, maybe your chin.

“Wh- wai’… waitwait..wha—” You’re stunned, stammering and stumbling over your words as your brain fails to connect the dots of what just happened.

“Answer me, boy,” And— oh. That’s his commander voice, the one he only ever uses in battle. A shiver runs down your spine as you reluctantly make eye contact with your boyfriend, his blue eyes suddenly gunmetal gray. Like a broken record, you whimper, shaking your head and babbling our apologies when, really, you have nothing to be sorry for. “Hush. Just answer the question.”

“S’yours, Ari,” You breathe, big thighs flexing against his hand. One more time, a little more confident you moan: “S’yours.”

“That’s right. That means you cum when I say,” When he pushes an impossibly long finger into your hole you’re done for, mewling as you flutter around him. Even with such a drastic size difference your hole is tight and grips him like a vice, swallowing his finger in and begging for more. His finger slides out slowly, a sharp contrast in the sudden smack straight to your winking hole. You jump, moaning high in your throat as your eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, just one finger stretching this pretty hole like it’s nothing. You want more, baby? Want more fingers in this greedy hole? Gonna cry on my cock all night so everyone knows how good you take it? How much of a slut you are for me? Say it.”

You bat your eyelashes, peering up at your handsome boyfriend through glazed eyes. He coos, if only for a moment, as he dips his other hand into your mouth and watches you suck on his fingers, no questions asked. His face drops a little, pink lips curling into a frown as he wipes his fingers off with the soft skin of your cheek. You’re usually such a good boy— such a good dog. You know better. You keen into the touch, pressing your cheek into his palm until he takes it away, just to smack you across the face with a cruel smile.

Your brain goes blank for just a second, a startled gasp leaving your pretty lips. He wants to squish your cheeks together, watch your face distort into dumb expression while you sit there and take it. Maybe your face will match your mind, empty and eager and broken as tears stream down your face. Armin’s eyes darken, heavy-lidded as he stares at you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Oh, oh fuck, w-wan’ your cock, Ari’ please give it…give it to me, please,” You babble, as if his question has only just now registered in your brain. Then comes the flaring heat of skin where he’d smacked you, blooming in your cheek and making you whine. Armin tuts, tilting his head in feign innocence, a tuft of blond hair tucked behind his ear. “V’been so good, didn’t cum when you said not to. Been goo-”

“Mhm,” Armin hums, only half listening as he slowly pumps his other hand back up and down your cock, a sadistic grin slowly etching across his face the more you let out a stream of moans. You’re sensitive— almost too sensitive, your hips convulsing in different directions, your eyes squeezing shut, your body begging to cum. You can’t quite make out how his fingers look curling up inside you, long and thin but perfectly stroking that special spot that makes you see stars. “Gonna cum for me? Hm? This pretty cock gonna cum while I finger you? Slap you around a little?”

“Uh-huh, gonna cum.” You’re purring, helplessly rutting your hips until you feel your balls tightening, your abdomen spontaneously spawning and— Ooh! Armin’s index finger slides out of you, and his palm lands right on top, a hard smack straight to your fluttering hole. You're pliant and small like this, squealing into the air while the walls bounce the sound right back at you.

“Not yet.” He whispers into the skin of your inner thighs, placing a chaste kiss on top for safekeeping.

“Noo, no, I can’t,” You gasp, weakly struggling against your restraints in fruitless effort, continuously begging for both release and a chance to move on. You don’t really mean no, you’re conflicted, really— it feels too good, but you’re not sure how much more teasing you can take. “I cant.”

“You can,” The blond snickers, fingers massaging your puckered rim, the puffy skin gaping around his fingertips. You’re slick with a thin layer of precum and lube, shining under the fluorescent bedside lamp. “And you will. Know why? You’re my good little boy. You can take what I give you.”

Collecting yourself, you nod.

Armin beams. You’re certainly not little— not in comparison to him, not in comparison to anyone in the Survey Corps, not in comparison to your friends. But you’re his little boy. To smack around, to manhandle, to fuck into sweet, empty-headed submission. You’re his bitch. He thinks of how everyone else would react, if their jaws would drop at the sight of his guard dog dropping to his knees and presenting right in front of them, at the sight of his big boyfriend going braindead strictly for his dick.

“Just one more time. One more time while I split this pretty hole open on my cock. That’s not too bad, right sweetheart?” Armin whines this time, breathless as he’s quickly stripping himself of his clothes. His cock, pretty and long, curves to the upper right, with an angry pink tip that twitches as he presses it to your rim. You sob beneath him, your bigger body arching up to his touch. His cock is worked into your body inch by inch, his smaller hands spreading your cheeks apart to spread you further— like the slut you are.

He pushes into you deep, bottoming out with a high moan. Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing your prostate with each small movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even English, as Armin’s blond hair drapes over your sweaty forehead. If you could, you’d wrap your arms around his neck, hold him close and kiss him drunk while his dick rearranges your guts.

“Gonna let me fill you up till you’re drippin’? God, I love this hole, love this ass,” You feel a sharp smack to your backside, your hips stuttering upward in retaliation. His cock slams dead-on into your prostate, your vision momentarily leaving your body as the air is punched from your lungs. “Right there? Fuck, you’re basically milking me.”

Armin nearly crumbles above you, your silky walls throbbing on his cock as his fist grips the sheets on his bed, his large eyes fluttering closed. He can’t exactly fall on you, not with the spreader bar between your bodies, but the thought of him collapsing because you feel that good makes you impossibly harder, “Fuuck, fuck me, ohh, God.”

That earns a genuine chuckle from your boyfriend, his back muscle rippling as he regains his composure and lifts your hips up, brushing your prostate with every twist and turn. He whispers sweet words into the air, something along the lines of good boy and perfect cocksleeve. You hiccup on your own sobs, choking on your words as his cock slams in and out, in and out, Armin’s own moans leaving his mouth. “Ohh, You take my cock so well. That slutty little hole just swallows me right up, sounds so sloppy n’ wet.”

“You’re like,” Armin laughs to himself, his teeth gritting as he sharply inhales, pressing himself deeper and deeper until all you can do is clench around him and take it. Fuck, you’re so full. It’s ironic, you’re so big, but your holes are tight and small, stretching around him perfectly. “You’re like the perfect flashlight. I should let the team pass you ‘round. Imagine that.”

You do, you imagine Armin’s long dick fucking you within an inch of your life while the rest of the Survey Corps watches, maybe they take turn using your holes, maybe Armin stops them from fucking you because that one is his. It’s embarrassing how much you like it, how warm it makes your face feel, how hard it makes your hole spasm around your boyfriend's cock.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, Armin. Please,” You can’t control your body now, your cock uncomfortably hard as he fucks into your pillowy body. In one foul swoop, the spreader bar is removed from your thighs, your legs instead wrapping around the blond’s smaller waist. “Lemme cum, wanna cum with you. Wanna feel you cum inside me. God, love you, love you s’much. Y’fuck me so good, fuck your cum ‘nto me, wanna be leaking—”

“God, you’re so easy. Damn whore…Christ,” Armin grunts. his hips stuttering into a choppy, inconsistent pace. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass is obscene, precum and lube frothing between your warm skin. Moving up to press hurried, frantic kisses to your lips, Armin cups your jaw gently, and mumbled a quiet C’mere. “Cum with me, puppy, give it to me.”

You give it to him, your all, as your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired. You can feel him shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum pooling inside you and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Armin huffs, panting into your damp skin with a satisfied smile, watching as your cock spurts rope after rope across your chest, across your stomach, even on your chin.

You twitch uncontrollably, finally melting in your boyfriend's embrace as he pulls you close and places scattered kisses on your forehead, “Good boy.”

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definitelynotstable · 8 months

Text

Missed You [Price x fem!Reader]

AN: First Price fic!!! He is literally the loml and I've been too scared to write him so hope I did him justice. Lmk what you think!

Synopsis: You're undercover in Amsterdam when your cover is blown. Injured and alone you try to locate Price and Gaz before it's too late. Hurt/comfort. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: Wounds, blood, medical inaccuracies, canon typical violence and canon divergence. Price x fem!Reader (Callsign: Ferris)

✧˚ · .

You‘d been undercover for months. Months and the intel you’d provided had saved countless lives but undercover work always had an expiry date.

And that date was today apparently.

You knew you were pushing at the boundaries when inquiring after Hassan Zyani. But Laswell seemed desperate and time was tight. But here you were now, soaked to the bone and bleeding out in the middle of Amsterdam. Word was Gaz, Price and Laswell were in the city – you just had to find them before they reached EXFIL.

The sun was getting low in the sky and your short swim in the canal hadn’t exactly warmed you. The cobbled streets were slick underfoot and you hugged the buildings bordering the footpath. Gun shots and screams echoed from the street up ahead and you quickly made your way in the direction of the chaos.

A woman ran into you, blonde hair flapping in the wind. She apologised hastily in both Dutch and English, too distracted to notice as you ease the long coat from her arms. You wait for her to disappear behind a corner before shrugging it on.

There’s a bullet still in your torso somewhere and every movement sends a flash of pain which radiates up through your spine. The coat covers most of the blood which has steadily bloomed across your navy shirt – not quite dark enough to disguise the stain.

You duck behind a tree as more shots ring out. You’re wounded and unarmed – if this isn’t Price, Gaz or Laswell you’re toast.

A man dives past you, tackling a man in a black leather jacket to the ground. He’d wearing a beanie and brown jacket with a woollen collar and a beard – a beard you’d know anywhere. Price.

A man with a darker complexion but similarly dressed, squats next to the two on the ground and injects something into the neck of the man Price is holding down.

Together, the two of them lift him up and you’re able to identify Gaz as well.

“Watcher, time to move.” Price speaks into an earpiece and you step forwards, legs wobbling beneath you. Both men look up as you come out from behind the tree, their target hanging unconscious between them. The captains eyes widen as he sees you. “Ferris?”

He reaches a hand out to steady you, hand landing on your shoulder as his eyes sweep across your form. You breath deeply, pushing away the urge to collapse.

“Yeah,” you manage, “yeah – Laswell said you were in town,” you turn to Gaz and give him a smile, “you too.”

Gaz reaches out and gives you a pat on the arm, “good to see you.”

People are still fleeing the scene and time is limited. Price flicks you a concerned look. “EXFIL isn’t far, think you’ll make it?”

You swallow, mustering up every drop of remaining energy you have before nodding. “Anything for a free ride.”

Price eyes you for a moment before looking at Gaz. “Let’s go.”

You trail him and Gaz down a few streets before you reach a corner where a silver sedan has pulled up. Through slightly fuzzy vision you make out Laswell behind the wheel. Gaz shoves the target into the back seat while Price eases you into the front before joining the two men in the back.

“Kate.” You say to the woman beside you. “Hope this isn’t s rental.”

Her eyes snap down to where your arm is curled carefully around your waist. “Fucking hell, Ferris.”

Gaz leans forward and thumps the back of Laswell’s seat, throwing a worries glance out the back window.

“We gotta go.”

The last door in the back slams and Laswell floors it.

✧˚ · .

It’s dark when the car pulls up to the safehouse ad your head is lolling between the back of the seat and the window. Laswell goes between glancing at you and the road, her spare hand reaching over to grip your knee.

“We’re almost there,” she says, voice calm but you know the coat is no longer hiding the blood. She moves her hand down to cover your own which is definitely not putting enough pressure on the gaping hole in your side.

“John?” She asks, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the man sitting behind you, “Can you reach Ferris? She needs to put pressure on that wound.”

The captain swears under his breath and you groan as the lever to the side is pulled and your seat slides back. A callused hand grips your wrist, pulling your hand aside before replacing it – firmly.

“Ah fuck,” you hiss as the heel of his palm digs in to the wound, you weakly grab at his forearm but it remains solid against you.

“Sorry, love.” Price responds, sounding gruff, “it’s this or bleed out.”

You suck in a sharp breath, “not sure there’s much left anyway.”

Price growls, “how long ago were you hit?”

You glance at Laswell, “When did I call you?”

“Ten-hundred hours,” she replies, glancing at you again, “christ, it’s been that long?”

You don’t respond, you’ve slumped forward, head to the dashboard – out cold.

✧˚ · .

You don’t fully resurface till you’re inside the safehouse. Voices murmur around you and things clatter as someone clears the table – laying you down.

A hand cups the back of your neck.

“Gaz, get us a pillow or something, will ya?”

There’s shuffling sounds and suddenly your head is being lifted and then lowered onto a softer surface.

You blink, shapes and colours hazy in the warm lighting; coming into focus slower than they should. Someone hovers over you, Price.

“Gave us quite the scare.” He says, easing the coat aside to asses the damage. “Surprised you’re not dead.”

“Real helpful,” you cough with a wince, glaring up at him, “just fix me up, won’t you?”

“Working on it.”

Gaz hands him a pair of scissors from the med-kit and he carefully snips away at your shirt.

“Hope this wasn’t a favourite.”

You huff out a laugh, ignoring the ache it ignites. “Hole in it now anyway, and a bit of a stain – if you squint.”

Price chuckles, peeling the fabric away from your bloody skin. “Any exit wound?”

You shake your head, raising an arm to drape over your eyes in order to resist smacking the Captain’s hands away as he douses the wound in an anti-septic solution. You let out a slew of curses under your breath and he raises his eyebrows.

“Quite the vocabulary.”

“You learn a word or too working with smugglers,” you quip back, gritting your teeth.

He thoroughly cleans and sanitises the wound before calling Gaz over. Laswell’s somewhere, probably on a call with the higher ups or interrogating the HVT.

“You’re better than me at this stuff, kid.” Price says, handing the sergeant a pair of gloves and some tweezers, “I’ll hold her down.”

“Fucking hell.” You roll your eyes, lip wedges between your teeth. “I am not looking forward to this.”

Price comes to stand by your head, he swipes a thumb over your lips. “Bite this instead.” He slips something soft between your teeth – his glove.

He moves down the table to stand on the otherside, opposite Gaz. The young sergeant looks up, brow furrowed. “We might need Laswell for this.”

Price shakes his head, “She’s busy, doubting my strength, Gaz?”

“More like overestimating mine,” you scoff, before flashing Gaz an encouraging look. “I’ve lost too much blood to put up much of a fight – have at it Gaz.”

The Captain reaches over and pushes the glove back between your lips. “Bite.” He says sternly, “you’ll need it.”

You glare back at him but comply as he settles an arm across your legs and grasps both your wrists in the other.

Gaz looks to you, “Ready?”

You nod.

✧˚ · .

The pain is white and hot but lasts for only a minute. By the time Gaz has dug out the bullet, you’re panting and sweaty. Tears sting at your eyes as the firm grip on your wrists loosens and a hand comes up to cup your cheek.

“Good job.” Price murmurs, thumb stroking your cheekbone, “That’s my girl.”

Gaz, ever the professional, ignores how your face crumples and you curl into Price’s touch. He instead busies himself with threading a needle before nudging the Captain and offering it to him.

Price takes it, giving him a pat on the back.

“Thanks Gaz.” You mumble hoarsely to the younger man who smiles and tousles your hair as he passes.

“Good to have you back, Ferris.”

With Gaz gone, you turn back to Price, sniffing. He pushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead and kisses your cheek.

“Almost over, love. Just some stitches and you’ll be right as rain.”

You relax against the table. Stitches are a walk in the park compared to earlier.

“Make them neat,” you stress and Price laughs.

“Luckily I had a good teacher.”

He ties off the sutures and dresses the wound before discarding of his latex gloves. He wraps an arm around your waist and eases you up of the table, half-supporting, half-carrying your to a room nearby. He lowers you down onto a single bed in the corner, tucking the covers around you and taking a seat on the bed beside you.

“I missed you.” You confess, eyelids heavy. “So much.”

“Me too.” He admits, eyes creasing with a small smile as a hand cards through your hair. You sigh softly, allowing the rhythmic brush of his hand lull you to sleep. Your eyes have already fluttered shut when he whispers again.

“More than you could imagine.”

✧˚ · .

Masterlist

#captain john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #captain price #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #captain price x female reader #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #141 x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty fluff #cod mw2 #task force 141 #fluff #cod fanfiction

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lipglossanon · 6 months

Text

Making Candy Apples

dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, hybrid au, fingering, praise kink, teasing, condescension, degradation, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, knotting

not proofread ✌️

“Keep your hands away from the caramel!” You huff exasperatedly, pulling Leon’s hand away from the bowl.

His soft ears twitch as he quickly sucks the sweet candy off his fingers, “It’s meant to be eaten, little owner.”

“But on the apples,” you point to the red and green fruit sitting in a bowl, “please, Leon.”

His eyes watch as you chop up the nuts for the topping. Once you’re done and dump them in a separate bowl, he’s on you, nuzzling into your neck with a low rumbling growl.

“I’ll behave,” he whispers, teeth dragging against your neck making you whine, “just need something to keep my mouth busy.”

“Leon,” you gasp, “but I need to— oh.”

His rough fingers have slipped past the band of your sweats and panties to stroke and rub against your bare slit. Pinning you against the counter, he grazes the pads of his fingers across the hood of your clit before parting your cunt lips to tease your hole.

“Already wet, little owner?” He growls in your ear, “little pussy needs some kisses doesn’t she?”

Before he can drop to his knees you grab his thick biceps, “W-wait. Can we, um, do that thing we talked about?”

He smirks and you feel dizzy with how that makes the blood rush to your head.

“You mean that little fantasy of me mounting you over the counter,” he crowds you, tail wagging as his fingers still tease your clit making you drip, “the one where I just take you without much prep so you can really feel me stretch out that sweet pussy?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you chant, hips bucking into his hand.

He slowly pulls his hand away and licks up the slick already coating his fingers.

“Turn around,” he snaps, yanking your clothes off once you do.

You can hear more clothing being shuffled as he undresses as well before feeling the hard long heat of his cock as he fucks into your thighs.

“Ready little slut?” He laughs, pressing the tip into your hole.

You whimper and claw at the countertop, “S’too big.”

“Aww thought that’s how you liked it?” He rocks the first few inches into your clenching heat, “god feel that tiny pussy stretch.”

You moan loudly, body squirming as Leon bullies his massive cock into your cunt, stretching you to the point tears slip from your eyes. Once he bottoms out you both moan, your walls fluttering and gripping his thick length.

“Want it,” you drool against the countertop, “please, Leon.”

He slaps your ass hard making you squeal and clamp down on his dick.

“Behave little owner, you’ll get what I give you,” he chuckles, “have you forgot who’s the master here?”

Your clit throbs as you whimper, “N-no, Leon.”

“That’s right,” he coos down at you, pulling out to snap his hips forward, burying himself back into your wet hole.

“Need to get you a leash and collar,” he laughs meanly, slowly rutting his cock in and out of your cunt, “take you for a walk and show off my pretty pet.”

You mewl and buck back against him making him slap your ass again. He grips the fat of your hips and begins hammering into your pussy, fat tip grinding against the spongy spot in your cunt that has you moaning and shaking.

“Gonna fuck you like you deserve,” he chuffs, leaning forward to mouth and bite against your neck, “fuck you like you need a knot in that pretty little pussy.”

“Yes, please,” you choke out, mewling as he reaches around to spank your cunt.

“Good girl,” his praise makes your head fuzzy and more slick leak around his cock, “such good manners. Don’t worry, ‘m gonna knot you, give you my pups.”

Your body thrashes under him, ass bouncing back to make sure his dick grinds against your g-spot before kissing your cervix. He snarls and fucks harder into your pussy, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing out in your kitchen.

He’s thrusting so hard you can feel his balls smack against your cunt as he slaps your clit making you whine high in your throat. His knot presses against your hole with each thrust making your eyes cross from the absolute want of having it inside you.

“Inside please, Leon, fill me up, need your knot so bad, want it, wanna be stuffed full,” you babble at him, eyes fluttering as your orgasm coils tight in your belly.

“This little pussy always needs my knot,” he growls, teeth snapping next to your ear, “hope this tight hole can take it.”

He stops pulling out as far and instead only ruts his cock in quick little thrusts until his knot starts to press inside your pussy. Back arching, you moan nonstop as he slowly thrusts his knot inside your messy cunt. With a low howl, he slams the rest into your clenching hole, making you scream from the stretch, orgasm tearing through your body.

“That’s it squeeze me,” he nips your neck, “good girl, so good for me. Gonna give you my pups, little owner.”

You shiver, pussy fluttering and milking his cock and knot as he dumps a huge load into your cunt, locked tight together until he softens.

He rocks forward, fingers teasing across your pudgy clit, “Cum for me again.”

“Leon!” You keen, legs trembling.

He doesn’t let up, playing your swollen clit until you’re clamping down around him again, a softer climax taking over your body making your toes curl in their socks.

“Mmm, love that,” he chuffs, licking your neck and jaw, “once it goes down, I’ll run us a bath. Then we can finish up your candy apples.”

You giggle and sigh as he pets across your hips and sides, “Sounds good.”

divider: @firefly-graphics

#lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist #lipglossanon masterlist #promptober 2023 #promptober #lipglossanon promptober 2023 #dogman!leon s kennedy #hybrid au #hybrid!leon s kennedy #dogman!leon s kennedy smut #dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut #dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #fem!reader #hyrbid!leon s kennedy smut #hybrid!leon s kennedy x fem!reader

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carolmunson · 2 years

Text

we have such sights to show you (sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader)

warnings: 18+ major MAJOR smut, minors DNI. eddie and reader are in a long term established relationship. takes place in october 1990. big trigger warnings for: spanking with multiple implements, use of manipulative coercion (not dubcon, not noncon), lots of name calling and degredation (whore, slut, bitch, pig, calling or inferring that reader is stupid/disgusting/worthless), physical sadism, emotional sadism. knife play, blood play, blood kink. references to daddy kink, references to a lot of kinks, references to role playing. references to use of safe word. mild dom drop. YES, there is aftercare.

-- The drive home was quiet with Eddie's hand on your thigh, his other on the wheel while he leaned back in the driver's seat. His expression was stoic while he drove, he didn't smile, he didn't turn to you at red lights to steal a kiss -- you knew before you left Steve's house what was to come when you got home. Before the second movie was even over.

Eddie was thrilled to be the one who got to pick this round for movie night, opting for something scary so close to Halloween. Hellraiser, and Hellraiser II -- not exactly your favorites, but definitely something his horror loving heart could pound to. Steve was miserable the whole time because he wasn't allowed to be scared, a new flavor of the month cowering into his chest when they weren't making out.

Robin was enthralled with the Cenobites, getting into excited discussions with Ed about their back stories and designs. Whispering next to each other while still trying to pay attention. The kids and Nancy just complained about it being gross. But it was the way Eddie's hand discreetly crept upward, ringed fingers wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling tight that told you what would happen later. He turned to you when you took in a quiet but sharp breath at the feeling, letting out a soft hum of confirmation. You knew when you were putting your shoes on to leave and he stood over you with his arms crossed, walking to the door while you stood up. You forgot how to move when he looked at you, his hand on the door knob. He beckoned you forward with two fingers, his voice had dropped, his stare darkened for a simple demand:

"Come."

You shivered.

Eddie turned off the ignition when he pulled in infront of his trailer - Wayne's trailer only a few steps down. He'd had enough money to move into a small one bedroom apartment closer to Robin, but he didn't want to leave Wayne behind. He waited at the screen door for you, his breath crowding around him in the cold.

"Please, go slower," he snapped sarcastically while the leaves crunched under your boots. You broke out into a small jog, hurrying into the door as he opened it. Eddie, still the gentleman, helped you remove your coat to hang it up. When he turned back around from the coat rack he took your cold hands in his to warm them, but the way he looked at you was enough to get the job done.

His hands traveled from yours, to your arms, to your cheeks kissing you softly before breaking away, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, baby," you smile, his eye contact searches for truth in your statement. He smiles back at you when he knows you mean it, leaning in for another kiss. "Go get ready for me, hm?" he asks. You nod, your head getting fuzzy at the suggestion, even though you'd been prepared for this request the whole ride home. It still made you tingle, no matter how long you played this game -- it felt like the first time, every time.

---

You stood naked in his bedroom doorway while he was sat on the edge of his bed with his heavy combat boots planted on the floor. His wallet and chains were still attached to his pants, jacket and shirt discarded save for a black tank top against his pale, inked skin -- what can ya say? He knew you liked to see his arms flex when he worked.

Your collar was laid out on his thigh, thick and leather, undecorative. A silver loop on the front with smaller ones to the sides so if need be, he could clip you in place just about anywhere. "Come," Eddie repeated his sentiment from earlier in the same low tone he had before. You took a step forward and he cleared his throat, his gaze narrowing at you. "You know better," his voice is low and gravelly in his throat, a smirk flicking across his face when you sink to your hands and knees.

"I don't like it when you start off by disappointing me," he chides while you crawl from the door to the space between his legs, settling on your knees before him. "Sorry, sir," you say softly while Eddie's hand slides gently under your jaw, his thumb rubbing back an forth on your skin. "What do you say when I check in and you feel okay?" he asks, a ritual of questions before he decorates you. "Orange," the coolest flame aside from red. "What do you say when you want me to ease up or want me to be nice?" he smiles when he asks, you giggle at him -- it's more fun when he's not nice. "Yellow," a bit hotter.

"What do you say when you want me to stop?" his hand moves so his thumb can brush against your lower lip. His chest tightens when he asks. "Blue," the hottest flame aside from white. Burning. Hellfire. You had only used it twice before and Eddie was in dom drop for hours after each of them -- completely inconsolable. Steve had to come over and intervene. "And if something feels beyond Blue, if you need me to take you to the hospital or call 911..." "Code Red," you nod. "And I have permission to call Blue or Code Red if I think you aren't able to make that decision for yourself?" he doesn't lose eye contact and your heart hammers, you want to kiss him for how deeply he cares for you. "You have my permission," you take the hand on your face by the wrist and press slow kisses to his rings while he looks at you. "Please bless me, sir," you whisper up at him, Eddie almost chokes. How on earth did he get so lucky? You're on your knees begging for him to put you in your place, to fulfill both of your desires. You trust him to do this to you. He wants to pinch himself every time you look up at him with those glassy, rounded eyes -- you couldn't be real, there's no way.

He takes his hand away gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead while he gathered the collar in his hands.

"My pretty girl," he mumbles against your skin. When he pulls away you both have a silent agreement that once it's fastened, you're no longer you -- you're just his, you belong to him only. You're his to control. He guides you to the bed to adorn you with the rest of your cuffs, leather and binding, able to connect to each other at a moments notice. Your ankles and wrists are dressed, straps like a garter belt around your waist and thighs — chains of different lengths hung on the walls depending on what position he wanted you in, how bound he wanted to see you.

He presses a crudely made spreader bar he put together from old PVC pipe between your ankles while you stay kneeling, clipping your cuffs into place on the ends. Eddie stands back to admire you in the low light, two candles flickering on his dresser glinting in your eyes.

“Do you worship me?” he asks, lighting a cigarette, holding it in his lips while the smoke leaks out of his mouth. He looks over the instruments laid out on the bedside table, running a finger over your leather bit gag only to pick up his riding crop. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and his eyes flick up at you briefly.

“Yes, master,” you respond, Eddie can’t help but grin smugly at how willing you are to say it.

“Who do you pray to?” his voice gets more stern this time, sliding the crop through his hands, tapping the end on his palm.

“My master,” you confess. Your eyes flutter closed for a moment while he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. You savor the gentle touch as it’ll be the last he’ll give you for a while. He takes another drag from cigarette, letting his mouth open so the smoke billows out in a thick cloud in your face. The haze burns your eyes but you fight the desperate need to clamp down your eyelids — lest you be chastised for not keeping your eyes on him.

“Who makes you worthy?” he asks, eyes like shiny black beads narrowing down the slope of his nose. The leather of the crop presses up on your chin, tilting your head up just a bit. You’re not afraid to look at him, but it hurts to do it. He’s so…pretty, so domineering. He raises his brows with heavy eyelids, blinking slowly while he waits for your answer. More clouds of smoke escaping him while he toys with the cigarette between his teeth.

“You make me worthy,” you say.

“That’s right,” he says, tapping the crop under your chin before striking it down on your shoulder. You lean your head back and let out an audible sigh at the subtle sting. He replaces the riding crop under your chin with his hand, holding tight on your jaw.

“Such a sweet, pretty thing,” he says with a darkened stare, his voice deepening to something rumbling and animalistic, “Excited to ruin it.”

You whimper under his touch, tugging away slightly from his grip on your jaw.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutts, pulling your face closer to his, “What did they say in the movie? What was that line?”

He takes a beat to listen to your fearful pants fill his ears, to watch the tears start to wet your eyes. Eddie’s slacks start to tighten at that look in your face, somewhere between terror and complete devotion.

“‘So eager to play, so reluctant to admit it,’” he quotes with a mean chuckle. He takes the now almost finished cigarette out of his mouth, carelessly putting it out on your thigh to match the other fading burn scars he’d littered there. You let out a loud cry at the surprise of the burn. Normally you have time to brace yourself for his cruelty, but maybe he wasn’t in the mood to prepare you. Sometimes he could be so mean.

“No, please,” you whine, squirming your thighs and hips to move away from the assault. It’s hard with with spreader bar under you, with your body contorted and tied up for his pleasure.

“Oh no, can’t have that,” he says with a furrow of his brow, “What’s my biggest rule?”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” you whisper out in a gasp, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You never learn, huh?” he asks, but you know he’s not expecting an answer. Eddie takes the bit gag in his hands, you shiver at the sound of the metal clinking and he notices.

“Not feeling very brave tonight?” he smiles while you open your mouth, settling the bit between your back teeth. The leather gave you something to bite down on when the pain became a little too much. Eddie liked this over a ball gag so he could hear you scream and cry, drool still pouring out of your mouth by the end of the night.

You shake your head no, saliva already pooling under your tongue at the foreign object.

“You’re such a disappointment,” he spits, “Maybe I should untie you and find a different helot to entertain me.”

“Matter of fact,” he starts, finger trailing over the leather cuff on your ankle, “I think I’ll call someone else -- feel like you'll just bore me.”

You ache as he reaches for your binds, trying to beg him to stop but it just comes out as muffled whining through the gag. He undoes one ankle, and then the other, smirking while you start to cry. He takes his time putting the spreader bar back in his closet, hearing you sniffle was making the blood rush in his ears. Eddie leans over you to undo the gag and you smell the smoke of his Camels on him, it's woefully intoxicating. The feeling of his hands gracefully handeling the leather and metal on your body shouldn't make you feel quite like this.

The bit comes out followed by strings of your spit, even after being in for such a short time.

"Please -- please I'll behave," you cry to him, his hands reaching around your neck to work on the removing the leather collar pressed against your skin. He wants to discard you. Your heart drops to your stomach, pounding fast as his nimble fingers work at the buckle behind you. Your reach for his wrists, clawing desperately at them while you beg. "Please sir, I can handle it. I want you to hurt me, I need it," your petulant whine makes his pulse quicken, "Please don't take it off, I'm yours -- please."

"I don't recall giving you permission to touch," Eddie says in a measured, low tone. Your heart shoots from your stomach to your throat, making you sputter. Your hands retreat back to your thighs where they belong, shaking.

"I'm sorry, sir," you sound pitiful, but he doesn't want you to break just yet -- he had all night to destroy you.

"I can take it, I can be g--"

He lets go of the collar, leaving it on and still clasped. Eddie shakes his head while you babble, an exasperated sigh escaping him while one of his hands roughly rakes into your hair while your scalp screams.

"Stop. Fucking. Talking," he growls through gritted teeth. The crack of his other hand making contact with your cheek rings through his small bedroom. Your head turns hard to the side at the impact, the arch in your back was involuntary while the heat of his smack blooms through your cheek -- his handprint already decorating your face.

"Gave you that rule two years ago. You too much of a stupid fucking bitch to remember?" he asks just under a yell, pulling you by the loop on your collar to lay on your stomach, your face by the pillows. You frown and turn your head away from him towards the wall while he reaches for the binds at each corner of the bed, keeping you in place -- spread eagle below him. Open, vulnerable.

"Hips up, whore," he says in your ear, you huff at the admonishment but lift your hips up obediently. He slides a pillow under your hips to keep you at an angle that'll make everything hurt just a little bit more. Eddie's hand skirts up your thigh before leaving a stingy smack on your bare ass only to hear you hum contentedly toward the wall. You turn to look at him before he can ask you to and he reaches for the flogger on the table. He’ll start you off small, work his way up until you were an inconsolable crying mess on the middle of his mattress -- dick buried in your pussy while his hips snap against your bruising and abused skin.

You turn to look at him before he can ask you to and he reaches for the flogger on the table. He’ll start you off small, work his way up until you're an inconsolable crying mess on the middle of his mattress -- dick buried in your pussy while his hips snap against your bruising and abused skin. He lets the leather strips slide over your skin first and you sink into the mattress. The wait was the hardest part, him deciding when you were worthy of his abuse. You jolt when he runs it between your legs, the implication exciting you -- 'If you're a good girl, I'll play with her too.' You can't help but let out an excited whimper, your hips wiggling when he dances the flogger over the meat of your ass again.

"A glutton, are you?" he chides, "That's a sin, y'know."

The leather snakes off of you while he crosses his arms, the tattos on his biceps and forearms bulging, "They say it's a deadly one."

CRACK!

The sting of the flogger lights your whole body on fire, the sparks of it blooming from the sit point at the top of your thigh. He laughs quietly when you writhe under the first hit. Whining at the second, moaning when the third strikes you across both cheeks.

"Wrath is, too," you mutter out. He pinches your hot skin between the knuckle of his forefinger and thumb. You yelp, restraints jingling while they pull at your flailing wrists. "Play nice," he warns through gritted teeth, "Or I won't play with you at all."

He continues quietly, switching between mild pressure and hard, biting whips. He'd considered starting with just his belt, but since he had plans to go further than normal he didn't want you to get too hurt, too quickly. Though, being belted by him truly was your favorite.

The pain was right on the line, your thighs desperate to tighten but unable to by the chains attatched to your ankles. Your hips pushed up against the pillows, dragging downward to get some form of friction while he brought the flogger down on your ass again and again.

"See, and you were so scared before," he taunted, "You love being whipped, don't you?"

"I prefer a little more effort, but -- sure," you sass. Eddie's posture stiffens at your retort.

You turn your head back to the wall, nervous to look at him. You hadn't meant to sass -- it just slipped out. He'd say the same thing if you switched positions. Eddie huffs when you turn your head to the wall, wrenching you up by your hair to readjust you to watch him. Bratting now and again was fine, but not something he liked to deal with during a scene -- especially when he hadn't consented to it beforehand. "Do I look like I'm in the mood?" he asks, squatting to get eye level with you. "No sir," you say, guilt pooling in your chest. "Open your mouth," he instructs, there's no playfulness in the demand. The jovial spark in his eye replaced by a deadened glare. You do as your told, opening your mouth slightly and he begins to shove the handle of the flogger between your teeth lengthwise.

"Bite down," he says, you do. He takes a moment to look at you like that, now unable to snap back at him and smirks.

"A gift for you, since you love getting whipped so much that you're rubbing that slut pussy all over my pillows," he finishes the sentence by cracking his hand back down on your ass over the inflamed skin before going back to his collection of implements.

He switches out for paddle, your least favorite in his collection of them. Leather lined, never fun on a bare ass — big enough to cover a good surface area, thin enough to leave a sting and bruises for tomorrow. He watches your eyes follow it when he picks it up, spinning it in his hand before gripping it again. He taps it gently in the heel of his hand before turning his full attention back to you.

"A little more effort?" he asked with a laugh, "Okay."

He glides the paddle across your thighs first before bringing it down hard enough on the seat of your ass that you could hear it cut through the sound barrier with a loud 'THWAP'. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the pain, your hips jumping off the pillows at the first hit alone. He doesn't give you any reprieve, bringing it down a second time just as hard, then a third and fourth. Remorse had escaped him, chuckling at your loud yelp at the impact. The handle of the flogger falling out of your mouth in a sticky mess in front of you.

"You sound like a dog," he teases, "God, you are a dog."

Your cheeks burn at his comments, knowing he's just going to get more mean as the night continues. It's more exciting than heartbreaking, your thighs twitch while he mocks you. The paddle connects with the tops of your thighs and you jump again, rubbing your face into the mattress to soothe the sting of tears threatening to build in your nose.

"Awfully quiet tonight, you selfish bitch," he hisses, "You think I'm doing this for my health?"

"No sir," you mutter, gasping at the next hit -- charged with his sexualized anger, your whole lower body buzzing, "Thank you, master." "That's better," he grunts, changing his pace to short, forceful, stinging smacks. Eddie was in the mood for this, watching you get more pathetic as the night went on -- doing your best to stay together for him so he could savor when you started to let go and break down. His little pain slut who loved when he took control. Sure, there were so many other types of play he liked -- sometimes he wanted to hear you whine and cry all night while he kept you over his knee on the couch. Fighting you to keep you in place while your legs kicked and you tried to stop his hand from coming down. Crying to daddy about how you'll never be a bad girl again, cumming all over his fingers inbetween spanks. Sometimes he wanted you bent over the kitchen counter so he could belt you when dinner wasn't ready at his arrival from the body shop -- a punished housewife who could never please.

And sometimes, if you'd been really good, he liked having you on top with your hand at his throat. Laughing at him while he whimpers under you, training up your confidence for when he wanted to let go.

But tonight -- you knew your place. Better yet, he made sure to put you in it. "Ah-huh! Ah! Ow-ow-ah!" was all you could call out with his relentless pace, the lump in your throat building. It hurtles up and up, more forceful every time you go to swallow it back down.

Eddie admires the splotchy discoloration, the sheen forming on your raw skin after each direct smack of leather. Bruising already beginning to bloom on the curve of your ass -- christ he just wanted to fucking bite it when it bounced back at him. Taunting him to fuck you, to make you make even more pretty sounds for him.

The next slap hits close enough to your center to make you clench, your orgasm building since he picked up the paddle. Your hips raise while you whine and whimper and his final blow finally makes you let your walls down.

You start to cry. Hard.

"There she is," he sound so pleased with himself, "There's my little cry baby." He gives you an encore, raining down a few lighter smacks from the spit covered flogger over your angry lower half. You shook from the aftershocks and the sobs wracking your chest.

When he puts the tools down in their place on the bedside table, he walks slowly back over to you. His fingers skate over your thigh, humming at the feeling of heat radiating off your body. Eddie makes way toward your inner thigh which was now coated in slick. He knew you came more than once already but it wasn't worth punishing you over, too much sensation to know the difference. His fingertips run over your swollen lips, massaging gently while slipping them between your folds. "Thank you, sir," you croak out, arching your back to feel more of his touch. He bites back the ‘good girl’ on his tongue for remembering your manners. That wasn’t how you both were playing today, but god was it hard to hold back the restraint. He had half a mind to break the scene early just to drive his tongue between your legs. Tease you enough to get you begging for him to let you cum, get your pretty subby voice calling out to God when he was right there in front of you. "Hm," he hums out, removing his fingers and rubbing his calloused hand over your tender ass. You know what he's asking without words. "Orange," you say, making eye contact with him. He bites back his praise again -- 'my brave girl, look at you.' Your confirmation of being okay this far clues him in on what he can do next -- even if you won't like it at first. He lets two open hand smacks come down on your thighs again, sending you into a fresh fit of cries.

He toys with the cane in his hand first when he picks it up from the line of them on his dresser. Your eyes widen when you see it, especially after the flogger and the paddle, you weren't expecting to be caned tonight. Hot wax maybe, but not caned. Fear flows through your veins, meeting every nerve with an icy shiver.

“Are you surprised?” he asks, “Think you don’t deserve this?” You just look up at him from the mattress, half of your face pressed into it.

“You can answer,” he says, “Would love to hear what’s running through that empty head.”

“Don’t punish me, sir, please,” you croak out. The cane really was your enemy, it was only reserved for when Eddie was punishing you after a day of blatant bratting or when you broke a hard rule.

“Punish you?” he asks with knitted brows, placing it next to you while he puts another pillow under your hips, “I'm testing your limits, bunny. You told me you could handle it. You're not a liar are you?”

“No, sir.”

"Good," he replies, but it's not encouraging. "So, I'll ask again -- do you deserve to be caned?"

“Yes, sir,” you respond, face reddening deeper, “I deserve to be caned. I’d do anything for it.”

He chuckles while undoing the restraints on the mattress connected to your cuffs, knowing you're too far gone to try to escape your next fate. "Anything, huh?"

You nod, shimmying a little to get him to start when he picks up the cane again. The sooner he began, the sooner it would be over — but then again, the sooner you wouldn’t be able to sit without his help for a week.

“You’ll do anything?” he asks again, you nod dumbly, “You’ll eat your master’s ass?”

Heat builds in your stomach at the suggestion. The last time you had, he made you feel so dirty in the most delicious way. He came all over your chest and stomach only to punish you for being 'too good' at it on the first try, “If I’m worthy, sir. Please let me.”

“Such a filthy fuck pig,” he tutts, a grin building while he speaks, “You’re so disgusting. Dirty and desperate.”

“Begging to lick my asshole just so I’ll smack you around,” his admonishment hits right down to your pussy, making it twitch, “You hear how you sound?”

“Yes, sir,” you whine.

“What do you sound like?” he asks, a wolffish smile curling across his face.

“I sound like a whore,” you admit, tears building in your eyes again. You heart hammered from the humiliation and the arousal, your nervous system not knowing which feeling to focus on.

“Just like a cheap whore — last on the roster. You’re worthless,” he darkly states, “Pimps would have to pay people to fuck you.”

You pout into your next cry while he continues, “You should feel lucky that I bother.”

“I’m so lucky, sir,” your lips tremble while you say it.

Eddie snaps the cane onto your calves and it burns. Thin and spindly, the smaller the rod the more biting the sting — a sharp reddened line already etched into your skin.

You can’t help the yowl that comes out of you at the feeling. It hurts, and not in a way that makes your legs shake. The pain jolts you out of your hazy subspace and back to a shuddering mess -- your legs in an army crawl position while you push up and away on the bed.

"Don't you dare," he growls, reaching out to grab your ankle to pull you back down. The cane comes down on your already burning skin leaving another thin blood red mark across your ass. Again, again, again. Your legs were vibrating in pain with every big and small tap he brought down on your fleshy backside. You try to shimmy away again, stopped by his hand on your thigh, one of the marks shining with small beads of blood by his thumb. He stops to look at it, hypnotized by it, like he'd never noticed that you bled before.

"Stay right there, baby," he mutters out softly. The change in tone immediately makes you whip your head back to look at him. Eddie lays the cane across the tops of your thighs before gathering the beads of blood on his thumb admiring it and then admiring you. He locks eyes with you, holding your gaze while he licks your blood of his thumb and swallows it. Shit. Maybe it was from Hellraiser being a blood bath of a movie, or maybe it was your little pants and whines from the after stings of being caned -- no matter what it was -- blood was getting Eddie close as fuck to cumming in his boxers; and watching him lick it off his thumb had you dripping all over again. "Get on your back," he orders quietly, a shift in his demeanor -- no longer your mean master but something different, darker. Somewhere in the ether between your God and your damnation. You gasp when you slide of the pillows onto your back, the scratch of his cheap bedspread irritating your new wounds and bruises. Eddie undressing was thankfully there to distract you. He reached into his jeans discarded on the floor, fishing his switchblade out of his back pocket and flicking the blade out. Your heart rate soared, torn between so scared you could cry harder or so turned on you could just gush all over his bed. He climbed like a predator onto the mattress, settling himself between your legs -- the silver of the knife glinting as it appeared next to you in his hand. "Do you trust me?" he asks you for the second time. You nod vigorously through fast inhales and exhales, eyes flicking from his and back to the blade. "Do. You. Trust. Me," he repeats slower, keeping your face trained on him. The cool metal presses against your cheek where you knew his handprint was still etched.

"I trust you," you promise, keeping your eyes on him. He scans your face like he did earlier than night -- he could always tell when you were lying. He leans in to kiss you but it's rough and ragged, meant for his pleasure. Eddie pulls away, lips stringy with spit -- his dark curls closing you in like a curtain where it's just the both of you. "Do I own you?" he asks.

"Yes," you rasp out, "I'm yours." He leans you back on the bed, moving the switch blade to his dominant hand laying it flat on your chest, dragging it in unplanned shapes over your skin before standing it on its tip just under your collarbone. He looks at you, your eyes round and pleading but not afraid -- he seeks your silent confirmation to continue. You blink slowly, your body language a clue, and he blinks back. "All mine," he says to himself, putting pressue on the blade. It hurts, but it's slow and controled while he guides it down in a small straight line. You gasp at the feeling, somehow the quarter inch line felt like it took years to carve into you. He kisses the spot below the small line, watching blood bead out from it -- not enough to drip, not deep enough to pour. He takes the blade to the top of the small line, another quarter inch etched at the top of it. You let out a tiny moan when you feel his hips rut against you, slipping against your slick and swollen fold. "Baby, baby," he mumbles, "Be patient, hm? Can you be patient?"

"Yes, sir," you cry out, watching his lust blown eyes etch another quarter inch line from the main one. More beads of your blood marring whatever he was drawing onto your skin with his blade. The final line etched and you both moaned with eachother. "I l-like how that h-hurts," you breath out, tears still pouring out of you. "I like it, too," he nods. He sits up to admire his work, the blood on your chest, your mascara streaks down your face and neck. His pretty little ruined whore. Eddie leans down, groaning while his tongue drags over the ichor pooling over his art work to reveal a tiny 'E' carved just under your collarbone. You can't stifle the moan in your throat while he continues you lick up your neck, meeting your mouth hungrily. His hands find the backs of your knees, pushing your thighs to your chest using his hips to guide himself unforgivingly into you.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, "Shit, you feel so good."

But you were gone, hazed out, tasting the metallic tang of your blood on your lips passed on from his. The hard thrusting of his cock made your body bounce, soft little mewls escaping you -- too fucked out to engage in actually being fucked. "God, this fucking whore pussy," Eddie panted, your walls squeezing tight aroung him causing loud and lewd squelches to fill the void between Eddie's moans, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck." He wanted chase his high as roughly as he could to finish out the night but your glazed over eyes brought him down. Poor baby. His hand caressed your face while he slowed down his strokes to something soft and deep.

"Hey, hey, baby," he calls out, his voice back to normal -- your Eddie.

"You with me, honey?" he asks, heart racing a little when you don't immediately respond.

"Baby? Angel?" he asks again, taking your chin and giving you a little shake.

"Hm," you respond, your bleary vision clearing up at the sight of him -- big brown eyes searching for life in yours. He smiles when he sees your eyes focus on him, you croak out a small, "Hi."

"There's my girl," he nervously breaths out a laugh. "Don't stop," you whisper out, feeling his slow pace coming to a halt -- but the stretch of him pushing in and out of you was exactly what you needed. "I won't stop," he whispers back, his lips desperate to be against yours again. His pace quickens, finding your hand and lacing your fingers -- pressing it into the mattress to steady himself against you.

"That's my good girl. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna -- hhnnff shit," he grunts into your ear, "G-gonna f-fuckin' fill you -- hhhmmmffuck -- gonna f-fill you up." "Please, daddy. Please fill me up," you whine out. Ugh, Eddie might as well have died and gone to hell hearing your blissed out voice. So broken and stupid and wrecked that she needs her daddy. He couldn't last when you pulsed over him, an orgasm he wished had been bigger from you after all of this. He was almost embarrassed with how big his had been, though yours was round three and his was only the first. He slid out slowly, pulling you in for a kiss that felt like a gentle apology. He rubs noses with you when he pulls away, stroking your hair gently. "You really are my good girl," he praises. "Thank you," you murmur. "Can you stand up for me so I can help you get in the shower?" he suggests, "I'll take care of you." You lazily reach for him to help you out of bed, cried out and fucked out, exhaustion overwhelming you and all of your limbs. He pulls you up, holding you close to him while he walks you to the bathroom. You hear the hiss of the water in the standing shower, leaning against the sink while Eddie inspects every inch of your body while the water warms up and feeds you some ibuprofen for the oncoming pain. He's surprised there wasn't more damage outside of the one cane mark that broke skin. Sure, you were covered in welts -- but when weren't you after a night like this? He looked at the burn mark on your thigh from his cigarette, making a mental note to treat it with Neosporin like you always had to remind him to do. In the greenish light of the bathroom, the little E on your chest stood out even more. He couldn't help but feel a pang of excitement at it -- dried blood already darkening it against your skin. Eddie lead you into the shower, it was a semi tight squeeze when he closed the frosted glass door behind you, but you didn't mind. It was nice to feel his breath on your neck while the water hit you -- warm enough to ease the ache in your muscles, but not too hot to wake up the angry marks on your thighs and backside. "Easy, baby, easy," he chided when you went to reach for the soap, "I got it. I gotch'you." He takes the soap and a clean wash cloth slung over the door, sudsing it over until the light blue fabric was more bubbles than fibers. He started at your neck, moving your wet hair out of the way to get the back -- massaging you gently when your eyes closed. He worked slowly, washing your body in sections, pressing kisses to each one, letting you lean against the plastic of the wall to rest. Whispering your praises into your skin to remind you that you're perfect. "Thank you," he mumbles into your hip, on his knees while he runs the soap into his hands to gently cleanse the backs of your thighs. He knows the cloth is too rough right now, but he doesn't want the area to go ignored.

"Thank you? For what?" you ask sleepily. "Just, bein' my girl," he gives a peck to your thigh, letting his hand come to squeeze your other knee. He gets up, his curls drenched and sticking to his shoulders and face. You survey him under heavy lids and he looks almost sad. "You okay, Ed?"

"Yeah, yeah," his voice is a little shaky and he sniffles, reaching for the shampoo. You let him wash and rinse your hair, he takes his time with the conditioner how you taught him. He does the same for his own, making sure to leave some of it in, so his curls stay hydrated and healthy. His little live in beauty school drop out, where would he be without you to keep him so pretty?

He helps you out of the shower, drying you off and treating your burn and your new 'E' ornament with ointment before bringing you back to bed. Eddie doesn't talk much during this part since you're normally on your stomach. He coats you with a light wash of lotion, unscented so you could still wear your favorite body spray without the smells getting mixed up. He'd made that mistake once before when he bought lavender and you never let him hear the end of it.

He avoids the lotion on your battered body, opting for aloe gel instead to soothe the burn. You hiss at first under his touch, but quickly relax, listening to him hum a melody to himself -- slow and romantic. Eddie finishes babying you with a gentle back rub, reaching up to scratch and massage your scalp -- a full circle moment from when he pulled your hair hours ago to signal the kind of night he wanted to have. With his help, you get situated in his t-shirt and a pair of his old boxers that might as well just be yours at this point. He sniffles again and you look at him, his brown eyes a little glassy with tears. "You love me, right?" he asks, "Even when we -- Even after I do this?"

"Of course," you smile warmly at him, coming more to life as the minutes pass. "Can you..." he falters at first, trying not to cry, "Can you say it?" You hold him, your hand smoothing over his damp curls, "I love you so much." You lean back to look at him, "I love you so much that I let you do all of this to me. You're the only person I would trust to make sure I'm okay." "You mean it?" he smiles weakly. "I mean it," you tilt your head, "You're my favorite." "You're my favorite," he challenges. Eddie's next kiss is deep and loving, the way he kisses you when you come home from date night. The type of kiss where he says he wants to make love to you, both sweating and tied up with each other -- gasping each other's air, "I love you, too."

"I know," you promise him while you guide him out to the living room, hoping to cozy up on the couch and fall asleep on his lap. You both know the adrenaline and pain reliever will wear off soon and you don't want to be awake when the pain starts to really set in. Once you're both settled in, he flicks on the TV while you snuggle up in the blanket you crocheted for him as a gift for your first Christmas. Halloween starts on the screen. "Great timing," Eddie says to himself when his hand finds your head on his lap. "Oh, I meant to tell you at Steve's -- they're working on Hellraiser three," you piped up, still watching the screen, "I read about it in your new Fangoria."

"Oh, sick," he looks down at you and you look up at him with a mischevious smirk. "I'm kind of excited," you shrug, "Maybe it'll wake up a new thing in you for us to try. Maybe we can try whips or something."

He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he can't believe that you're like this. Eddie shakes his head, still unsure how to wrap his head around what you said. "We have such sights to show you!" you laugh out in your best Pinhead impression. "Girl..." he started, still shaking his head while looking back at the TV, "And they all thought I was a freak?"

#sadist!eddie #sadist!eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dom eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson x reader smut

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Thxxx! To the anon that asked about Erin wearing a skirt! because what if he found out his darling has a thing for tough guys in skirts!💖 I don’t know what type he buys tho? Like a long black maxi skirt? A cute one (that’s your favorite color) with ruffles and bows? Or a super short skirt (of any one you want) that barely manages to hide all that BADONKADONK 💖💖

Also maybe some nsfw if your up for it!

Erin getting sucked off while on top of a counter? (Or anywhere else if you prefer) you making him hold his skirt up as you stare at him while sucking him off. Legs on you shoulders and hands on his thighs! Just incase he tries to close them! 💖

Pegging Erin in the skirt (obviously) it allows you to easily give his ass a good smack and keeps him looking cute. Does he (fake) complain? Yes. But once you start praising (or degrading) him, how cute he looks all dolled up, only pretty sluts get fucked, and how would everyone that he bullies react if they found out their tormentor likes to wear cute skirts and get fucked like a cheap whore. He can’t help how much he loves it!

Thank you for reading my ask btw! Hope you like it!

(So I saw this ask after yesterday's post, but I felt that this would be a good continuation)

Erin runs three yellow lights on his drive to your place. He's already half way there before you send him your address. He knew your address due to the harmless act of following you home on weekends and when he wasn't hanging out with his click. At stops he's unable to past he adds a second coat of lip gloss and draws under his eyes with the eye shadow he picked up from a drug store on the way. His heels clack loudly against concrete as he marches to your door. It opens right as he raises his fist to knock.

Erin quickly brushes his hair over his shoulder. "Hi."

"Hey. Heard you coming."

"Yeah... Just got a little excited to see you is all..." Erin trails off. Fuck, was that too far? He was desperate for you, but he didn't want you to know he was. That, amongst other things would probably scare you off. Was he trying too hard? Too little? God, he just wanted you to kiss him already.

"So what are we going to-"

Grabbing Erin by his collar, you drag him into a kiss and your home as you slam the door behind him. The pressure on his neck makes his vision fuzzy, but he parts his lips as your teeth and tongue abuse the soft flesh. He feels your hands going up his skirt as the muscle violates the back of his throat; palming him through the panties he wore. You pull back, lifting his skirt to see the lace fabric in your grasp; the tip of his cock peaking from it band.

Erin forces a shakey smile. "Like what you see?"

"Thought I was jumping the gun at first, but you were hoping this would happen, weren't you? I figured last week in the cafeteria was to get my attention, but- wow."

"Been trying to catch your eye for a while. Do anything for you at this point."

"Guess I should make it up to you." You bring him over to the couch and dive in for another kiss as you lift his shirt over his chest, stealing those last bits of lip gloss clung to his lips. The initials engraved into over his heart should bother you, but he looks so pretty that you can ignore it for now.

"Freak."

Erin's cock twitches at the insult. You peck his cheek and catch the drool falling from his open mouth before sinking to the floor. You free his length from its restraint, skirt blocking the view.

"Lift up for me."

Erin rolls his skirt up his legs, thighs clenched as you pump his cock. You push them apart with ease and get into position as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. He whines, spreading his legs more rather than trying to close them as you swirl your tongue around his girth. He wants to hold the hand gripping his thighs, but prioritizes keeping his skirt out of your face. Your nails dug into his skin as your mouth closes around him. Whether intentional or not - Erin throws his head back with a drawn out moan.

"Y/n, s-shit, too much- I cant-"

He weakly taps your shoulder, but you pay no mind as you take him down to base. You stare up at him with a look that ties his stomach into knots. Pulling back, his cock shines with your saliva and the gloss you had sucked off his lips minutes ago. The tears in his eyes leave messy, black streaks down his face as you edge him; kissing and slowly rolling your tongue over his cockhead as you lick the drops of pre-cum. His body tenses, knuckles as white as sheets gripping the hem of his skirt. Your nails go over the red marks in his skin once more and he sees white.

"F-fuck..." Erin shutters and moans through his release, shooting his load directly on your tongue as you stroke him through his high and stick it out to catch it all. His cock falls limp against his stockings which you tuck in it as you climb up his body and into his lap. Dazed, he licks his now dry lips and lifts his head signaling for a kiss. You comply, the taste of his release fresh in your mouth as you plant another kiss on his lips. He could hardly care less as he allows you to spit in his mouth right before you tangle your tongue with his. You give him a moment's rest before sinking your teeth into his neck, groping his thighs as you lead his hand to your waist.

"Up for more, pretty boy~"

#Erin my oc #yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere smut #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere lemon

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roxxiies · 4 months

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YIN, NOLAN, XBORG, CLAUDE; SPENDING THE HOLIDAY

fluff, no gender mentioned, reader is a parent to toddler layla in nolan's part. just you and the men enjoying the Christmas holiday.

ENJOYY

YIN

If you're together with Yin, expect the holiday to be very eventful. In the morning, he would serve you both hot choco but finish it quickly because the second later, he'd be convincing you to go for a little date of snow gliding. If you get too cold, he'd unhesitatingly put his coat over yours. You worried that he'd get sick but he denied otherwise— ‘he’s too hot’ he says, you only rolled your eyes.

In the end, he layed helplessly on your bed, too sick to move. Since your house was the closest to where you were, you had to ask(beg) your brother to let him stay for now.

“AAchhoo..! babyy, sniff hot choco please…😣.”

NOLAN

Holidays with Nolan always end up to the both of you baking together. You were mixing the ingredients in the bowl when your husband slipped his hands between you and placed it on your own, he guided you as you mix the bowl. He kissed your cheek, whispering like how you're doing great for your child, and soon left to wrap his gifts.

Leaving you flustered from earlier, the gingerbread cookies looked a little evil, Layla had said to you– so she determinedly ate all the cookies thinking she was helping his father diminishing the villains. Nolan, who was beside you, wraps one of his arms around you and chuckled.

“Look how happy you made her, love.”

XBORG

Despite the cold winter season, when you're with him, he would never fail to make you all warm and fuzzy. While the hot choco were left untouched on the icy bench, the two of you were busy making two snowmen that represents the two of you. Xborg then noticed a small gap between the two snowmen so he carefully moved his snowman next to yours and make them hold hands— you swear your heart melted at the sight that day.

Inside the house, you two admired the couple snowmen as he lend you a hot drink and held you between his arms. Little did you know, he had put a makeshift engagement ring on your snowman’s finger.

“One day, we'll be like them as well.”

CLAUDE

Let me tell you, he would take you everywhere within his power– to skating the icey pond to having a little date on the castle roofs. Expect to have atleast an expensive necklace or any jewelry for your present but if you don't want that, you can state whatever you wish and he'll have it in his hands in no time.

One time, you were walking with him and you were eyeing this little cat in the pet store a little too long. So when it was Christmas day, you expect his gift for you for another shiny material but you gasped loudly at the sight in front of you, Claude was holding the cat in his arms with a red ribbon as a collar.

“I admit, he's pretty cute but not as cute as yo-”

(the cat scratched him, he's ok)

roxxiies © likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡

#mlbb #mlbb x reader #mobile legends band bang x reader #yin x reader #nolan x reader #xborg x reader #claude x reader #mobile legends bang bang #yes #enjoy #roxxiies

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evelandscripts · 1 year

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Would it Kill You?

Ike Eveland x gn!Reader

warnings: none!

genre: fluff, mutual pining, slow-ish burn

word count: 1.9k

a/n: this is my first time posting actual fanfic on this hellsite even though i have been an avid user since 2014. slightly embarrassed that i have the nerve to lose my tumblr fanfic author virginity to luxiem but honestly it’s what riku tazumi would have wanted. enjoy! or don’t!

Ike Eveland was one of, if not the most, frustratingly charming people you had ever had the honor of crossing paths with.

You didn’t know what was worse— that he was so unaware of his own capabilities of rendering you speechless with a seemingly innocent quip, or the fact that every time he noticed that his comments had made a warmth rise to your cheeks, a fuzzy blush running across your face, he’d only smile silently and swiftly move on with the conversation. He garnered such an audacity to toy with your heart, but didn’t appear to have any interest in taking accountability for his constant teasing; if you could even call it that.

It didn’t take long for this repetitive, yet wordless back and forth to catch up to you. The novelist was taciturn, but he didn’t have to say much to leave your mind relentlessly racing with thoughts; like the time he bashfully complimented the way your sweater hugged your shoulders.

“You look—“ he paused, taking the time to assess the dipping collar of your top, choosing his words a bit too carefully, “comfy.”

Comfy? That’s it? Was he just going to ignore that behind his gold tinted frames, he nearly undressed you with his eyes? But that was Ike, a man of few words, ironic considering his many accolades as an esteemed penman. You decided you had enough of this wordless play, that if Ike really had something to say, you wanted to hear him say it with all sincerity.

He had been sitting at his writing desk since the sun had fallen, only a candle fashioned next to his ink pot to light the way for his work. He was concentrated, his mantel sliding down his shoulder after continuously shifting on the writers bench. His thumb was coated in deep sapphire liquid, no doubt the solvent he was jotting on the parchment with. You could tell he had been at it for a while, wearing a calm but tired expression. As to not startle him, you quietly ambled to his side, bending at the waist to get a better look at the novelist and the manuscript in from of him.

He didn’t move an inch. You admired the way that the flicker of the flame bounced off his glasses, hiding the glow of his eyes for a moment before the fire twitched again, revealing their grey hue once again. You watched as his face contorted slightly as he thought of his next sentence, his lips pursing and eyebrows sinking towards one another. He brought his free hand up to his chin, scratching it a bit before returning it to the page. You wondered if he had noticed your presence, or if he was too focused on his writing to have realized your place next to the desk.

“Hi Ike—“ you whispered, once again trying to prevent disturbing the man at work.

“You don’t have to be so hushed, I knew you were watching me.” He returned, chewing on his lip as he continued to ponder over what word to write next.

Your mouth fell agape, searching for a response to such a confident claim. He saw you watching him, taking in the curves of his jaw and crescent of his mouth. He knew you were standing there, but chose to let you embarrass yourself as you fawned over how perfect he looked while writing.

“Oh.” was all you could muster out defeatedly. Although your ego had been quelled, you still sat onlooking; he was clearly untroubled by you watching him.

He let a quick breath escape, a curve appearing on his lips.

“Cute.”

Your heart immediately plummeted to your stomach. He was doing it again, the exact thing you had decidedly put your foot down against. You straightened out your back, passing your hands over your front to smooth your shirt. You were about to turn on your heel to exit the room, when the novelist began to rustle for a moment. He had moved ever slightly to the far side of the bench, leaving just enough room for you to fit snuggly next to him. He passed you a virtuous look, before inviting you with the wave of an ink covered hand. You’d be a fool to decline the offer.

So there you sat, legs pushed against to his, his mantel enveloping your shoulder that met his own. Warmth emanated from his side, a barrier of layers upon layers of clothes failing to break the contact between you and Ike. It’d be a lie to say you weren’t nervous, or excited, or a delirious mix of both as you gulped down a choke. But he stayed put, placid, back to scribbling on the page.

As you watched the pen dance on top of the paper, a curious idea slipped into your mind. Perhaps, this was a chance for you to make him regret toying with you all this time. Evil, yes, but not ill-mannered. If anything, it was deserved.

You started slowly, craning your neck to the side so it lay in the nook between his head and shoulder comfortably. A shivered ran down Ike’s body in response to the sudden change of position, but he quickly returned to his focused writing. You sighed, knowing it’d take a lot more to get through to him.

Thus began your calculated escapade of cracking the novelist. You moved your hand from its place resting in your lap, snaking it over his leg and cupping your fingers around the inside of his thigh. You allowed your thumb to move freely over his pant leg, tracing the the fibers with dangerously slow movements.

Ike stiffened at your touch, his body tense as your fingers methodically pressed against him. Still, he put on an unwavering facade, holding a tighter grip on his fountain pen as a way to gain a false sense security. He let out a dry cough before continuing his work, ignoring your attempt to break his attention.

His lack of reaction did not put a damper on your plans, though. You turned your head positioned on his shoulder to face his neck, blowing a breath of hot hair against his exposed skin. A layer of goosebumps formed underneath the layer of condensation you imposed on his neck. You could tell there were wheels turning in his head, his once fast paced writing brought to a halt with one simple exhale; bringing a smile to your lips. You let your fingers trail a bit further up his pant leg, but not far enough that he’d get any satisfaction out of your doings. Your actions were innocent enough, simply enjoying his company as he paid attention to the open book ahead of him.

It wasn’t until you heard the metal clang of a pen dropping to the hard oak desktop that you realized you may have pushed the novelist past his breaking point. He was no longer engaged in his creative pastime, rather, he shifted his torso to you with a sudden jolt, your head forcibly snapping up to face him.

His eyes, formerly cast with the warm candlelight, were now a smokey silver, a shadow engulfing the majority of his face besides a sharp glint of light off his glasses. This time it wasn’t you with a red hue painting their face, but instead Ike was adorning a beautiful shade crimson across the bridge of his nose and tips of his ears. He looked at you coldly before breaking the silence.

“Does someone need attention? Or are you done playing a game that you are sure to lose.” He spoke snidely, confident in each word that rolled from his tongue.

“You speak very boldly for someone who hides behind false innocence, Mr. Eveland.” You retorted, knowing very well his tactics. Play dumb, deny any wrong doing, and repeat; there was no blame to accept if he simply protested doing anything at all.

He left his gaze unbroken, but slid his hand to meet yours. You couldn’t remember if he had ever reached out to you like this, whether or not this was the first time he had so tenderly grazed his fingers over your skin. His hand traveled from your wrist, past your lowered forearm, and landed atop the dip of your waist. Your breath hitched, but you knew better than you let it show your defense was faltering.

“If you were feeling needy, you could have just said something.” His voice dripped with anticipation, laced with uncertainty of just how far you were willing to take this.

“Says the one who can hardly formulate a forward compliment…I expected a lot more from someone who has such a way with written word.” You spoke leveled and confidently, nodding your head towards the half written page atop the desk. He frowned slightly, but his stare persisted.

“It seems, though, that the messages were still relayed though…am I wrong?”

He wasn’t. You knew with every quick remark the underlying notion that Ike was aiming to reach you. It didn’t make it any less frustrating, though.

“Would it kill you to tell me how you really felt instead of leaving me to put the pieces together?”

Alright, you were definitely losing your pride a bit. In fact, you were practically pleading with him to drop the act altogether. Your tolerance of his discreet way of flirting you was reaching its peak, and you were about ready to put an end to your charade. Ike had other ideas.

He didn’t respond with words, but rather his actions. He brought his free hand up towards your face, brushing the hair against your forehead towards the side, letting it fall after his touch. His hand stayed against your face, though, cupping your cheek and resting against the slant of your jaw. His eyes softened slightly before he finally spoke up.

“Alright then.” Within the brief moment it took for you to register what he had even said, he leaned forward to plant a kiss against your lips. You melted completely into his touch, tilting into the kiss and bringing your hands up to meet the sides of his face.

He broke away first, leaving a small gap between the two of your faces, his eyes still closed as he processed the decision he just made. You used you gentle grip on his jaw to tilt his head upwards, meeting his eyes once again. This time it was you pressing your lips into his, returning the sentiment he had just graced you with. It was sweet, it was wordless, but it spoke more than any of his writings could ever hope to communicate.

When you finally pulled away, there was nothing but a devious, grinning Ike in front of you.

“Y’know, if I had known all I had to do was kiss you to tell you how I felt, I would have done it a lot sooner” He chuckled, taking a deep inhale to recover from the lost breath.

Your face relaxed, and instead of being offended by his mockery, you gave into his toying and wrapped your arms around his shoulder, letting your body weight press against his chest. He gladly excepted your embrace, clasping his arms around your resting form.

For a novelist, he spoke plainly and reserved. Still, he found ways to let it be known his feelings; and it seems as though you may have discovered a replacement for all those sly comments he had made in attempts to reach you.

#ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland imagine #luxiem #vtuber #nijisanji #nijisanji en #vox akuma #luca kaneshiro #shu yamino #mysta rias #nijisanji x reader #luxiem x reader #luxiem imagines

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greenthena · 6 months

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Ineffable Lapels: Our Side

I've seen some stellar breakdowns and analyses of the costuming for Good Omens, and I'm personally blown away by the consideration afforded to each element of the visual production of this show. I even appreciate the anachronistic elements that Claire Anderson chose to use in the 537 A.D. Kingdom of Wessex flashback, because aesthetic was more important than historical accuracy (Oscar Wilde would support me here, I am certain.) And to be perfectly honest, 6th century European armor was not going to cut it. So much quilting.

This discussion is just a little traffic circle spin that I wanted to address with no larger point than to say how much I adore Anderson's work on this show. That's a lie. This post has actually gotten out of hand, so grab yourself six shots of espresso in a big cup and get in. We're going for a ride.

It's the smallest detail, but have you noticed the Ineffable Idiots' lapels? Crowley's lapels always point up (not the case with any other demons). Aziraphale's lapels always point down* (again, not the case with other angels). *I'll address the one divergence at the end of this post. It's kind of the whole point. It'll be worth it. Just drink your espresso and listen.

Lapels are a fantastically subtle way to express characterization when costuming an angel and a demon. Perhaps Aziraphale's lapels are an echo of his wings? Maybe Crowley's lapels symbolize devil horns? Maybe their costumes are just reaching out trying to give each other a hug. I dunno.

I'm going to start with promo shots from both seasons that show Crowley and Aziraphale's present day wardrobes. The first promo shot pictures the costumes for all of present day S1. It's perfect for demonstrating the most pronounced expression of the lapels. Consider this a baseline or something like that.

The close up of the promo for S2 (featuring nakey Gabriel and the migrating nightingales...I'm not crying, you're crying) shows pretty similar costumes to the first season. Yes, the hairstyles have subtly changed (Crowley's not so subtly, perhaps), but the lapel positioning for both characters remains consistent.

Going back in time. (Let's call this the Baby Antichrist Era, shall we?) Crowley's collar is quite a bit narrower than in the present day, but the lapels still point up. Obviously, Aziraphale is still wearing the same coat. Obviously.

I will never recover from this John Lennon bastardry. But still, check out those lapels. And the brocade is so 60's and so over the top.

And here's Michael delivering his favorite line from S1, whilst breaking Crowley's (and literally everyone else's) heart. Do take a gander at those downward-facing lapels, though, and 'scuse me while I go have a quick cry.

I'm going out of order with this next image, back to the start of the Holy Water incident. (Don't worry, we will get to 1941. It requires more attention and will have to wait its turn.) Not a whole lot I want to pull from this image other than Aziraphale's fuzzy top hat and Crowley's snake-handled cane, which I believe he's using as he recovers from his recent trip to Hell. These costume pieces have nothing to do with lapels, I just think they're neat. But the lapel pattern holds: up for the demon, down for the angel.

A few decades earlier, we see Crowley in Edinburgh just hours before being sucked into an infernal whirlpool. The lapels here are more parallel than distinctly upward-pointing, but the extravagant shoulders on this overcoat demand a balancing lapel line.

Likewise, on Aziraphale's overcoat we don't see a defined downward-pointing lapel, so much as a wide horizontal collar, but the layers of wing-like capelets create an impression of flowing down. With these two stunning overcoats from the Edinburgh flashback set, I think the unusual period elements take the place of the lapels in demonstrating the upward tilt in Crowley's ensembles, and the downward pull in Aziraphale's.

Okay, now we can discuss 1941. Because this is where the cookie crumbles. Originally, these costumes vexed me. As usual, Crowley wears his upward-pointing lapels. But Azirapalala, goddamnit, also has upward-pointing lapels to match Crowley. But am I gonna' let a little thing like this destroy my thesis? Don't shit with me when I am analyzing costumes, because this is also the night when Aziraphale realizes he's in love with Crowley (this is Sheen cannon and cannot be disputed).

Their lapels match because of Aziraphale's revelation--he finally understands what it means to be on "Our Side," because he's finally admitted to himself that he is head-over-bloody-heels in love with the wily demon. The matching lapels in 1941 is some St. John of Patmos-level stuff, I think, their matching collars revealing their synchronicity. Even if it's only for the one night, they're one the same page, heading in the same direction. I know many of us in the fandom are pretty preoccupied with the idea of a third 1941 flashback in S3 because this night seems to be the hinge in their relationship. It's the night when everything changes. It's not just Crowley swooping in to rescue his angel, as he's done in the past. They're mutually dependent on one another to make it through the night alive, well, at least to avoid discorporation (it's romantic, okay?) Crowley diverts the Luftwaffe plane; Aziraphale protects them from the blast of the bomb; Crowley saves the books; Aziraphale saves Crowley's ass from an irate Mrs. Henderson; Crowley saves Aziraphale's magic show (by literally not discorporating him on stage); and Aziraphale saves both their asses with some surprisingly successful prestidigitation when he swaps out the incriminating photo Furfur had managed to snap of the Ineffable Morons.

Crowley and Aziraphale's matching lapels in 1941 isn't a fluke or a costuming blunder. I think it's a very subtle head nod to what we all know actually happened that night: Aziraphale took a tenuous step forward in their relationship. A step 6000 years in the making. A step that, if noticed by their respective superiors, could mean the actual and eternal end to them. He couldn't shout it from the rooftops--he couldn't even speak of it directly in private (I mean he tried, but "That's what friends are for" was as painful for the viewer as it was for Crowley and Aziraphale.) He couldn't disclose through words or direct actions what he needed the demon to know, so he used what avenue he had available to him. Through the subdued symbolism of his bloody lapels, Aziraphale communicated to his demon, "I am on Our Side."

For reading to the end of this post, you get a very special reward! Here is The Amazing Mr. Fell. I love him. I'm not going to address right now the fantastic costume because this beauty deserves a post of its own--the cape with the stars! THE CAPE WITH THE STARS! HE'S SWATHED HIMSELF IN CROWLEY'S CREATION...I'm fine.

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #costumes #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #amazing mr. fell #I just wrote a whole post about lapels #aziraphale is in love #crowley is in love #can i get a wahoo

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moony-ghoul · 5 months

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ghoul hair hcs

dew: his hair was naturally a cool almost white blonde when he was a water ghoul, after his transformation his hair become auburn. he bleaches it still to a platinum blonde, he doesn’t feel like himself when he’s ginger. despite the bleaching he keeps his hair very healthy having a whole ass weekly schedule just dedicated to his hair, it’s long and just reaches his waist. for body hair he’s not very hairy as is but he still shaves everything for sensory reasons, sometimes he’ll let his pubes/ happy trail grow but even then it’s very light and grows very slow

rain: rains hair is thick and dark, there’s a slight curl to it, he has a shaggy kinda wolfcut that just reaches his collarbones. he likes to keep a bit of stubble on his face (mainly cause dew likes it). he cannot grow leg hair (water ghoul thing), he keeps the rest of himself trimmed and proper but even then it doesn’t make much of a difference because of how thick all his hair is, he’s got a perfect line down the middle of his torso reaching a nice splatter of hair on his chest, he keeps a nice bush going

phantom: PHANTOM FUZZYYY. cause of their vitiligo their hair grows black and white depending on the colour of the skin underneath. they have very shaggy hair it’s short but has no particular style to it, it’s so thick that it just kinda stands up on its own and ant has learnt to not fight it, most of the hair of their head is black except for a large streak near their face that’s white. that white streak from their face goes down across their eye leaving them with a white eyebrow. they cannot grow facial hair. because the colour of their hair matches the colour of their skin they look like they’re pretty hairless especially when wet but when you get up close you can see this ghoul has a pretty solider layer of fuzz all over their body, it gets thicker in the winter but also means they shed in the summer, they never shave it’s too much of a hassle which means they have a thick bush

swiss: swiss is fuckin HAIRY. dense dark curly hair from his collar bones to his dick, a well trimmed but thick beard, long dreads reaching midway down his back. if he had his way he’d let it all grow forever without a care in the world but he has a small fire ghoul wife who has built him a perfect routine for caring for his intense hair, making sure his beard is trimmed and neat and his body hair is still soft and clean. after about a month of dew bullying him into a self care routine he actually really started to enjoy it, he loves feeling good and knowing he looks and smells good for his partners

mount: he has very thin hair and it’s very light. he’s ginger. the only hair that isn’t thin is the hair on his head which is long w a slight wave, resembles a lions mane when he wakes up. he does not shave at all so he has full bush leading up to a pretty lil happy trail, he’s got a lil chest hair (it kinda looks like a big heart in the centre of his chest) but his legs are hella hairy it’s almost fur, he also has the same on his arms. it’s all a lot of hair but very thin hair so you don’t get the full picture until it’s wet and sticking to him (when he sweaty). in summer when he’s tan it’s less visible but he’s the same as ant where he’ll grow a winter coat in a way

cirrus: my girl is the hairiest out of everyone. she doesn’t shave at all and is covered in thick dark hair. she has like a long mullet, she takes great care of all her hair so it’s beautiful silky shiny. she doesn’t have a whole lot of chest hair but her tummy and bush are hella fuzzy. she has a double slit in her eyebrow that came from a scar (thanks dew). the hair on her arms and legs contour her muscles so perfectly and it makes everyone fuckin drool

cumulus: cumulus is so particular about her hair, her and dew write out their hair care schedules together, they have completely different hair textures but they just like having someone to talk to about it. her hair is white and big and curly (3b to be specific) it looks like a cloud. she only shaves her pits but the rest of her hair is so light she doesn’t see a point in shaving it, sometimes she’ll shave her legs just cause she likes the feeling of being all smooth and on occasion she’ll trim up her pubes. much like some ppl say “don’t talk to me before i’ve had my coffee” lus will say “don’t talk to me until i’ve done my hair”

aurora: rory is a hair dye girly, her natural colour is a pastel pink but she loves changing it up every few weeks, dew taught her how to bleach her hair and take care of it after and she hasn’t looked back since. her favourites are pastel colours. she has a ramona flowers type cut with a bob but longer in the front, sometimes she’ll let it grow out for a few months but she doesn’t like the feeling of hair on her shoulders. she likes to keep the rest of her body fairly hairless, she keeps her lil happy trail tho and shaves her pubes into a heart.

#ghoul hcs #dew is the dens hairdresser essentially #if anyone has a problem w their hair they go to dew

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completeoveranalysis · 9 months

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[1]

Chapitre 183 - The World of Sand

In which ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THIS IS INCREDIBLE.

BLACK AND WHITE INVERSE COLOUR SAKURA AND SYAORANS? OHHHHH CLAMP ARE GENEROUS. CLAMP ARE GIVING.

Even just how each couple is wearing the colour opposite to their background, but also the opposite of the opposing pair.

And how the feathers are in the SAME but OPPOSITE part of the page for each side, showing that they are visual inversions of each other’s reality, but the feathers don’t look the same, and are shown at unique angles. Potentially they’re falling on one side but rising on the other. Potentially it’s the same for each, but its showing that neither story is complete without the perspective of the other.

And how the small circles on the right are small and clearly defined against the background - perhaps falling water droplets, like the falling feathers around them? - while the ones on the left are fuzzy shiny orbs, like motes of air or magic rising through the sky. I think the implication of movement is a bit open to interpretation, you could go either way. IS one side falling and the other rising? Is the fate of that Sakura/Syaoran pair falling downward while the other rises? Is one falling to ALLOW the other to rise? Is one pair doomed by fate BECAUSE they are clones? Or are they drifting down and out of the narrative and into freedom, while the other pair takes up the fight in their stead? Is one background Black because their future is dark, or because they CAME from that darkness, as created tools of Evil Wolverine? Or is it their clothes that matter? Are they the light in the dark, the fragments of people who fought to change the future despite their origins? White clothing because they were initially empty and devoid of anything? Is the other background similarly white because it hasn’t been written yet - a future so undefined that no-one can tell what it will be when this is all over?

Are the circles actually heading in the same direction on both sides of the page, and the difference is how they are perceived? How one stands out against the darkness while the other needs help to be seen at all? The clones WERE the most visible throughout most of the story, and only through their existence did the other pair get the chance to enter the narrative again.

I - oH fuck I forgot that this would be in colour and that I HAVE IT. PLEASE HOLD. WHERE IS IT.

HERE IT IS! LOOK LOOK LOOK

EVEN THE SPLASH TEXT IS INVERTED

MIRROR IMAGES

And OH all that gorgeous golden ornamentation, the gem colours actually staying the same on both sides of the page. The clasp on Syaoran’s upper arm is the same symbol as on the previous cover, on Fai and Kurogane's clothing, which is a very fun connection that shows it wasn’t just an alternate world we didn’t see, but an intended shared thread of imagery for them all.

The long pieces of jewellery that the Sakuras wear are gorgeous and delicate and intricate. It could be echoing the design of vines and natural growth - perhaps because she can communicate with spirits, and is in touch with the natural world, or perhaps because she is a desert flower herself, growing out of a literal world of sand but also blooming despite the extreme adversity, and blossoming out of pure determination. It also has visual echoes of imprisonment - it circles her neck not at a low level like a necklace, but high like a collar. It spreads across her like roots, holding her in place - or is it the opposite of that now? Is she, aware of her fate as she is, wearing Evil Wolverine’s designs like they're just a gown to be worn? Something she can’t take off but has learned to make work for her?

The Syaorans have a circular loop in the design of their coat around their necks as well - because they’ve been just as trapped in Evil Wolverine’s schemes. For the Syaoran on the right especially the loop around his neck has two circular gems visible that could echo the same shape as the goggles he used to wear, bringing in an element of the past that shaped who he is but at the same time was a design placed on him from birth, one that was all by someone else’s plan.

AND THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THEM. The colour version lets you see the heterochromia in Syaoran's eyes on the right, showing which pair is which, and the DIFFERENCES in how they stand. (If they ARE in the pairs you would expect) Clone Sakura looks down, as if unfocussed, because she IS currently narratively dead. Or is she instead gazing at her hand, being held by Syaoran? She has wanted this so desperately and for so long. Does she look sad because she is currently dead, meaning they might never be actually together? Is she unfocussed because she has not yet had the chance to truly see that her sacrifice worked, and that Syaoran really has been restored? Either way, Syaoran holds her hand up in support, gently from below.

The Syaoran on the left holds the other Sakura’s hand up close to his chest, hand clenched tight. This Sakura and Syaoran both look ahead - at where they are going? At what lies ahead for them both? Neither looks especially happy, but neither looks especially unhappy either. Lava Lamp has always been particularly unreadable, but the way he grasps her hand betrays how hard he’s been fighting for her. Sakura in turn looks just as unfocussed as her counterpart - and if Evil Wolverine is to be believed, it’s because she’s also dead. I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS THOUGH. She could potentially be in dreams, asleep for the entire plotline, held as a backup until they free her. She is not particularly aware that her hand is being held, and isn’t participating in the motion like the other Sakura seems to be, but she looks ahead all the same. Whatever they're looking at, they're clearly moving in a different direction entirely to their clone counterparts.

Meanwhile Clone Syaoran looks directly at the camera.

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delirious-donna · 2 years

Text

Hands Off [Kakashi Hatake]

an: thanks to the anon that sent in this suggestion, it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything steamy for Kakashi so it's more than time he deserved some attention!

prompt: Kakashi finds you indulging in some self-love when he explicitly told you to refrain until he was home... he mad.

pairing: Dom!Kakashi x female reader

warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, mean Kakashi, degradation, daddy kink, female masturbation, overstimulation, dacryphilia, pussy fingering, pussy eating, mouth gag, spit, spanking, rough handling, doggystyle, creampie, aftercare, Kakashi is mean but goddammit I couldn't make him too mean (he is mean to the level I believe is accurate), soft Kashi at the end cause I love him

Masterlist

The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating, your stomach twisting into seemingly endless knots from the pleasure you were eliciting. Messy, slick-soaked digits spread apart your puffy pussy lips, rubbing against your throbbing clit just how you liked.

It was a rush, such a thrill to disobey so openly. You were pushing the limits, acting the bratty girl when you were used to being praised for your compliance and eagerness to please. Now you took the quiet instruction not to touch yourself and threw it out the window.

Would he be mad to discover you like this?

Bare upon the bed, a thin sheen of sweat coating your soft flesh from the minutes you had spent working yourself into a fervour. Knees bent in such a way that if he were to walk through the door that stood slightly ajar, your cunt would be directly on display for him. Shining with sticky strands of arousal, fingers buried up to your knuckles in the warm, wet heat but just not long enough, not thick enough to give you exactly what you needed.

You keened, high-pitched and desperate. Where was Kakashi when you needed him most? To hell with being found in a compromising position, indulging in an activity that he had expressly forbidden just that morning. He was being so mean, knew that you were hormonal and wanted to be impaled on his thick cock every minute of the day and it brought tears to your eyes at the smirk he had levelled at you.

“Be a good girl whilst I’m gone. I’ll know if you’ve disobeyed and Daddy won’t be happy, understood?”

Your hips pressed further into the mattress at the memory. The sweet kiss that had been too fleeting for your liking as he left you wrapped in his shirt and headed for the door. The ripple of his retreating chuckle, the way your cunt had clenched around a big fat nothing–it wasn’t fair.

Not even the threat of punishment could’ve kept you from pulling the collar of Kakashi’s shirt to your nose, inhaling his unique sweet scent until your head was fuzzy from it. His pillow thrust between your thighs, rolling yourself onto it for even a hint of friction. The sizzle of irritation that flushed against your chest, it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

If it were a test, you were failing and although it stung your soul, you were just too fucking desperate to care. Later–you could cry and sob about your misbehaving ways later, once you were finally satisfied.

Too lost to the primal demands of your writhing body, too focused on trying to cool the fires that were burning in your loins, you didn’t hear the front door open and close. Didn’t hear the jingle of keys falling to the ceramic dish nor the footsteps that strode with intent towards you.

The bedroom door opened with a forceful shove, and there, framed in the doorway was one extremely pissed-off Kakashi Hatake.

You all but froze, the circles you had been thumbing against your clit brought to an abrupt halt as you wilted under the burning gaze of the man you called your husband and Daddy.

Steel grey eyes raked you over with a look of almost disgust, but you knew him better than that. One glance at his crotch told you that he might be very mad at you, but he was also aroused and ready. The outline of his erection straining against his pants in the most obvious way.

“Filthy little slut, couldn’t wait even a couple of hours without my cock, huh? Had to go and disobey my direct order not to touch yourself.”

Kakashi spat the words at you, ripping away his mask in the process as he strode for the bed. You tried to curl in on yourself, to drag your legs up and tuck into a ball, but a firm hand was around your ankle before you could escape.

Falling to his knees upon the rug, he dragged you down the bed until your pussy was directly in front of his face. His strong palms held your thighs against the mattress, everything on display to him and he watched globs of arousal slip past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.

You whimpered; tried to struggle but it was futile. Kakashi held you down too tightly, the burn of shame lanced at your chest for being so raw and exposed like this. No sheet or clothing to cover your nakedness, to obscure the obvious clench of your cunt around the air.

Silver hair vibrated with his irritation, his jaw set and brows furrowed as he branded you with his searing gaze. Kakashi spat against your pussy, the hot saliva running down your folds only to be caught on two thick fingers and pushed into your hole. You gasped at the sudden sensation, your spine bowing upwards at the feel of being stretched.

He hadn’t even removed his fingerless gloves, the taut leather catching against your slick walls and making everything feel just… more. More hot, more shivery and more fucking degrading.

“This what you want? Slutty little pussy so desperate to cum. Tell me, princess, have you cum?”

You shook your head, babbling incoherently as you fisted the sheets. His middle and ring fingers twisted into you at a rapid pace, the squelch of your slick bringing fresh heat to your face.

“Kashi… please.”

Covering your face with a hand, the thunderous growl from the silver-haired man between your thighs forced you to jerk and shriek.

“Look at me,” he demanded with a hiss. He let go from your spread thigh to rip away your hand, looming over your naked form until you could feel his breath against your cheek. The smell of his lavender-scented shampoo filled your nose, a scent that normally evoked softer emotions but right now, mingled with the sharp tang of his displeasure, it choked you.

“You don’t get to call me Kashi right now, dirty girl. I expressly asked you not to touch yourself and you went against me. I’m not happy do you get it?”

The fingers buried up to his knuckles fucked into your cunt faster, curling to allow the pads to brush against your front wall. Instinctively, your thighs tried to close around him, to wrap around his hips that were hovering above you.

Another growl from Kakashi, another whimper of supplication from you. His knee braced down on your thigh, enough pressure to keep you open but not enough to hurt. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, his eyes darting to your parted lips and his tongue flicking out to lap at his own, but he attacked your neck instead.

Hungry bites, teeth that nipped with force at your tender flesh and marked you for the willing little slut you were for him - only for him. Possessive lips latched against your collarbone, sucking until he was pleased with the dark bruises that bloomed under his scrutiny.

The heat of his mouth was nothing compared to the inferno in the pit of your stomach, that decadent serpent of desire coiling tight until you felt you would shatter into a million pieces, and he knew it–sensed it. Kakashi doubled down, adding a third finger to your cunt until you were screaming to the ceiling.

Your soul ripped from your body as an orgasm crashed over you like swelling tidal waves. Spine bent into a wicked arch, stomach quivering as he bit the underside of your breast whilst his fingers continued to stroke you through the release.

Kakashi still wasn’t happy. Your embarrassment at the mess you had created all over his gloved hand was far from enough for the man that owned you–body and soul. You were manhandled roughly until you were laying on your stomach, hips dragged upwards even though your legs shook with every slight movement.

You could hear him peel away his gloves, only able to see a glimpse of the towering male from the way your face squished into the sheets. His touch had left your body and you yearned for it to return, every flash of movement from the corner of your eye forcing pathetic mewls from your lips. He was stripping, you knew it and dammit did you want to see him in all his naked glory.

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” he asked, still sounding very much like his meaner side and you cowered a little from the obvious reprimand.

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for letting me cum on your fingers.”

Kakashi grunted and you weren’t sure if he was pleased or not. “That’s more like it. Now let’s have a look at you.”

What you didn’t expect as the mattress dipped from his knee, was the soaked leather glove to be forced past your lips. The taste of your arousal was potent on your tongue whilst you felt the fat tip of his cock catch against your sensitive clit.

“You’re gonna need to bite down on this princess,” he rasped.

Brain utterly scrambled, you frowned at what he could mean until his large palm rained down on your ass with a monstrous smack that sounded like a clap of thunder. Teeth bit down on the soft leather, tears springing to your eyes and body rocking forward from the impact. Kakashi rubbed at the globe of your ass, enjoying the way it turned a deep red after only one strike.

He was relentless with his punishment, the deep grunts pulled from his chest which was almost masked by the piercing spanks to your tender ass. Bright red handprints splayed prominently on your skin and it pleased that dark part of him to see it.

What thrilled him the most was how your pussy continued to glisten, the arousal clear and sticky. Strands connecting from your pretty pink folds only to break apart as your cunt clenched once more. You were so needy, so desperate and although he was still angered by your defiance, he wasn’t going to make you truly suffer. If he were to do that, he’d simply tie your hands up and leave you untouched until you cried fat tears.

Kakashi shifted with speed, his own desperation kicking to the forefront as the flat of his tongue swiped a fat stripe up your slit. You moaned, rocking back against his mouth and he let you. Eagerly he devoured you, tugging at your puffy folds before attacking your aching little bud. Lips locked around the swollen nub to roll it languorously.

He fisted his weeping cock, spreading his precum along the length as he fucked into his hand at a furious pace. Nose nudged at your entrance, not caring how his face became coated in your arousal, in your scent and taste. Kakashi was becoming intoxicated, mind blurred from what this had started out as–punishment for disobedience.

“Daddy… please.”

The waver of need in your voice tore at his heart, not even caring that you had spit out his glove without asking permission. All he knew was that you needed him, he had everything you would ever need right here and he was going to give it to you.

You didn’t know how many times you had cum from his incessant ministrations, gushing on his thick fingers, finding bliss from the riot of spanks against your now extremely tender butt and upon his tongue that poked at your sopping hole.

The first press of his blunt cock head was met with your bucking hips, your walls squeezing down hard enough that he hissed through his clenched teeth.

“Stop fightin’ me. Daddy’s princess needs to be taken care of, don’t you?”

Kakashi pulled back to let him smack against your clit, the wet slap bouncing off the walls before he was bullying into you, forcing your walls apart to accommodate his girth and size. Your spine arched like a feline, laboured breaths as you welcomed him home.

It wouldn’t take long for your orgasm to crash against you once more, every nerve ending was raw and ready for your man. In the same light, Kakashi had spent so long working out his frustrations on you that he was practically fighting back his release. The coil of tension in his balls, heavy and near bursting. The lewd 'pap' of his pelvis hitting repeatedly against your reddened rump was sinful, fingers gripping into your hips and dragging you back and forth upon his angry cock. Every prominent vein grazing your gummy walls that were working hard to keep him buried up to the hilt in your pussy.

Kakashi was crumbling fast, the first sweep of guilt stealing into his heart as he realised how mean he had been to you, and worry gnawed at him. He pressed along your spine until he could reach your shoulders to pull you up with him. His thrusts were turning sloppy, the rhythm lost in the swell of his emotions and how urgently he wanted to cum.

“Princess, tell me you’re okay? Wasn’t too mean, was I?” he pleaded against your shoulder. Urgent open-mouthed kisses smeared your skin, his tongue licking at the salty sweat that ran in rivets down your torso and you could cry.

He could be mean, and he could be soft. You loved every facet of his personality and no, you didn’t think he had been too harsh on this occasion. You had a safe word for moments that were too much, too overwhelming and you hadn’t used it.

Your arm hooked around his neck, as much as possible from this position, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck and twisting through the damp strands. His palms covered your bouncing breasts, nipples tweaked between his fingers as he continued to kiss you and fuck into your heat.

“No Kashi, s'okay. I’m sorry for being so bad for Daddy. Won’t do it again.”

On those words, he found his release. The sharp cry of ecstasy as you tumbled down the rabbit hole with him, milking him for everything he had and letting him take your weight in his safe arms.

How long you lay in his embrace, you weren’t sure. Kakashi wouldn’t let you budge an inch, trapped within the steel cage of his strong, muscular arms. When it was finally time to move, he treated you like a princess once more. He even chuckled at your blatant lie that you wouldn’t disobey him again, he knew you too well to believe it.

“Let Kashi clean you up, princess. Need to make sure I haven’t hurt you, my sweet little girl.”

You smiled as he strode from the room in search of a flannel and a glass of water. Stretching out your sore limbs, letting a low chuckle escape as you realised your plan had worked perfectly… it was always fun to antagonise mean Kakashi.

#delirious writes #kakashi hatake #kakashi smut #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #dom kakashi #kakashi hatake smut #tw daddy kink

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seenoversundown · 4 months

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Sparrow Of the Dawn : Chapter 3

Sam x Willa (Fem OC) Warnings: Cursing and some light bickering, otherwise a lot of bad luck.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

Author's Note: This chapter is a bit lighter on the word count, but take it as the calm before the storm 😉 (next week may or may not be a long one)

Boston - Augustana "I think I'll go to Boston, I think I'll start a new life I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather"

My blaring alarm clock jolts me from my sleep. It should be illegal to need to be awake at 4:30 a.m.; even Penelope lets out a little “boof” in protest. I rub my knuckles across my lids, trying to wipe away the sleep.

“You and me both, Penny girl.” I whisper into her fur, gently petting her face, “Rest a little longer, and then you get to go see Uncle Daniel.” Alas, I have a train to catch. I can't take the chance of driving Edith all the way to Boston. I don't even think she’d make it to Portsmouth at this rate.

Lethargy is so heavy in my bones as I drag my body to the shower. The scalding water helps to wake me up, but not enough. God, I need coffee. Regret fills me as soon as the water is off and the cold air attacks me once again.

After I quickly get dressed, I hustle through the rest of my morning routine, trying to ensure I stay on time. Finally, I wrap my scarf around my neck and knot it before slipping on my coat. “Okay, headphones, bag, camera, keys,” I mumble out loud, mentally checking things off my list. “Time.” 5:02am. At least I’m on time, calling out “Penelopeeee” in a sing-song tone. She comes running from around the corner, jumping up on me. “Woahh, down, girl.” I hook her leash onto her collar and lead her out the door, closing and locking it behind me.

It's only a short walk to Daniel’s apartment, and the morning air bites at my face. I pull my scarf up a little higher to cover the lower half of my face. My breath heats the fabric, a small salvation. Piles of snow where it had been plowed into snow banks still present, the sun not yet strong enough to melt it this time of year. Let alone this time of day. Penelope stops to sniff just about every flower she comes across, delaying my trip.

I march up the brick steps, and the porch light flicks on, allowing me better vision. The sun won’t make an appearance for another hour or so. I wrap my knuckles against the wooden door a few times before Daniel opens it. The sight of him causing me to chuckle.

“Good morning, sunshine.” giving him a beaming smile. If looks could kill, I would definitely be dead. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, fuzzy socks on his feet, no shirt on, and curls in complete disarray. He shivers when the breeze crosses the entryway.

“Of course, this is the one time you’re actually on time,” he whines. “Did you honestly have to leave so early?”

“Unfortunately for us both, Daniel, yes. There was only one train into Boston that would get me there on time, and I can’t be late for this. Miss Penny has already gone to the bathroom, so that should give you a few hours at least.” I hand him her leash and she enters the house. “As much as I would love to stay and chit-chat..” trailing off as I turn to head back the way I came.

“Come on, Penny girl, at least we get to have a cuddle. We’ll get out of Daddy’s hair so he can join the world of the employed.”

“Very funny, Asshole,” I call over my shoulder, flipping him off.

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If I was smart, I would have started Edith before I left to drop off Penny, giving her time to warm up and the frost to melt off the windshield; apparently, I have chosen the path of idiot this morning. I sit in the cab, turning the key repeatedly, and she won’t start. Panic rises in my chest, listening to the sound of the engine refusing to turn over.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I grunt out, “not today, not today.” I pause and take a deep breath, exhaling through my nose, creating a cloud in the chilly air. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” I turn the key once more, and her engine roars to life. Breathing a sigh of relief, I rest my head against the steering wheel, “oh, thank god.”

I speed off toward the train station, not wishing to waste any more time.

When I arrive, the train is already stopped, and boarding. “Oh fuck” I breathe out. Grabbing my bag and rushing to the platform, I nearly slip on a patch of ice before I make it. But I do make it. Just before the crew member shuts the doors. I breathe out a sigh of relief for the second time and find a seat in the back of the economy car I paid for, a double seat. The closer we get to the city, the busier it will get, and I don't want to have to worry about sitting near a bunch of passengers.

Jesus Christ that was cutting it too close. I wait for the train to start moving before I pull out my AirPods and put them in my ears. I scroll through my playlists looking for the right thing for this trip. Finally settling on a song, I click play. The song sounding muffled when I realize that it’s playing from my phone, shit. I turn the volume down as quickly as possible, trying to keep my eyes on my phone as I feel everyone around me look over. What is in the air today? Letting out a sigh as I pull my AirPods back out and place them back into their case. I drop my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and just listen to the sound of the train moving.

I jolt myself awake with a small gasp. Please tell me they didn’t leave me on the train, and now I’m in Canada or something. I tap on my phone, 7:55 a.m., Thank GOD. Only a few more minutes and the train is slowing into the station.

I finally make it off the train, and I’m trying to hustle through the station until I see a Dunkin sign glowing at me. My stomach grumbles as I look at it; I can grab something.. I’ll definitely make it still.

“Can I get a medium hot caramel swirl latte with oat milk and the bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.. But no bacon, please?” Met with a simple ‘mhm’ from the cashier. I pull out my phone to pay, and seeing 8:10 a.m., my stomach feels nervous again.

It only takes a couple minutes before my name is called. I grab everything and practically run through the station to find the exit. I finally make it outside and check my maps to see where I’m going, grateful that it’s not too far from here. I slide my phone back into my pocket; I only need to walk a few streets down. I carefully pull the sandwich out of the bag, excited to eat something after the morning that i’ve had. Fuck me; I see the fleshy piece of bacon sticking out as soon as I peel the wrapper away from the bagel. I stare at it for a minute, trying to decide if it’s worth the hassle of pulling the bacon out. Deciding against it, god forbid it makes my stomach feel worse while I’m here, I toss the sandwich at the next trash can I pass and take a huge gulp of my latte, hoping it fills my stomach a little. Thankfully, my drink is perfect, and at this point, I’m going to take whatever win I can get. For the love of everything holy, I need the rest of today to go smoothly.

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The building is easy enough to find. I thank the lucky stars that at least one part of this journey wasn't difficult. I open the heavy metal door and head up the steps to the main floor toward the elevator. A plaque sits between the two elevators above the recall buttons. “Boston Globe - Floor 4 Suite 213.” I take a deep breath and press the arrow pointing up. I can feel the nerves in my belly, like butterflies buzzing around. Little wings flapping, sending gentle ripples of unease through me. I can’t mess this up. I have to make a good first impression. Working in conjunction with two major newspapers in different states is a big opportunity. It would put my name in the minds of people who could help me break into this job market. One I’ve been trying to work my way into since I graduated. This has to be it. The elevator dings, and my heart skips a beat, setting my nerves on edge even further.

Once the elevator arrives on the 4th floor, I step out looking for the closest suite number to gain my sense of direction. I solidify my bearings and head toward the right. A few doors down is 213. I open the door and the first person I see is a petite blonde woman. I scan the room; everyone is staring at me. Oh, this feels awkward.

“Hi, Can I help you?” her voice is high like I expected, but much quieter.

“Uhm, I’m looking for James Boucher with the Boston Globe?” My eyes dart back and forth between her and the rest of the people still looking at me. I wring my hands together, trying to satisfy my uneasiness.

“Oh, Jimmy is down the hall. They moved his office, and it hasn't been updated downstairs yet.” Just another thing to go wrong this morning, naturally. She walks over to me, places her hand on my arm, and points me down the hall. “It's suite 222. Also Call him Jim, not James and it's ‘bou-shay’ not ‘bou-sher’. He’ll like you 10 times more if you can get his name right. You’re gunna do great.” She says sweetly, squeezing my arm. “Good luck!”

“Thank you”

I walk down the hallway, pulling my phone from my pocket and double-checking the time. Still early. Thank god. Knocking on the door and twisting the handle ,I greet the front desk girl with a wave. A pretty brunette smiles back at me. Does everyone who works here have to be pretty?

“Hi, I’m here to meet with Jim Boucher. Am I in the right place?” I say nervously.

“You sure are, sweetheart.” Her southern drawl makes her that much more attractive to me. “What’s your name? I’ll get ya checked in.”

“Samuel Kiszka.” I lean against the counter, glancing down at her nameplate. She clicks a few buttons on her computer and then rises from her chair.

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” She extends her arm pointing us in the right direction.

“Sam is fine. Daisy is a very pretty name, by the way. Like the flower?” I ask, smiling gently at her. A blush forms on her cheeks. She drops her head a bit, I can no longer see her dazzling blue eyes. She’s much shorter than I am, even in her heels. I shorten my stride so she doesn’t have to work so hard to keep up.

“Thank you. I was named after my grandma, and she was named after the flower. Mamaw Daisy was the sweetest, just like her pie. Oh, she made the best apple pie I’ve ever had.” She looks up at me then, eyes bright and hands clasped together.

“I’ve been trying to replicate her recipe and I think I have it close. Uh, just this way.” She instructs us to take a left; the windows on the right cover the wall nearly floor to ceiling.

“Well, maybe I can try a slice sometime.”

She stops then and looks up at me. “Uhm, this is it,” pointing to the door.

“Thank you for the escort, Miss Daisy. I surely would have gotten lost without you.” She giggles and opens the door. The room is smaller than I anticipated. A few tables are set up with chairs. There are already a handful of people here.

“Hi, Mr. Boucher. This is Sam Kiszka. He’s here with the Portland Press Harold, from Maine.”

“Thank you, Miss Thompson, that will be all.” He waves his hand, dismissively. Her face drops a bit in disappointment. Before she closes the door, her eyes find mine with a small smile, which I match.

He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. His eyes never rise from his folder. Am I supposed to stand here or take a seat? No, I should definitely introduce myself.. Right? First impressions and all.

I gently clear my throat. “Sir?” Once again, he doesn’t move. I wait. When he finally finishes what he’s reading he looks at me.

“Sam Kiszka, Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand, which he takes, apprehensively. He’s a man of few words from what I can tell, so I do my best to convey my character through a strong handshake. He nods at me and juts his head toward a table, motioning for me to take a seat. I’ll take that as a win.

As soon as I take my seat, a familiar face enters. Her short, brown bob was perfectly tucked behind one ear. Paired with her petite stature, it gave her a bit of an elf-like appearance. She played with the proportions of her outfit to look taller, wearing khaki-colored high-waisted slacks for height along with brown heeled boots, and a tan button-up sweater tucked in. A delicate blue pattern across the top accentuates her chest and gold necklaces worn in tiers to finish it off. She looked beautiful. Why is she here?

I watch her as she introduces herself to Jim, who doesn’t really glance at her either, which makes me feel a bit better before she takes a seat on the opposite side of the room. At least it’s not just me. Daisy catches my vision, and I can tell she’s taken notice of me staring at.. Her. I offer her another small smile before I watch her close the door and disappear once more.

“Alright,” Mr. Boucher announces, grabbing everyone’s attention. “As you all know, since you signed up for it, The Boston Globe is partnering with a few newspapers in New England. We want to run a feature on what makes each state in New England special. That’s where you all come in. There are 2 candidates from each state. That’s your partner for this project, so get used to them.”

Oh god. This experience is about to go from amazing to horrific for her as soon as she finds out I'm here.

“Presentations will be on Monday, so you have a few days to do what you gotta do. We’re working with the San Francisco Chronicle as well, which means that the 3 teams that best represent their state will be flying out there Tuesday. So, if you have plans next week, cancel them.”

Looks like Jake will have to find someone else to help cover the bar this week.

“Ah shit, let me take attendance.” He grumbles, searching for the correct paper on his desk. “Here we go, let’s start from the top with Maine - Willa Clarke?” my eyes immediately shoot over to her. Willa is a pretty name. It suits her.

“Here, sir,” she raises her hand. She tilts her head to the side in anticipation. The red undertones of her hair catch the light when she moves. Okay, Sam? Calm down.

“Great,” glancing down at his paper again. “Willa, your partner is.. Samuel Kiszka?”

Clearing my throat, “Uh Here.” I raise my hand. Her eyes finally meet mine, and immediately narrow.

Annnnd, there it is.

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A few hours and a lot of paperwork later and I’m sitting opposite Willa at a table in the cafe downstairs. She’s been glaring at me over the top of her latte for 10 minutes without saying a single word to me. Slowly sipping. Intently glaring. Not speaking.

I wait.

And then give in.

“Are you stalking me or something?” narrowing my eyes back at her.

“Excuse me?” Her incredulous look is not surprising.

“I mean, I go to the farmers market and you’re there. Poking me. I go to my brother’s bar and you’re there. Then I show up here and.. Oh yeah.. You’re here. Logical explanation would lead me to believe that you’re stalking me.” Curiosity becomes me as I wait for her answer.

“I feel like you’re failing to take into consideration a key piece of information here, Salmonella,” She says, piquing my interest. I debate if I should be offended by her use of a nickname or not and settle on the latter. Why let her get under my skin when I can get under hers?

“Aw yeah? What’s that, darling?”

“Okay.. ew.” disgust paints her face as she waves her hand out in front of her. “You speak as if you’re interesting enough to stalk.”

“Ah, such a blow to my ego,” Rolling my eyes dramatically. “Someone who spends her time jabbing strangers and yelling at them when they try to help her doesn’t think I’m interesting. Whatever will I do?” She scoffs loudly and crosses her arms, turning to face her body to the side toward the windows. “I should just roll over and cease to exist right now.”

“Help me? How have you tried to help me?” She asks in disbelief. Of course, she wouldn’t view my actions on Saturday as helpful. Or nice or kind in any capacity. I swear she's incapable of thinking I’m nice.

“When I told you not to bother with Chad Von Doucher-son, which you yelled at me for. Or when I offered you a drink on the house when he ditched you. A peace offering, again which you yelled at me for.”

She huffs. “What about you then?” Raising her eyebrows at me. “ Since we’re in all the same places or whatever. Are you stalking me?”

“Oh, I’m simply incapable of giving you that pleasure.”

A wicked laugh escapes her. “I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve said that to a woman. How about you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours?”

“Yes because a project in which we have to work together definitely calls for staying away from one another. Can you not pretend to tolerate me?”

“Must you ask so much of me?” She frowns intently, grabbing her purse and standing to push her chair underneath the table.

“When our careers ride on it, yes. Now play nice. No more school-yard insults.”

“Okay. Truce.. For now.. Samsquatch.”

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The rest of the day was filled with more paperwork, tours, and individual assignments, according to each home-based newspaper company. At the end of the day, knowing I have some time to kill before I have to catch my train, I stop by the front desk.

Daisy is sat with her head down looking over scheduling for the following week. I tap the counter with the pads of my fingers, the soft sounds calling for her attention. She greets me with that same wide smile. Yeah, she’s cute.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Daisy. And thank you for your help this morning,” I hold my hand out to her, and she places her dainty one gently in my palm.

“It was lovely to meet you too, Sam.” She giggles and a blush forms.

“I’ll see you next week for the presentation.” I bend down to place a kiss on her knuckles, causing her cheeks to redden even further. As I straighten I can hear ‘oh god’ behind me. I turn to see Willa standing there, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t waste your time, he’s insufferable.” She says to Daisy and storms off. I cannot believe she would do that. I know she isn’t exactly my biggest fan, but to try and cock-block me because she dislikes me is insane. I really haven’t done anything to her. How can someone you barely know have that strong of a vendetta against you?

I look back at Daisy, “Would you excuse me one moment.” I let out an awkward laugh. Before fully walking away, I stop, “Next week, pretty girl,” and give her a wink. When I leave she has a smile on her face. Successfully recovered.

I walk quickly through the hall down toward the elevator to catch up with Willa. Just as the doors start to close, I catch it and force it back open, boarding the elevator with her. Turning to her with my eyebrows raised and my arms crossed, I clear my throat.

“Can I help you?” Her eyes are locked in her phone.

“Just because you have shit luck with dates, doesn’t mean you have any right to try and ruin my chances at one.”

“Oh, please. You cannot subject her to that.”

“Subject her to what?”

“Sam, it’s actually less painful watching teenagers flirt. I’m begging you, if I’m going to have to witness your flirting through this whole experience, the least you could do is practice in the mirror a bit.” She sneers at me.

“Ya know,” I take a step closer to her until my chest is pressed against her shoulder, “I could always practice on you.” The slight intake of her breath almost goes unnoticed, almost.

“Oh god,” She lunges toward the button panel, repeatedly pressing the open door button. “Get me the hell out of hereeeee.”

Checkmate.

<- Chapter Two ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Chapter Four ->

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