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pedge-page · 2 months

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Plushies 6 - MooMoo

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plushies Series Masterlist but Can be read as standalone

Summary: you surprise Joel for your 2 year anniversary by being the fuckable plushie tonight.

Warnings: literally 99.9% smut. Unprotected sex (she is on the pill but they’re playing with the idea of it failing), BREEDING KINK, pregnancy kink, plushie milk sucking (? You’ll see); nipple pumps, nipple play, nipple orgasm, boobjob, oral m-receiving, squirting, cream pie, belly bulge, no breastfeeding but Joel has a breastfeeding kink (obviously!), Daddy kink, spitting, bimbofication, lots of cow talk, praises you and degrades you, cringe ass language overall for these horny fucks

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It's getting pretty bad now that every time you see your pile of plushies in the room, your panties dampen. And you can’t really avoid them because Joel’s been adding to the mountain of stuffed animals with every excuse to get you a gift.

And then outright making you cum on them before he’s ripped the tag off.

You suspect Joel also gets equally as hard by them too, with all the interesting things he’s been sharing since starting your Plushie-sex journey. He’s pretty quiet and reserved any other time, even during regular sex. But when all your little beady stuffed animals start getting involved…

You’re startled by a gentle knock at the door. “You okay in there, sweet pea?”

“Mhm! I’m almost ready!”

You both just got back from a fabulous date—ready to seal the night with passionate sex. And you’ve planned the perfect 2 year anniversary gift for him.

You stare in the mirror in your new “outfit” to surprise Joel’s loins: naked, save for a spotted felt ear headband, a leather collar with a big golden bell dangling from your neck, knee high white and black spotted stockings, and a slutty garter body harness speckled in black splotches. The straps dip and curve over your hips with cute ribbons on the waist, snaking under your soft parts, accentuating your breasts, tummy, thighs, ass—everything that Joel finds bitable.

^photos + product by GlamourIsTheEndGame on Etsy

When you finally walk out into the bedroom with all the might your tiny little harness could muster, Joel’s eyes finally land on you. You smile at him with a sultry, pretty, and far from innocent smile.

"I was thinking maybe I could be your plushie for tonight,” you say, pushing your breasts out with your arms drawn tight, and shaking a little so he can see them sway and hear the jingle of the bell bounce over your collarbone.

Ok, so you know the scenes in Tom&Jerry where Tom sees a female cat, and his eyes bug out cartoonishly and jaw falls down to the ground?

Yeah, that’s Joel right now.

His jaw is so slacked it might unhinge itself. Eyes straining because they can’t go any fucking wider, and his pupils literally so blackened, you wouldn’t know he had baby brown eyes.

You’re standing there very expectedly, waiting.

Waiting.

… waiting.

Say something you kinky bastard, damnit NowILookLikeAFool—!

Your nerves are starting to curl in on themselves...maybe you don’t look as sexy as you’d hoped...

“Um…if… if you don’t like it—I mean if you wanted to pick up a stuffie instead…”

The man takes advantage of your brief embarrassment and jumps you, shoving you against the wall and caging your legs around his hips.

“Oh!”

You whimper as the unmistakable bulge of his package presses hungrily, slipping past the little string and nudging your wet clit.

He glues his lips to yours, devouring your tongue. It’s extra hungry, extra needy tonight than usual. His lips twitch with the rumbling growl reverberating deep in his chest.

“You’re so fucking sexy holy fucking shit baby-jesusssssss look at you— fuckfuckfuck I’m so lucky, luckylucky bastard—FUCK ME—you’re mine? You’re actually fucking mine????”

You giggle, confidence surging again as his hands struggling to grab every bit of you all at once. Holding you captive nonetheless, eyes raking over in wonder and astonishment.

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you hum sensually. You grab his hands and bring them to curl along your harness, under the straps to feel your skin all hot and tingly. Begging for his touch.

“Happy fucking Anniversary to me.”

Joel scoops you up and sits on the bed, immediately having you straddle him. You grind down on his tent poking up between your cheeks. His fingers dig into your thighs when he feels the flutter of your folds.

He knows you feel as sexy as you look.

“Gonna be my cow slut tonight, huh? You know what good little cow sluts do?”

“Suck cock?” You ask cheekily, preparing to sink down to your knees to pleasure him with your mouth.

He lets out a happy sigh. You’re ready to move, your teeth sucking in your lower lip, but he stops you, instead choosing to pin you closer to his body. His voice drops an octave:

“They birth and they milk.”

They—what? “Um—come again?”

“Breeding, baby. That’s what we’re doing tonight.”

He knows you’re on the pill, so it’s not like you’re really trying to get pregnant…but the thought of getting knocked up tonight sends a particularly dangerous chill down your spine. He never uses a condom so the chances are still….there. Every night. Each time he blows his fat load deep inside you; like a good little cumdump, he says.

Why not indulge his fantasy tonight?

“You wanna breed me, Daddy?” You tease, hips swaying along his clothed member, dancing along your slit.

“Mmmm, yeahhh. Shit, baby. You’d look so good pregnant. And these—“ he grits his teeth, fingers pinching the straps that circle your mounds, watching them squish together, “—Are gonna fill up with so much milk, gonna feed me with your delicious cunt and sweet milk 24/7.”

You want to slap the smug look off his face, but now’s not the time. It’s time to get those pouty lips on your breasts and the cock in your cunny.

“Better start getting them open so I can satisfy that big thirst of yours.”

On cue, his lips wrap around your nipples, kneading your tits in his big rough hands. You start bouncing steadily along his cock. He’s domineering and digging into your skin harshly, teeth overly excited and sinking into your pebbled nips while he grinds up against your heat.

He’s biting and sucking so hard, asking-PLEADING-for your milk.

Milk that is definitely not there!

"Ouch! Joel I'm not going to give you milk, we’re just—playing—I’m not actually pregnant!"

But the THOUGHT of you exactly like this but stuffed full of a baby, just imagining your tits all round and belly bursting, the garter harness pulling tight against your skin and your tits poking out with that big heavy swell of your tummy making you look like his own breeding stock.

Desperate whines rush out of his mouth in a string of babbling: “I can get ya pregnant, please? Pleasepleaseplease darling let me put a baby in you— breed ya so good, just look at ya, could get ya knocked up, just think how cute you'd look gettin' all round with my calves grown in that tumtum. Fuck! what a sight, showing off to everyone our hard work breeding, evidence of our love making, and these titties would just swell n get all heavy with all the creamy delicious milk ya could give me like the best momma n—“

Your palm splats against his mouth to shut him up. “Slow down, cowboy. We aren’t having a real baby any time soon. We don't even live together yet..."

"Then move in with me,” he proposes without hesitation.

You …blink for a moment. His mouth hovers over your breast again but you drag him up to look you in the eyes—so you know he's not just fucking around.

“Really?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do we still have separate homes? I'm here all the time anyway. Plus, takin' care of all those plushie pets must be exhausting on your own, they're partially my kids anyway so.”

"You really want to live together?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do.”

You and Joel were a ‘take it one day at a time’ trusting kind of love, but right now as you stare into his heart-shaped eyes, you can see your whole future together. The kind of earth shattering reality that’s never been more clear and more desirable than this moment.

“I—“

“Don’t gotta give me an answer right now. Wanna ask ya again when we’re—less horny. So you know I’m bein’ serious.”

You grin and kiss him.

“Show me a good anniversary night and I’ll give a good thought-over.”

“Oh babygirl,” he tuts. “Think you were gonna be the only one showin’ me a good time? I got ya something too, sweetheart. Gonna go perfect with ya cow slut theme ya got goin’ on.”

You don’t know what he could possibly have that could “match” your very specific cow themed sex outfit—

Unless its more cows.

So when he sits you on the bed, stumbling over his shoes because he can’t take his eyes off you, Joel equally surprises you with a box of cow themed gifts—little calf beanie babies, which are conveniently jerry-rigged to two separate nipple pumps with their little snouts pointing towards the suction cups, and a cow plush toy that has a compartment in the top to pour milk in, complete with rubber “practice” utters for farmer kids to learn milking.

“I swear, I had no idea you were gonna be dressed as slutty cow momma for me. I just—saw this shit online and thought my girl needed to be drinking some cow titties when I fuck her swollen cow tits.”

“We’re so in sync,” you muse, shaking your head with an amused smirk.

Its honestly should be... kinda concerning.

He sits back next to you on the mattress, shoving some of your animals off the edge. You instinctively crawl atop his thighs again, and his hands settle once more protectively around your waist. You stare down at him, his sinful lips practically begging to get sucked while that lidded lustful gaze lulls you in a trance. The Joel Miller spell is wordlessly working on you again—and you know you’re gonna be cracking and doing anything this man says within a few shorts minutes.

You beam at each other tenderly, unable to help the genuine happy crinkle at your lips as you kiss him softly.

Then it starts:

"Can ya moo for me?"

You roll your eyes. Not quite doing anything he says so soon. “Fuck no I'm not doin that shit again for you. You want a farm, go get one yourself."

"Please Angel?" He plants wet kisses along your jaw before giving two fat ones on top of your breasts.

"Still no."

He groans, but continues to nip at your breasts like a scolded child. "Can I fuck your big mommy milkin' cow titties?”

“There is no milk!” You snap. You’re ready to throw the whole idea away, but his persistent hold around your waist and cock nudging your throbbing puss is making it difficult to resist him for long.

His big brown chocolate lab eyes bleed into your horny little soul. “C’mon, MooMoo, for Daddy?”

“I am NOT your MooMoo—“

He jingles the bell dangling from your neck. “Ya’sure sound like my MooMoo.”

you clench your fist around his shirt and take a deep breath. "Fine, Fine! Whatever."

"Say it."

"You can—ugh—fuck my big... mommy milking cow titties." You face feels so hot with embarrassment, but Joel purrs with such satisfaction that you feel even WORSE how much you don't hate it.

Since when did the double entendre of being called his "kitty" and "puppy" when Joel fucks you and your animal themed plushies become his "moo moo girl"?

He grins with such a dirty, perverted look about him. Continues to kiss over your mounds, massaging the muscles in your back so you don’t notice when he bends over you to grab his homemade breast pumps.

He looks at you sideways with expectant hope in his eyes.

You roll your eyes again. Of course he can’t just get a normal titjob and blow his load in your mouth. There’s always some fucking thing else you gotta do. But with the way his cock pulses under your drooping pussy, you decisively snatch it from his hands and get to work just so that he’ll call you his slutty cow again.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, rubbing along your hips excitedly. He holds them in your hand and exhales hot air over the cups so they aren’t cold against your skin.

The clear tubes are narrow, obviously meant to resemble that of utters rather than actually breastfeeding from a bottle. You stick them on each tit, and very quickly Joel is pumping the little hand squeeze that starts to suction the small space of air into the connecting wire.

You gasp at the sensation. Slowing latching on, the small of your breasts are pointing inward towards the pumps, sticking up on their own now as Joel continues to suck the air out.

You hiss a strangled moan. The sensation isn’t—bad. It’s like an invisible hand is dry vacuuming your pebbles.

“Fuck—fuck look at that,” he growls. “Your nipples are sooooooooooo fucking suckable right now.”

You look down and see their hardened state reaching out into nothing. As more of your flesh and tissue gets sucked in, pressing tightly, trying to fill the small space, the pain mixes with pleasure. Joel’s continually nipping at your chest with lidded eyes glued to the scene helps spread the multiple sensations your body is feeling.

“There’s not gonna be any milk,” you warn again, shifting uncomfortably in his lap. Your breath hitches in your throat when you get to a particularly suffocating phase of tightness in your breast.

He casts a sorrowful grin before yanking the pumps off together with a loud SCHMOP.

You screech unexpectedly, rolls of pleasure sparking through your chest, up to your brain then right down to your tummy and cunt, your eyes rolling back as you collapse forward on to him.

You’re both quiet for a moment save for your heavy pants. Until you feel a wetness growing on his pants.

“Joel—did you—?”

He laughs out, “No baby, that was all you.”

Your cheeks go warm in embarrassment, looking down to confirm that you had actually squirted onto his jeans just from getting your nipples suctioned.

“Didn’t know ya titties were so sensitive…” he goads.

You shake your head and nudge it into his neck—because you didn’t know you could squirt just from getting your breasts suctioned either.

“Shhh, I know. I know baby, just breathe. Little titties are so sore, but we gotta get them ready to start feeding from. S’not my fault you’re just a little slut, so hungry to be a momma—don’t you worry, Daddy Bull is gonna make it happen. Ya can squirt your little juices all you want when I breed your cunt like my own personal livestock.”

You have half the mind to tell him again there is no baby to be feeding any time soon, and you sure as heck weren’t his livestock to be bred, and had nothing to say about "Daddy Bull", but with the harsh throbbing along your nipples, dragging sensitively against his cotton shirt, you don’t care to do anything else but drool and hump your weeping clit against his soaked thighs.

“Let Daddy see his work,” he mumbles into your throat with a kiss.

You sit up again with his assistance.

He groans heartily at the sight of your swollen, redden tips poking from your boobs. “Jesus fuck, MooMoo.” He rubs his thumb over your mounds and you wince away. “They hurt?” He laugh sadistically.

You cover your lips with the back of your palm, unwilling to let him see your delirious heaving. Your pussy throbs desperately for more his unique torture. “You….bastard…”

He soothes over the swollenness, groping your breasts and telling you how they’ll be sore like this all the time when they start filling with milk. How he’s gonna breed you so full of calves you’ll be bursting milk on your own, and he’s gonna lap it all up to keep you happy.

You don’t know why you keep letting him put the pumps back on. He doesn’t try to rip them off like before, but keeps bringing you close with tight compresses before letting air quickly filter in again. The little cow beanies bob up and down with each deep breath you force through your nose, eyes glittering up so innocently. You’re trying to ignore the equal throb in your untouched clit as the ones in your overstimulated perky nips.

Once they’ve swelled to a level of his satisfaction…

“MooMoo…”

“Huh…”

“Time for cow titty fucking.”

He throws you down on your back in the heap of your plushies. Wasting no time pulling his stiff member out of his jeans, he pumps a few times with one hand. Like a professional Joel wraps his belt tightly around your wrists, like a cowboy expertly tying his prize calf he just lassoed in.

You twist your legs to hide the leaking drip of slick sliding down to your ass. Your head leans to the side, arms thrown behind you so you can see him, biting your lips and furrowed brows of want, admiring his physique when he pulls his shirt off with a satisfied grin.

“Fuck me, cowboy,” you hum, shifting your bum up and spreading your legs so he can see your swollen slit twitching up at him.

But he throws your legs down and cages you under him. “I’m makin’ a mess of those god damn Mommy milkers first. Then your cunt gets whatever Daddy Bull has left.”

DaddyBullDaddyBullDaddyBull, you chant in over and over again your dumb little cow brain...

Oh Christ, tonight’s gonna be wild.

You watch him crawl over your body, fisting his leaking member over your chest. You want it, licking your lips in anticipation, pushing your boobs together with your arms to entice him. He twists the bell-collar so its dangling off the side of your shoulder before placing his leaking tip right at your lips, smearing his precum. Moaning at that fucking taste of Joel you’d been craving all day. You lap at the saltiness, begging him to force it deep into your mouth, but all he does is rub it over your lips, your tongue peaking out to get it nice and wet for him.

His cock falls right in the valley as you smoother it with your supple breasts. “Soft titties all mine to play with? You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck them?”

He starts thrusting, suffocating his cock between your tits. With one hand, he’s pulling the harness roped around your body tight like he's riding a God damn horse, the other still possessively pumping the nipple suction cups so they squeeze harder around your precious tits. His balls rub along your sternum while he bounces his hips, rocking back and forth again and again, making a sticky mess of his arousal and your drool all over your chest.

"Angel, imagine how fucking good this is gonna feel when these pups are filled to the brim with Daddy's milk.”

You nod dumbly. “Want you to fill them, Daddy. Want you inside,” you moan. Your head leans forward as you try to suck in his tip each time it poked through your boobs.

Joel lets out a shaky breath, trying hard not to blow his load too soon. Though the sight of your face and cowbell all sticky with his creamy spent has him drawing away quickly, a firm grip wrapped around the base to hold his twitching balls from releasing his seed just yet.

You cry out, tongue chasing his retreating tip.

“You ready to be my little cocksleeve plushie tonight?” He asks, raking his nails over your chest and belly, raised red trails marking you in their leave.

“I’m ready Daddy, fuck me like your dirty whore!”

He spits a fat gob of saliva right on to your slit before rubbing it over with his thick tip. You don’t need the extra lubrication due to how drenched you are, and the sweet squirting you did earlier, but oh how he admires the way it mingles with your juices and slides down your ass.

He rips the cow patterned garter ribbon from the waist buckle and wraps it around your calves, sticking your legs straight, and pulls your ankles taught. You’re completely tied off at his mercy, like cattle being tamed. He hoists your legs straight up in the air, his bare cock grinding against your wet heat.

"D-daddy!"

He leans your straight legs against his left shoulder and peers down over you: messy lipstick, bound wrists pulled together and straight to your stomach, pushing your tits even closer, and the harness does nothing but give each one an immaculate show of perkiness. Paired with the tight press that the pumps are still holding your nipples captive.

He decides to show you some mercy by removing the tubes. He kneads their swollen state at the same time his cock rubs along your slick folds.

“T’Thank you, Daddy Bull,” you puff.

“Good girl. Didn’t even have to remind you,” he praises with gentle strokes of your cheeks. “Your little calf babies are full now. Time for DaddyBull to spend time with Momma.”

You hope he doesn’t see the way your stomach clenches at being called Momma—a kink you’re shelving for much much later.

He’s got such stamina to be still gliding himself along your pussy but not penetrating just yet. Your brows are scrunched together in a plea and desperation, and those little cow ears are flopped back into the mess of softness. Softness that surrounds you, that innocent feel of cute plushy fur and cotton all rubbing against your body below you despite the numbing throb in your breasts and cunt.

He puts his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his digits, getting them wet before he’s drooping them down your puffy lips, down your breasts each with a squeeze, trailing warmly over your belly before coming to the place where he’s about to impale you.

Your entire body is thrumming with need.

He takes the moment to see how wrecked you already are for him—and to savor your body, knowing he’s gonna breed you so good one day and everything is gonna swell, like a stamp of ownership.

“You’re so fucking breedable,” he whispers in awe of your body. You don’t think he meant to say it out loud, but it turns you on all the more to hear his inner thoughts that would most likely scare away other women.

Not you though. You shutter at the thought of it taking, of making something evident of all the fucking and cum dumping he’s been giving you.

The pornographic gasp you let out as he slides his cock over your folds, between your squished thighs. Your slick lathering his length, prepping him and teasing your clit with long strokes. You whine as his mushroom tip glistens with precum, poking through your thighs then retreating. Getting your hopes up and holding it there sadistically.

"Don't gotta do nothin' tonight for me, sweet pea. Just gotta hold on for the ride."

You're not ready when he latches at your entrance and thrusts in all at once. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he fills your gut with his fat cock, stretching you in the best way only Joel Miller knows.

“Ahhh--ah!—f—f—fuuuccccckkkkkkkk!”

Joel Miller does have a Bull sized cock. More evident now stretching your little hole than you’d ever truly thought before.

The position is so restraining, leaving you no way to move or adjust - just take take take take his pounding. You both groan at the sight of his tip ballooning in your lower belly with each thrust.

He throws his arm over your straight thighs and thumbs over your swelled naval. "Fuuucccckk look at that, look at that!"

"S-ssoooooo deeeeeeppp," you wreathe, lips curling in delirium.

“Yeah-yeah babygirl, gotta stretch you—get ya ready to hold my calves huh? Gotta make room for them to pop out—“

“M—mnot—pregnant,” you rasp hoarsely, eyes closing when he starts angling his hips up and rutting along the gummy part in your cunt.

“I’ll make it happen, don’t you worry your little brain.” He laughs. “You like getting stuffed like your stuffies. Turned you into a proper fuck toy—mm—there we go—but you’re always gonna be my favorite toy to hump, to fill, to own." He forces each word out with each rut. “You’re so fucking good at being a soft whore for me to use, all precious and pretty on the outside. Just another one of these plushie sluts on this bed,” he grunts.

You stick your tongue out dreamily and smile, fingers getting lost in the scattered stuffed animals surrounding you with their soft, fluffy textures and hard or squishy bodies.

It feels really good to have 0 thoughts and just get fucked like a cow plushie.

He kisses your ankles soothingly, almost pathetically attempting to distract you from the sudden lash of his palm slapping against your ass.

“DADDY—shit!” You whimper. He doesn’t love the way you instinctively try to squirm away from him, but with how tied up you are, continually impaled on his throbbing length, you have nowhere to go.

He continues to spank you, the same spot, fingers splayed wide until his reddened print is left etched into your skin "Gotta brand ya baby, make sure everyone knows who owns this body.”

Lewd noises of wet skin slapping, and the little cow bell clanking on your neck fill the room along with your pathetic whimpers and Joel's repressed grunts.

"Yeah? You like daddy's bull cock ramming that tight little Moo Moo pussy?"

“Yea- ohh-f—fuck yes Bull Daddy, cock so good, fuck— nobody stretches me—ah shit!Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes—m’gonna be bred so fucking full Daddy fuck yes!”

“My little cow breedin’ bitch,” he hollers. He tears the cute little cow patterned bow from that had held your calves together and quickly parts your legs, shoving your knees up to his shoulders so you’re in full mating press. He continues thrusting aggressively downward. Despite still being bound by the wrist, your elbows part slightly enough to slot him between your arms, slinking your hands over his neck to bring him closer to you.

"Breed me!" You cry, literally cry. He doesn’t relent his rough thrusts despite cooing your tears welling.

"Gonna take all that bull cum in your slutty womb? Gonna let me put a baby in ya?”

Your walls clench down on him harder in response. The more his thick tip nudges your cervix, the less words you’re able to string together in sentences.

He doesn’t wait for answer—doesn’t think he ever will because he’s dangerously dreamt of impregnating you for so long now, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop the day you said yes. Never bringing it up but fuuuccckkk he can’t stop his confessions from tumbling out: “Shit baby, might take this time. Lookin like my breeding stock n shit, gonna plow ya, you'll milk my cummies in your tummies and then—"

"Jesus Joel stop your yapping and FUCKME.”

"Ya gonna moo for me?"

You're moaning more, but with the way your sockets are rolled to their whites, arching up like the exorcist as he rams himself so deep its puncturing your belly, the sound’s eliciting from your mouth coming out as "mmmmmaaaauuuuhhhhhau-huh-hhuhh-huhhhh!"

He chuckles. "Close enough.”

He grabs the moo plush and shoves its utters in your mouth. You tilt your head to the side and your tongue circles around the rubber part. He almost busts his nut at the gorgeous sight below him: your pretty lashes closed as you suckle from the utters, each little swallow of milk going sown your throat. You're so delirious and cock drunk that you don't care about the trickles of cream dribbling down the corner of your lips. Your tits swollen and red, nipples so perked up they may actually start bleeding milk if he were to play with them any more, and your breasts bounce back and forth with each thrust, the jingle of the cow bell clanking loudly with no sense of tune but with all the hymns of his fucking he can give you. He snaps the garter belt strapped around you like reins, free ruling restraints that only make every bit of you even more voluptuous. Your legs are so strong, thick yet securely plastered together by his knot.

Your brows pinch together as your orgasm builds from your belly, making you arch violently against the pillow.

You pull away from the cow to take a gasp of air. Joel sticks his finger in your mouth and swirls it around. You hum in content, letting him make a mess of your drool and leftover milk spilling out, down your chin and cheeks with his thick digits. He yanks it out and licks it clean.

"Taste so fucking goo—“

"Keep fucking me with Daddys Bull cock fuck daddy I wanna get bred so fucking much wanna be your breeding little cum slut daddy fuck yes! You're so fucking huge, splitting my little moomoo pussy in half poundbreedbreedbreed daddy want all your cummies inside!"

"Fucked ya so dumb. All that ‘no baby, no milky talk.’ Shit! Fuck I'm gonna wreck this pussy, my fucking pussy! Nobody comes inside this sweet little womb but Daddy!"

"Just you just you daddy all yours please brand me make me yours! Oh-oh fuck Daddy yes! I’m cumming , I’m cumming so hard Daddy Bull fuck yesyesysssssyesyesyes!!!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Your mouth parts as a silent scream is let out into the air. Joel keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his pained gasps while trying to remain sane with your convulsing walls choking his cock, sucking him in so tight he wouldn’t be able to pull out if he pried himself from you. He reaches between you to rub your clit, and your head thrashes about in overstimulation. Hard teeth latch on to your collar bone as you squirt once again all over his cock, streaming to his balls and soaking the bed and poor plushies caught in the crossfire with your naughty juices.

“There’s my slutty girl! Squirt that puss everywhere, want to stain everything with that cunt, my pretty cow girl.”

Joel’s whole body ruts into you like his life depends on it. The bed lurches violently against the wall, plushies falling over the sides like an avalanche while your battered soaked pussy takes the beating of a lifetime from the man who undoubtedly has ruined you and laid claim to your soul for the rest of your life. You hold on with the little strength you have left as he readies to empty his balls into you.

“Shit—shit—oh ff-ffuck baby—Daddy Bull is cummin—gonna breed ya SHIT oh baby,baby,babbyyyy gonna flood ya, you’re gonna take it? Gonna take all that cum—not a drop—haa-left—Gonna knock you up this time-mmmf—fuck! My good cow sluuutt—Baby give it ta me so good, Breed ya full o’me!FUCK!!”

With a final slam, Joel plunges his cock balls deep and shouts into the mattress, pumping his cum as deep into your womb as it could possibly go with thick, fertile ropes flooding every inch of space inside you.

He forces out each harsh, agitated pant into your neck, sweat sticking between the two of you. Your hips are held upright, walls fluttering with each pulse of his dick still unloading inside.

“I love you,” you whisperinto his ear, mind all hazy as you stroke his damp curls. He shudders, relaxing into your embrace, and you welcome the crushing sensation of his body on top of yours.

He pulls away to admire your barely conscious state: stockings all torn up, harness now tattered and straps broken from their belts, the cow-eared headband snapped in half. Bruises and purple markings and love bites scattered all over your skin, your breasts the most damaged and swollen. He wonders how long it will take to fully heal, and how sensitive those little nipples are going to be for the next few days. Most importantly, he can’t tear his gaze away from the beat of your pussy lips struggling to swallow all of his creamy seed.

You gasp out when Joel pushes his cock all the way back in, his cum spilling out the sides and coating you but trapping a good amount inside, leaving it nowhere else to go.

“I Love being your cow MooMoo plushplush,” you hum, wiggling your bum and holding him close.

“How bout this one still?” He grabs the forgotten milker toy and brings the utters between the two of your lips.

Your tongue wraps around one utter and you start suckling the sweetness.

Joel yanks the toy away.

“Show me.”

You open your lips so he can see the pool of milk filled to the brim, spilling over the dips of your cheeks.

He dips his tongue into your mouth and begins sucking out your split-mixed milk, kissing you passionately so you’re both gulping around each other’s tongues.

Drunk. You feel drunk off him. Off the milk.

Eventually he pulls away so you can both breathe.

“I mean it.”

You draw away momentarily, wondering. it takes a moment to process anything that the two of you talked about while his cock still twitches in your cum-filled vagina.

You laugh when it hits you. “Yes, I’ll move in with you—“

“—You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful when you’re pregnant.”

You both pause for a moment before bursting out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, I already knew that,” you taunt.

After you sleep for 14 hours straight, you wake up to find your tattered costume is gone, and your body completely naked. You don’t feel as achy as you expected—thanks to Joel probably massaging you in your sleep. Your cunt and breasts, however, are puffy and bruised as hell. You’ll have to restrict sexy time from Joel to just regular, Plushie-free fucking.

Speaking of, there’s an unfamiliar little guy on your bed right under your arm right now: yet another cow plushie, but it’s sooooo much softer, a bit heavier too. You turn it over and switch the little battery pack on, and the animal begins expanding and deflating with gentle breaths, its tummy warm and comforting against your body.

Joel comes in with a cup of tea placed on your bedside before jumping on the Plushie bed. You poke his face.

“Whaaaat!”

"Joel, you know this is for babies,” you say, gesturing to the new cow breathing cow plush.

Right my babygirl.” He smiles proudly, stroking your face.

"No, like actual babies. It’s a breathing soother to help them sleep. Did you not notice what section you were in when you bought it?”

He looks ahead at the wall for a briefly, revisiting the memory. “Ya know what, that might be why the lady asked if it was for a girl, and I said ya my girl. N’ then she asked 'how old' and I told her ya age and she gave me a weird look.”

Your eyes squeeze tight as you fall back in a fit of cackles. “You were literally in the baby section Joel."

"Ain't all these plushies for kids anyway?” He gestures to the pink, purple, frilly, soft, funny faced squish stuffed animals you have on your bed. “What’s the difference?”

You switch the heavy cow animal on again and the cow starts slowly inflating then deflating with each breath.

He gets all amazed like the marvels of today's technology far exceed his imagination. “Holy shit it got a real heart in there! No wonder it cost me 60 bucks.”

“Pretty sure a real heart would cost more than 60.”

“Mmm, cost me even more to keep yours.”

You glance over at Tomm—ahem, Teddy—sitting upright in the corner of the room, the dildo still strapped around his crotch, and at Mr. Oinkers who’s jittery fun was sometimes too much to handle, and at Valentine Puppy that has a permanent white streak in his hair when you tried washing out Joel’s cum, and at every other plush on this bed that has occupied an ever growing space in Joel’s horny head below the waist.

“I don’t love you just cuz of the plushies, you know.”

“Oh? I’ll take them all back then, since ya don’t appreciate—“

“No!” You cry desperately. “I—I love them.” You cold your cow plush close and kiss his head.

Joel curls up next to you and spoons your body. “But I love you too. Just you.”

He hums in agreement. “I know you do. Who else would dress like that just for fun?”

You cringe at the image of the destroyed cow garter that sits helplessly on the floor. Definitely cost waaaaaay more than $60.

“I can’t wait to move in,” you mumble into the pillow.

“Oh—about that.”

You lean back and meet his gaze. Was it a farce? Did he not actually want you to move in? Was it jut to get you excited for sex last night? You already feel your heart shattering, knowing its gonna take more than 60 bucks to put it back together—

“While you were sleeping…I brought all my shit here already. Cancelled my lease this month and packed for weeks. Figured it be easier than making you have to pack all your little fluffy bitches in boxes—”

“Well they wouldn’t go in boxes, they’d be buckled up in seatbelts.”

“Exactly my point. Would have been a nightmare trying to move you.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Um… what if I said no?”

“Oh…” the thought never actually crossed his mind that you’d say no.

You laugh again, kissing his jaw reassuringly. “Kidding, Bull Daddy.”

He grumbles into your back and kisses the back of your head. His big meaty paws rub over your thighs, the little dents from the strap still ghosting your skin, trailing up over your belly that he can’t wait to see swell one day, even if not any time soon, and snaking up to your aching chest—

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking tits.”

10 minutes later, you catch Joel’s cuddling the breathing cow right next to his face, snoring soundly as it exhales next to him. you kiss the tip of his noses and burrow yourself closer to your sleeping giant.

It really does help babies sleep.

- - - -

Notes: this ended up being waaaaaaay longer than I thought holy heck.

Bonus of Joel x Preggo reader thot in the plushies saga

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#plushies!joel #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #last of us fic

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blurredcolour · 5 months

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Lavender's Blue, Lavender's Green

[One-shot]

Lewis Nixon x Enlisted!Female Reader

After you wind up injured in a freak accident, your relationship with Captain Nixon is forever altered.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Alcohol Consumption, Weapons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Oblique References to Nixon's Alcoholism and Infidelity, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral sex - m/f receiving, unprotected vaginal sex] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Some liberties were taken in describing reader's family life/personal history for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 8358

-------------------------

The floorboards creaked beneath your jump boots as you followed O’Keefe into the backroom of the half-destroyed café in Thalem. You could hear the strains of a string quartet rising from the square below, and the conversation between Luz and Nixon a few rooms over. O’Keefe had shown up as a replacement during Easy’s second stay in Mourmelon-le-Grand, wide-eyed and eager to get his hands dirty. The rest of you had just been glad to make it out of Haguenau alive.

But there was something about the naïve boy that reminded you of your little brother back home, the youngest of four siblings born after you, last to join the party, the most eager to experience life when the rest of you were all jaded by the loss of your mother during his birth. Add in the fact that you too had been a replacement once, joined Easy in Aldbourne for Operation Market Garden – one of twenty-seven women selected as the first female paratroopers to join the 506th – and you had felt a certain protectiveness over the kid. Which was why you found yourself watching over him now, even in this relatively harmless town.

Another groan of wood had your eyes flicking to the floor, something about the pitch of the slats not sitting right with you, but before you could open your mouth to warn him, there was an ominous ‘crack’ beneath O’Keefe. He let out a horrific shriek as the boards beneath him began to give way and you lunged forward, snapping out your left hand to grab onto any part of him you could. Seizing him by the back of the collar of his ODs, you landed flat on your stomach with a grunt with O’Keefe dangling through the newly created hole in the floor. Your helmet tumbled from your head, bouncing off his and crashing onto the tiles below.

Your arm was aching under the strain of his body weight but as you tried to spread some of the load onto your second hand, you realized the butt of your rifle was jammed between the floor and your body, pinning your right arm against you by the strap over your shoulder. The sound of multiple sets of boots running into the room was quickly followed by several pairs of hands pressing against your calves, bracing you to keep you from following O’Keefe through the hole.

“I gotta let you go, Patty.” You grit out. “It’s not far, ok?” You assured him, able to see through the ragged gap in the wood that he was dangling only a few feet from the floor below.

His response was not what you were hoping for. “Don’t let me fall!” He cried out, looking up to you with wide, calf-like eyes. “Please don’t let me go!” He began to clutch at your arm, flailing his legs as though he wanted to climb back up.

His body swung like a pendulum, bouncing and jerking before ultimately wrenching your strained shoulder from its socket and careless words born of pain from your lips.

“Augh! Jesus Christ, you fucking meatball! It’s only two feet! Let go!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut against the blinding pain, your grip failing as your arm started to go numb.

He continued to whimper nonsensically and thrash about as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs followed by a set of lighter ones.

“Let go of her you fucking meatball!” You heard Perconte snap at O’Keefe from below and cracked your stinging eyes open to see that Bull had seized the boy around the waist, the thrashing finally stilling before the weight of him was released from your limb as, at last, he let go of your arm.

Relief tingled through you, though did nothing to lessen the raw ache in your shoulder. Afraid to move, afraid to inhale more than tiny sips of air lest you fan the flames of pain, you laid perfectly still with your arm outstretched toward the ground below.

“What a fucking meatball.” You heard Luz giggle from behind you as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you up.” His voice grew closer as he leaned forward.

Mortifying as it was, laying there in denial was not going to make the agony end. Taking a shaky breath, you asked quietly. “George, can you go find Doc, please?” You were hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Webster, Liebgott, and Nixon who were somewhere in the room still. At least one pair of hands was still firmly gripping your calves.

“Uh, the meatball is fine, I mean Bull might tear him a new one but…” He trailed off as you turned your head slowly to look up at him, brow furrowing as lances of pain pierced your neck and shoulder. It felt as though someone were pouring boiling water down the sleeve of your uniform.

“For me, please.” You clarified, perspiration dotting your skin under the strain of masking your discomfort.

The room fell silent, whatever Liebgott and Webster had been bickering about forgotten as Luz shoved his way past them and shot out of the room. You felt the pressure against your calves ease up before Nixon was kneeling on the floor next to you, features etched with concern. “Where are you hurt?”

“Left shoulder.” You exhaled, swallowing at the way his eyes ricocheted over your prone form.

“Think you can get up for me?” He asked, his voice enticingly soft, making your heart skip a few beats as you felt suddenly willing to try anything he might ask of you so long as he kept speaking like that.

“Maybe?”

The smile he awarded you with filled your stomach with bubbling effervescence. “Good, let’s get this out of the way first.” He carefully extracted your M1 from beneath your hip before sliding it off your good shoulder, handing it off to one of the other men in the room.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he started to lift your torso from the floor, punching the air from your lungs painfully. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek viciously you did everything you could not cry out in pain. You were not the first woman in Easy to get hurt – Esther had been hit by shrapnel from a tree in Bastogne and Pearl had been shot during Dike’s disastrous assault on Foy. Both had been awarded a purple heart. You were just a girl who’d tried to hold too much weight – there would be no medal for you, so it would be best not to make a scene.

“Shit you must be in so much pain, I’m sorry.” Nixon grumbled, seemingly at a loss as to how to get your arm out of that hole and you into a more comfortable position.

Roe’s voice downstairs broke through the haze of pain, and you clenched your teeth, willing yourself to hold on a little longer as you heard him hurry up the stairs.

“You two, out.” He said firmly to Liebgott and Webster who left without comment before his hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you backwards. “Bend ya knees for me, that’s it, good job.” He spoke calmly as he worked with Nixon to lift you up into a kneeling position well away from the hole in the floor.

As your left arm drooped, your right hand quickly moved to support it in more or less the position it had been when O’Keefe’s movements had pulled it out of place. A millimetre of movement in any direction had you whimpering pathetically in the back of your throat despite your best efforts to keep the sound sealed behind your lips.

“What’s going on?” Roe asked as he knelt in front of you, taking in the way you were supporting your arm before he started to undo your ODs and then your wool shirt beneath.

“It’s my shoulder, Doc.”

He nodded as he carefully pulled open the collar to take a look, his fingers skimming along the skin of your shoulder and the strap of your undershirt. As they honed in on the hollow where your joint ought to be, you let out a yelp and nearly keeled over backward at the searing pain, grateful as Nixon pressed a hand to your lower back to keep you upright.

“Yeah it is. It’s out of joint.” Roe confirmed the sneaking suspicion you’d had.

There had been something agonizingly familiar about the whole thing, taking you back to a hot summer day when you were ten years old, riding your father’s new horse despite his explicit instructions to wait for him to be done in the field before you tried to mount it. The horse’s black coat had shone almost purple in the sunlight of the afternoon, warm to the touch as the barely broken-in animal had suffered no more than one lap around the paddock before bucking you from its back.

The force with which you had struck the ground had dislocated your left shoulder that day, and the drive into town to see the doctor had been a torturous thirty minutes during which every jolt and bump had sent pain shooting through your body. But as soon as the doctor had put it back in place, the relief had been almost immediate.

“You can put it back, right?” You asked hoping to avoid transport somewhere like this.

“Yeah, I can.” Doc smiled softly and started digging through his satchel. “Let’s get ya some morphine first, alrigh’?”

“Wait, don’t, I’ll be useless.” You said sharply. “It’s just going to hurt when you put it back in, right?”

Roe looked to you with wide eyes, hands stilling before his expression hardened a little. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I put it back in.” He clarified firmly and you felt Nixon’s hand twitch against your back.

“And then after that I’ll be fine.” You insisted bravely.

Nixon sighed your name, and you turned your head too fast, barely stifling a cry of pain behind trembling lips.

“Maybe you should just let Doc give you the morphine.” He said gently.

“No.” You replied stubbornly despite the fact that he was a ranking officer, turning your face back to Roe more carefully this time. “Just get it over with, please.”

Roe sighed heavily at you, muttering bitterly in French. You caught a word that sounded an awful lot like ‘mule’, but before you could question him about it, he set one hand on your bicep and the other on your forearm. A noise of pain snuck past your lips unbidden, and you clamped your free hand over your mouth as he shot you a knowing look.

“Yer gonna yowl like a goddamn alley cat, take tha morphine.”

You glared up at him stubbornly until he started to move again, bending your arm at the elbow before slowly pushing your bicep in to press along at your ribs. You let out a sob of agony against your palm, aware that the murmur of conversation downstairs had faded away, but helpless to quell your involuntary reactions to Roe’s manipulations of your limb.

You felt Nixon shift at your side, watched his knee slot between yours before he carefully cupped the back of your head to guide your face to press against his neck. Your hand fell to your lap as you burrowed into the collar of his ODs, cheek pressed against his skin, the fabric of his uniform doing a much better job of muffling the sounds of pain spilling from you. His hand sought yours between your bodies, clasping your forearm, and you gripped his tightly in return as Roe turned your left arm out from your body at a ninety-degree angle before pulling downward on your bicep.

A tremendous wail wrenched from your throat with enough force that you anticipated the taste of blood before an audible ‘clunk’ sounded from your left shoulder, resonating through your torso as your joint slid home. The tension melted from your body in an instant as the pain left you, replaced by nothing more than a dull discomfort, slumping against Nixon to take a few deep breaths. Long enough to note the hint of cedar in his aftershave before you remembered yourself.

You had found Captain Nixon handsome from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him, but as he was a married officer with an English mistress you’d also gone above and beyond to steer clear of that mess. Unfortunately, it had done little to dull your body’s natural response to his presence.

Straightening quickly, you frowned to see you’d left wet patches of tear drops on his collar, releasing his hand as though it burned you to try and brush them off.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He assured you warmly and you swallowed thickly, shuffling back a little to turn to Roe.

“Thanks Doc.” You frowned to see him pulling out a sling.

“Jus’ for a few days, can’t have it slippin’ back out.” Roe muttered and unceremoniously wrapped it under your left elbow before tying it behind your neck. “I’ll let Cap’n Speirs know yer on ligh’ duties, he’ll probably send ya up ta Major Winters as a runnah.”

You let out a sigh of relief as hopefully that meant no aid station, no getting separated from the company and lost in some replacement depot. Looking down you frowned at how open the collars of your shirt and OD jacket were and began trying to reassemble yourself one-handed.

“Here.” Nixon offered softly and carefully buttoned you back up to where you usually wore your uniform before he pushed himself to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you up as well. “Ok?” He asked and you nodded, trying not to notice the way the warmth of his body seeped through your clothes.

“Thank you, sir.” You said quietly and he nodded warmly in reply.

Grabbing his things, he gestured for you to lead the way out of the room, following close behind. As you reached the main floor, Luz held out your helmet which you took with a nod of thanks, putting it on your head before retrieving your rifle from Liebgott. You could hear Perconte continuing to give O’Keefe shit outside and you frowned deeply, making a beeline for the sound of his voice.

“Hey! I’m fucking fine, knock it off.” You barked tersely before you were beckoned over by Captain Speirs.

The sound of an explosion further up the road had your eyes fluttering open, the ruined village of Thalem dissolving into the sun-drenched back of a transport truck parked on the autobahn in Bavaria just outside the SS resort town of Berchtesgaden that 2nd Battalion was supposed to be taking. You’d been sitting here for at least twenty minutes now, the road blocked by a no-doubt man made rockslide that so far had proven impervious to everything the mortar boys had thrown at it.

Just what had pulled your thoughts back to that afternoon several weeks past you couldn’t say, though it was not the first time you had found your mind wandering there during a lull in activity. In fact, it had become harder and harder to find a time when you were not thinking about Nixon, much to your chagrin. It was not good for your health, even though his impending divorce had become very public knowledge nearly two months ago.

A palpable tension had been born between the two of you that day in Thalem, something you were certain others could sense as you’d spent two weeks at Battalion HQ, running into him more often than ever before. Averted gazes, stiffened postures, cleared throats – neither of you quite knew how to behave around each other anymore when interaction had been so natural and inconsequential before. Something had been changed that day in the café and there was no going back to the way it had been previously.

Shifting higher on the wooden bench you noted a couple of the guys in your platoon were dozing in the truck with you but everyone else seemed to have emptied out to watch impatiently as though the pressure of the entire battalion’s eyes might send the rocks cascading the rest of the way down the mountainside. The scuff of jump boots on pavement pulled your attention to the rear of the vehicle and you smiled to see O’Keefe approaching.

“Hey Patty, got tired of watching the blast boys?” You smirked and offered him a hand to pull him up, swallowing at his hesitation. “Come on, I’m fine I told you.” You chided gently.

He took it carefully and allowed you to help him into the truck and that’s when you noticed his helmet tucked under his arm, filled with wildflowers of all sorts of colours. Your breath hitched in your throat as the sight smacked of summertime at home, a dart of nostalgia and longing piercing through the layers of armor you had carefully layered over your heart to make it through this war.

His eyes followed yours and he beamed as he plonked down on the bench beside you. “There’s tons of ‘em just growing alongside the road. I thought you might like some.”

Looking to him softly you took his proffered helmet, setting it in your lap as you looked them all over, picking up a particularly vibrant purple one. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” You murmured distantly, practically transported by something so simple as wildflowers.

“Do you think that one is lavender?”

A snort from the back of the truck announced Liebgott’s return and you glanced over to see him leaning against the grill of the transport parked behind yours.

“Lavender grows in France, not Bavaria.” Webster corrected O’Keefe, tucking his notebook into his pocket before hopping up to sit on the bench across from the pair of you.

“Isn’t there that song about lavender, though? Lavender’s purple, billy billy?” Perconte squeezed in beside O’Keefe, crowding his personal space.

Ignoring their usual antics, you smiled softly to yourself, hands began to move from muscle memory as plucking the longest stemmed flower you could find before carefully winding the purple flower around it, repeating the process over and over as you started to sing.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the song!” O’Keefe declared brightly.

“Shut the fuck up, meatball.” Perconte hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing him sharply so you would keep singing.

“When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so”

Unaware that your voice was carrying across the rockface of the mountainside, you were lost in the chain of flowers you were weaving from O’Keefe’s helmet, the verses coming back to you easily after years of singing them to your younger siblings.

“Call up your men, dilly dilly, put them to work Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm”

A hush fell over the valley, even the mortar team ceasing their attempts to break through. It was not the first time they’d heard you sing, you knew all the verses to ‘Blood on the Risers’ and happily shouted them along with the rest of the Company, but it was the first time you’d sung in such a feminine way before. You’d found the most expedient way to integrate into Easy was to be one of the boys, yet here you were, reminding each and every one of them that you were a woman.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way

I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing When I am queen, dilly dilly, you’ll be my king Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so”

As you finished the song, you curled the chain of blooms into a circle and wove it closed with several stems before turning to place it on O’Keefe’s head, blinking as it slipped down over his eyes. A chorus of harsh laughter at his expense broke out around you and you huffed in annoyance.

“Oh shoot, Patty, I put too many flowers in there, sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.” You gently pried it off his head, setting the large crown aside before setting to work on a smaller one as the sound of a jeep could be heard coming up the road.

You’d barely put the finishing touches on the smaller crown of flowers when Speirs was ordering everyone to form up into their platoons and O’Keefe had to vanish. Mortifyingly, you found yourself standing on the pavement with both circlets clasped carefully in your hand, somehow loathe to leave them in the transport truck to be trampled but also aware that you couldn’t just carry them with you.

“Captain Nixon can look after those for you, Corporal.” Major Winters voice cut through the din of soldiers tramping back and forth to collect their gear and get ready. You turned to see him grinning at you from where he stood leaning against his jeep.

Nixon, for his part, was staring at you with an unreadable look on his face – Confusion? Bewilderment? Shock? Whatever it was it made you want to duck your head shyly, an impulse which you fought hard against as you hustled over to hold out your handmade treasures.

“Thank you very much, sir.” You murmured quietly, swallowing as he hesitated a moment before taking them gingerly, as if they were made of spun glass, while Major Winters watched on with a broad grin. “Sirs.” You saluted and hurried back to your platoon, not wanting to be the cause of any further delay, but still unable to put your finger on just what Nixon’s expression had been.

As it turned out you had quite a bit of time to puzzle it over. After securing the town without incident and cheering on the select few who made it up to the Eagle’s Nest, you ended up on a patrol under Major Winters where he discovered the ruins of Herman Goering’s hunting lodge. Left on guard duty overnight with Patty, you let him ramble on about all the things he wanted to see and do now that the war in Germany was practically over while you quietly tried to decipher the enigma that was Nixon.

Straightening from your lean against the stucco wall as you heard the sound of an engine approaching down the rather rough road, you swallowed painfully to see the man himself, posture quite relaxed as he cradled an open bottle of champagne.

“What is this place?” He asked as he climbed from the vehicle, dressed only in the wool shirt and pants of his uniform.

“Herman Goering’s house, we discovered it yesterday. Had it on double guard ever since.” Major Winters replied.

You nodded in greeting as they walked past you, though Nixon’s sunglasses made it even more impossible to interpret his mood than that last time you’d seen him.

“I can vouch for that, sir.” O’Keefe interjected quickly and you tried not to wince at his endearing awkwardness.

“Oh, anxious to get off duty, O’Keefe?” Winters taunted him.

“No, there’s just so much to see and do, sir.” The boy replied honestly, and you heard Nixon scoff under his breath as Winters unlocked the door.

“Heya meatball.” Nixon grinned in greeting as he followed Winters through the door and down the stairs and that time you really did wince.

O’Keefe looked at you hopefully and you motioned with your head for him follow them, knowing full well his curiosity must be eating him alive. Listening to the wind rustling in the trees, you sighed quietly, soaking in the peace of the moment before Winters made his way back up the stairs with O’Keefe, the boy yanking you into a hug.

“Victory in Europe! The Germans surrendered!” He crowed and you stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment before you hugged him back.

Major Winters chuckled behind him before nodding to you in confirmation, making you realize the bewildered expression that must have been on your face. You pulled back to slap O’Keefe on the shoulder with a grin.

“Gotta go get the others, there is so much booze down there!” He was vibrating with excitement.

Glancing over your shoulder towards the stairs you raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Go take a look, Corporal.” Winters nodded encouragingly before climbing into his jeep with O’Keefe and pulling out.

Hitching your rifle higher on your shoulder you carefully made your way down the stairs, mind still swirling with the news, fingertips buzzing with an odd energy you weren’t quite certain what to do with. As you stepped through the open gate into the expansive wine cellar, stocked from floor to ceiling, your eyes widened, trying to take it all in.

“What’s your favorite drink?” Nixon’s question interrupted your moment of shock, and you looked over to where he stood amid countless bottles of a richly colored red wine.

“Gin.” You replied walking further into the space, sliding your helmet from your head as he made a thoughtful noise in reply before beginning to hunt through row on row of bottles. You unshouldered your rifle to set the butt on the floor, leaning the barrel against a stack of crates before setting your helmet on top of them.

Gnawing on your lip you turned back to admire the intensity with which Nixon approached his task before a small cry of triumph escaped his lips and he pulled a green bottle from the corner, holding it out to you as he approached like the conquering hero. You could not stop the grin that tugged at your lips as you took it from him, looking over the unfamiliar label.

“Genever, from Holland. The precursor to gin. It should do.” He nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

“Thank you, Captain Nixon.” You replied warmly, doubting you’d need a whole bottle to yourself but still appreciating the gesture as you slid it into the jacket pocket of your ODs.

“Can you do me a favor?” He tilted his head.

“Sir?” You stood a little straighter.

“Call me Lewis.” He requested softly, his rich brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light of the cellar.

Swallowing roughly, your heart began to beat a little faster at the intimacy of his request as your mind flitted back to his earlier arrival.

“Only if you’ll do something in return?” You asked slowly.

“What’s that?” He leaned in, the sweetness of champagne still lingering on his breath.

“Can you stop calling O’Keefe ‘meatball’?” You tensed in anticipation of his reaction, your heart plummeting through the concrete floor when he recoiled as if you’d struck him. Guilt bloomed bitterly in your chest, a new crop to go alongside the one you had planted that day in Thalem. “Every time someone says it, I’m reminded of the worst thing I ever said to him.” You rushed to explain your request, cautiously optimistic as his gaze slowly returned to your face. “It…wasn’t his fault he panicked. I never should have spoken to him that way.”

Nixon’s brows furrowed a moment in consideration of your request. “You really care for the kid, don’t you.” He sounded resigned and you found yourself blinking at him stupidly as he made his way back over to continue perusing the shelves.

Slowly, your brain began to process the slump of his shoulders, the forced nonchalance as he examined various labels and added choice bottles to a wooden crate at his feet.

Could he possibly be… No, that seemed utterly improbable… and yet…

All that aside, it seemed as though it could not hurt to clarify your relationship with O’Keefe. “Reminds me of my kid brother, sir.”

Nixon raised his head slowly, turning back to look at you. “Like a brother…” He said thoughtfully and you bobbed your head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I can stop in that case then.” He smirked and you exhaled with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at you expectantly.

“Thank you very much, Lewis.” You amended, pressing your lips together as they hummed in pleasure at forming his name.

Lewis’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he eyed you warmly for a few moments before turning back to the task at hand, filling the crate and adding it to a growing stack by the entrance before grabbing another one to repeat the process. Shaking your head, you perched a hip onto one of the tables behind you, eyes scanning the room, reflecting on its previous owner, surprised at the sudden tightness in your throat as you remembered the fresh news of the German surrender. Clearly it was going to take some time to sink in, and frequent reminders, but the tears that were threatening to well in your eyes needed to be quashed until you could find a quiet place to unleash them as silently as possible.

Partly out of a desire to simply say his name again, and largely out of a need to distract yourself from the rising tide of your own emotions, you called out to him softly again. “Hey Lewis?”

“Hmmm?” He replied and you found yourself taking far too much pleasure in how quickly he turned back to you.

“I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dog.” You said meaningfully, that tightness in your throat returning with a vengeance when an unveiled look of fragility overtook his features.

For the first time in nearly a month you were utterly convinced of how Lewis was feeling and more than anything you thought the man was in dire need of a hug. Before your brain even registered you were moving, your feet propelled you across the floor to wrap around arms around him, pulling him close. Almost immediately his arms slid around you tightly in return, one hand clinging to your shoulder as the other pressed some unknown bottle into your lower back, his face burrowing into your neck.

Tightening your embrace, you held him warmly, almost a mirror image of how he had held you in Thalem. You were completely oblivious to the traitorous tears that had snuck down your cheeks until Lewis was pulling back, setting the bottle of liquor aside to cradle your jaw and swipe at them with his thumbs.

“It’s a hell of a dog, but not worth you crying over.” He teased gently and you rolled your eyes, mostly in frustration at yourself, shaking your head as you sniffed.

“Is this…really all over?” You whispered in disbelief, and he pressed his forehead to yours gently as he nodded.

“We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way.” He uttered and you let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying your face into his shoulder as he pulled you tightly against him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, unable to stop the flood of tears now that they had snuck past your defences, each shake of your frame somehow causing Lewis to hold you tighter as though he might prevent you from crumbling to pieces. The bottle of genever pressed between your bodies almost painfully, digging into your hip, giving you something tangible to focus on as you reined in your shuddering breaths, lifting your head slowly.

“God, I got your uniform all wet again.” You said, voice thick with the aftereffects of your breakdown and he shook his head as you wiped at his collar with your sleeve.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He repeated his assurance from the café with a smirk, and you gave him a watery laugh, wiping at your face roughly.

“Trooper, is that a bottle of Dutch-gin in your pocket or…” He grinned deviously and your jaw dropped before you smacked his shoulder playfully as a peal of laughter escaped your lips.

You shuffled back to put a proper amount of space between your bodies though you noted his one hand remained splayed upon your back. The one that had previously been at nape of your neck dropped to retrieve the bottle from your pocket. “If anyone is in need of a celebratory drink, it’s definitely you.” He murmured gently.

He tilted it towards you, and you reached forward to tug at the red ribbon as he held the bottle steady, breaking the wax seal over the cork. You let the debris fall to the ground before unsealing the cork with a promising ‘pop.’ You scoffed in playful protest as Lewis helped himself to first sip before setting the genever in your outstretched hand. Taking a swig, you blinked at the complexity of it compared to the dry gin you were accustomed to in England or back home. It burned its way down your throat into your empty stomach, igniting a warm glow from within.

A few rogue droplets had been left on your lips, but before you had the chance to swipe your tongue out to collect them, Lewis’s fingertips were tracing along the sensitive flesh. Your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes were focused on your mouth as he worked at gathering every bit of liquid whilst also tracing the fullness of your lips before lifting his fingertips to suck them clean. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Lewis’s proximity, and the way his eyes were now boring into yours, you swallowed tightly as his hand pressed tighter to your back, pulling you closer once more. His lips had barely brushed against yours when a host of voices sounded at the top of the staircase.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He swore against your mouth before you darted back out of his grip, chest heaving as you shoved the cork into the bottle of genever and returned it to your pocket forcefully. You quickly began to look for something to be doing with yourself.

“I’ll start loading these into the jeep, Captain?” You asked, voice tight as a bow string and all he managed in response was a dazed nod as you quickly scooped up one of the crates filled with his choice of bottles, nodding to the newest crop of arrivals on your way up the staircase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you set the crate into the back of the jeep Winters had left for you and O’Keefe during guard duty, trying to take deep breaths of fresh air to clear your head. Christ that had been close…close to being caught…close to kissing Lewis…You sunk your teeth into your lower lip trying to smother the broad grin that threatened to unfurl on your features. There were far too many people about now to be grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Fishing your canteen from your webbing, you took a deep sip of water before smoothing your hands over your uniform and, feeling somewhat collected, returned to the cellar to move more crates.

Lewis seemed to have regained control of his senses, not that you dared to look at him, but his directions rang out through the cellar to load most of the wine into the trucks that men has just arrived with for the enjoyment of the officers while you continued carting his personal stash up the stairs until the jeep was full to bursting. All in all, he claimed five truckloads for himself and the officers of 2nd battalion. You rode backwards in the jeep, doing your best to stabilize the crates over the rough track back into town, doing your utmost to ignore his proximity in the vehicle.

A very warm welcome awaited your return to the lavish hotel where the officers were billeted, and many hands made short work of unloading all those trucks so they might make another trip for the rest of the men. By the time you’d made your way to Lewis’s room with the last of his crates, there was barely space to move for all the alcohol stashed within. No more than a small walking path from the door to the bed, if you were being honest.

“This is the last of it, sir.” You said as you looked around for a spot to put it and he looked to you sharply.

“We talked about this…” He teased, shuffling forward to grab it from you, hoisting it over to another corner of the room but you barely heard him as your eyes fell onto the two flower crowns sitting on the window ledge beside the bed.

“You kept them?” You breathed in amazement.

He looked to you before following your gaze and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was told to look after them for you.”

Picking your way across the floor carefully, you knelt on the bed with your boots hanging off the edge behind you, smiling softly to see they were a little dried out but truly no worse for wear. “You did an excellent job of it, Lewis.” You barely whispered his name aware the door was still open.

Setting your rifle on the floor at the foot of the bed, you put your helmet on the ledge before picking up the larger crown, rolling onto your hip and then onto your butt on the mattress in time to see him closing the door. “I’d bet money this fits you.” You smiled softly.

“Save your money, I already know.” He grinned, ducking down beneath the circlet of flowers before straightening with it perched atop his dark hair.

Your eyes widened in delight. “It fits perfectly.” Your fingers gently straightened it, unable to ignore the softness of his chocolate strands at they brushed against your fingers.

Lewis’s gaze flicked to your lips briefly before looking back to your eyes and you took a slow breath before trailing your hands down to frame his face, enjoying the slight scratch of his stubble against your palms. “Lewis…” You exhaled, and he surged forward to seal his lips against yours firmly.

He settled onto his knees before you, hands gripping your waist as you parted your legs and dropped a hand to his back to urge him closer. Needing no further invitation, he scooted forward, pressing against you as his tongue licked its way into your mouth. You weren’t quite sure who started it, but your fingers were a flurry of activity, pulling at the buttons of each others’ uniforms. All he managed to reveal was the wool shirt you wore underneath, your webbing dangling limply from your shoulders, while you found his bare chest. Growing impatient, Lewis tugged your shirt and undershirt free of your pants and ODs until he was able to slide his hand against the soft skin of your abdomen, making your lips fall back from his with a whimper.

“Damn it why are you wearing so many clothes…” He growled and you pressed your face against his hair to smother your laugh, knocking the flower crown askew.

“Some of us were on duty today.” You muttered back, nipping at the shell of his ear before pushing his shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands skate along his back.

Leaning forward, he pushed you back into the mattress, nipping and sucking his way along your jaw before he methodically began to remove your layers of clothing and webbing, starting with a ruthless tugging on your boot laces, until you were left in your army issue brassiere and underwear. To say that they left a lot to be desired in terms of style was an understatement, but the reverence in his gaze as his eyes raked over his hard-won reward soothed your ego somewhat. Plucking the crown from his head, you tossed it gently onto the windowsill before hugging his hips with your knees and rolling him onto his back intent on returning the favour, your dog tags jangling against his in a metallic collision.

As you tried to slide down to reach the laces of his boots, however, he grunted in denial, hauling you in for a hungry kiss as he pulled your pelvis snug against his, making you inhale sharply through your nose at the feel of his hard length against you. “Gotta get your pants off, Lew.” You tried to speak but he kept interrupting you with brushes of his lips or darts of his tongue into your mouth. Huffing slightly, you rocked forward against him firmly, making yourself shudder, but you managed to get his attention as his head fell back, eyes staring up at you half-lidded, jaw slack in a silent moan. “Gonna start with your boots and then I’m gonna get your pants off.”

“And then you’ll do that again…” He breathed and you nodded licking your lips as he released your hips.

You were admittedly not nearly as efficient as him, fingers made clumsy with want, but through persistence you prevailed in removing his boots, pants, and boxers, adding them to the scattered heap of clothing on the small patch of floor. Skimming your hands up his bare legs you revelled in the way he trembled slightly, sitting up to watch you impatiently as you made your way up from the floor. Halting your progress a moment, you ducked your head to lick a warm, wet stripe along the needy length of his cock where it stood proud against his lower abdomen, drawing a shaky cry of your name from his lips that convinced you to linger between his thighs a little longer.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you swirled your tongue around the tip before slowly sliding his length into your mouth, watching his cheeks flush and eyes flutter close as he wrenched at the bedding violently.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He panted, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically.

Smile curling around him, you dragged your lips up his length only to sink your mouth back down onto him, covering the last bit you couldn’t manage with your fist, allowing your saliva to run freely.

“Christ you’re good at that.” There was the edge of a whine to his voice and suddenly he was pulling your mouth from him, chest heaving. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins…” He muttered and sat up, gripping your hips to guide you onto the bed properly.

His lips latched onto nipple through the thin cotton of your bra before you could open your mouth to apologize, making your hips buck up against his stomach greedily as your fingers delved into his hair. Pulling the cup down he laved his tongue along the sensitive peak, before shifting his attentions to its partner, your soft sighs of pleasure filling the room. Sliding his hands to your back, he guided you up to sit before making quick work of the hook and eye closure between your shoulder blades, tossing your bra aside onto a crate of liquor before pressing you back down into the mattress with a kiss to your sternum, just above where your dog tags rested against your bare skin.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them over your hips and down your legs before they too were unceremoniously tossed aside. “Goddamn sweetheart you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your knee before he hooked it over his shoulder as he came to rest on his stomach between your legs.

“Lew I…” You started to protest, embarrassed about the fact that you hadn’t seen a shower in a few days, but the words died on your lips as his fingers ran through your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, did I make you this wet?” He murmured in awe, and you nodded slowly, his answering grin almost blinding in its intensity. “Well, best not let it go to waste.” Lewis winked before sealing his mouth over your core, sucking the very breath from your lungs as his tongue delved hungrily to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Throwing your arm over your mouth, you smothered a harsh curse of delight into the crook of your elbow as he slung his forearm across your hips to pin them down so he might better intensify the level of pleasure he was dealing you as his tongue plunged into your heat. His nose took over the stimulation of your clit, while the stubble on his cheeks and jaw made your inner thighs tremble. The sounds he was making between your legs were positively lewd and only heightened the swirling headiness that wrapped around you. You clung to his hair as he began to suck on your clit, making you see stars behind your clenched eyelids, every exhale an eager moan or keen smothered against your skin.

Lewis’s hand slid up along your side to cup your breast, his fingers shifting to pinch and roll at your nipple, vaulting you over the edge as you rambled his name over and over. The tension of ecstasy slowly ebbed from your body, and he lifted his head with a broad grin, swiping at his upper lip with his thumb before sucking it clean. “Someday I’m gonna do that somewhere so remote you can scream at the top of your lungs.” He nuzzled your hair, pressing his lips to your ear as you laughed breathlessly.

“You sound so certain…” You teased, but he merely raised an eyebrow in response, his palm cupping your still-sensitive core, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“I am, yes. Certain that I can make you cum with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Certain that I’d like the opportunity to do so again and again…” You forced your eyes open to look over his features slowly.

“Yeah?” You exhaled, not quite sure what you had been expecting when you fell into bed with him, just knowing it was what you had wanted above all else in that moment.

“Yeah, sweetheart, until you’re sick of me.” He kissed you gently, the salty tang of your release still on his lips.

Gripping the back of his head, you returned the kiss hungrily, shifting your hips to rock up against his length, swallowing his ragged moan as you finally fulfilled your promise to repeat that motion. “Show me.” You whispered, aching to feel him inside you.

Lewis exhaled hotly against your lips before shifting his hips back, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before he rocked forward to slowly sink into you. He sealed his mouth over yours almost painfully as you whimpered hungrily, his own rumble of pleasure reverberating through your chest. His head fell to rest against your collarbone, his breath caressing your skin once he was fully seated inside you, unmoving.

“Lew…” You whimpered softly, digging your fingers into his shoulders, writhing against him slightly.

“I know, sweetheart just…fuck you’ll be my undoing…” He whispered before he kissed you fiercely, pulling his hips back only to thrust forward once more, earning a moan of delight from you.

Your bodies began the push and pull of carnal pleasure, moving in tandem as though this were your hundredth coupling rather than your first. Grasping your knee, Lewis hiked it higher on his hip, angling his thrusts deeper into your willing body, making you toss your head to the side as you clenched your jaw against the desire to wail in delight.

“Wish I could…hear you so fucking badly…” He grit out before grasping your chin and turning your face back so he could press his mouth to yours as he rut against you firmly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit deliciously.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the vicious undertow nearly obliterating your ability to think as Lewis quickly pulled out from your convulsing warmth to release across your abdomen with an agonized groan that was admittedly less than concealed before he collapsed onto the bed at your side. The pair of you lay there, speechless, covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with frantic breaths before he shifted to feather soft kisses along the side of your face, reaching for a weathered scrap of green cloth that served as an army handkerchief to wipe your skin clean.

The ferocious growl your stomach emitted in the relative silence of the room had you tense as Lewis cracked up. “Sweetheart when was the last time you ate?”

“Oh, Christ I don’t know…” You muttered, covering your face with both hands in mortification.

Laughing richly, he kissed your knuckles before forcing himself up. “Alright, ok. Food. I’m going to find you some food. And then I’m going to spend the rest of this night right here in this bed with you, so don’t you go anywhere.” He looked down at you with playful seriousness as he stepped into the pants of your ODs, ruining the effect. “Shit.” He muttered.

Giggling into your palm, you shook your head before sighing as you pulled the blankets over your bare skin, feeling the chill of the mountain air now that he’d taken his body heat away from you. “Hey Lew?”

He looked to you quickly, nearly dressed – in his own clothes this time. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ll be here.” You smiled warmly, the stretch of your lips only widened by the grin of glee he directed at you before climbing back into bed to kiss you warmly. Your poor, empty digestive system growled insistently, and he huffed against your lips.

“Alright, fine…I’ll be back with food.” Lewis kissed your cheek before sliding into his jump boots and stepping out with his laces untied in search of sustenance for you both, fully intent on not making another public appearance until the next morning.

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Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @fuckoffthanos

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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legolasghosty · 4 months

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Hello I'm venting my frustration into fictional characters so have my first ever posted Red White and Royal Blue fic apparently.

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Alex shoved open the door to his and Henry's brownstone, barely taking a moment to kick off his shoes before he faceplanted on the couch. His backpack straps dug into his shoulders like this, but he couldn't bring himself to care very much. The dark blue cushions blocked out the world just enough for him to stop wanting to tear his hair from his scalp.

"Well hello to you too," his boyfriend remarked from somewhere off to Alex's left, his tone clearly a step away from a laugh. "How was the library?"

"I'm dead," Alex mumbled into the couch, not bothering to turn his head. The darkness was helping to ease the pounding headache that had started... an hour ago? Two hours? He wasn't sure anymore.

"What was that, love?" Henry asked, sounding closer now.

Alex could just barely make out his soft footsteps as he approached the couch. "I'm dead," he repeated, attempting to roll onto his side. Unfortunately, his backpack got in the way, so he just ended up stuck with one arm pinned under his body. Was this how turtles felt when they ended up on their backs? Were they okay with people flipping them back over?

"Well that's a tragedy," Henry commented, not sounding upset in the slightest.

Alex felt hands tugging at his backpack. It took him a moment to get with the program, but then he managed to shift enough that Henry could slide the straps from his shoulders and drop it beside the couch. Had he agreed to that? Was it okay if he hadn't? Like legally?

"Alright," Henry said as he settled down on the couch beside Alex's head, "what's all this about?"

"There's too many kinds of research and they all have different rules but they all have to fit under the same definition and I don't think I can ever have sex again," Alex groaned, finally making it onto his side.

Henry didn't say anything at first. Alex managed to steal a look up at his face and slowly realized that the lack of words was an attempt to hold back laughter.

"Hey, 't's not funny," he complained, slapping weakly at his boyfriend's knee. "These stupid HSR trainings are going to haunt me!"

"Sounds like a very serious matter," Henry responded with a chuckle. He slid his (very nice) hands under Alex's shoulders and lifted him up just enough that he could move over and lower Alex's head down onto his lap. Alex couldn't help the little sigh of relief that escaped his lips when Henry slid his fingers into his dark, curly hair. "Though I must admit I'm missing the connection between ethical research practices and your newly announced celibacy."

Alex glared up at his boyfriend. It was probably undercut by the way his eyes slid shut a moment later as Henry ran his nails gently over his scalp though. Curse this stupid prince and his intimate knowledge of Alex's weaknesses. "Three. Hour. Long. Video Series. On Informed Consent," he groaned.

Henry stared down at him for a moment, then shook his head, his lips parting in that soft smile that was just for Alex. "I see," he murmured.

"I will never be able to talk about consent in a non-boring legal way ever again," Alex moaned. "My sex life is over."

"That's unfortunate indeed," Henry hummed, his free hand coming up to trace over Alex's shoulder. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Leave me to my inevitable demise?" Alex offered weakly.

"Not going to happen," Henry said immediately. Alex couldn't resist the smile that pulled at his lips at his partner's certainty. "How about Thai food and Bake Off instead?"

Alex reached up, ignoring how it took him a couple of tries to actually catch hold of Henry's sweatshirt collar and tug him down for a kiss. He kept it brief for the sake of Henry's neck, but the look in his boyfriend's eyes when he let go told him Henry got the message.

"I love you too," Henry said. Then he tapped Alex's shoulder lightly. "Alright, up, I need my phone to order the food."

"Fine," Alex sulked, forcing himself to sit up. "Go fast."

"What, you want me for something?" Henry teased as he headed for the kitchen. "I thought you were swearing off sexual encounters for all of time."

"You're mean, baby," Alex groaned.

"I thought you liked it when I was mean to you," Henry responded lightly.

"Stoppppp." Alex forced himself to his feet and stumbled over to plaster himself against Henry's back.

Henry laughed and shushed him before hitting the call button for their favorite Thai place. Alex sighed dramatically and tucked his face into the crook of Henry's neck. The soft vibrations of his skin as he ordered their favorites shoved all of the day's troubles out their front door and slammed it behind them. The way Henry's accent rounded his vowels smoothed out the jagged edges of Alex's broken sanity. The steady beat of the prince's pulse against his cheek evened out the erratic rhythm of Alex's own heart.

"Come on, let's get some water in you before the food gets here," Henry murmured after ending the call.

"Love you," Alex muttered. "Gonna kiss you so much later."

"Good, I love you too," Henry chuckled. "Let's go, darling. Water, then we can cuddle."

"M'kay."

Alex ended up falling asleep on the couch in the middle of their third episode, but the next morning had him thinking maybe he could talk about consent without thinking about his homework. Especially when Henry asked so nicely.

#legolas tag #red white and royal blue #rwrb #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #firstprince #Funny story I am actually suffering through the HSR training Alex describes #and it's killing me #but I thought this was kinda a funny idea #so here I am being impulsive.#and if you don't like how I write them...#I'm sorry #it's one of my first attempts #so leave me alone

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ghostofaboy · 6 months

Text

Kinktober 2023 - October 25th

Day 25: Leather/Rubber/Latex, Daddy/Mommy Dom, Guns/Knives

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x M!Reader

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 880

Warnings: bondage, body issues,

@absurdthirst Kinktober List | Ghost of a Boy Masterlist

Tonight was a special night and Jack wanted everything to be perfect. The two of you had been together for two whole years. It simultaneously felt like a blink of an eye and forever, and Jack had loved every single day of it. You were amazing and had given him a new lease on life and he utterly adored you.

You were going to be home soon and Jack was putting the finishing touches to the bedroom. Clean sheets (the green ones that you loved), lube, and finally plugs and dildos on the nightstand. All that was left to do was get changed.

Stripping off his clothes, Jack stroked his hardening cock while he thought about his outfit. He’d bought it a few weeks ago and had been looking forward to wearing it for you tonight. But now the time was here, he had to admit, he was a little nervous.

He wasn’t as young as he used to be and his body was softer since he’s moved to desk duty. Running his hand over his rounder stomach, Jack frowned down at the items on the bed for a moment.

“You ok?”

Jack spun around to find you leaning against the bedroom door frame looking at him with a smile on your lips.

“Baby.” He grinned, wrapping his arms around you and savoring the gentle kiss you offered. “I’m good. I was hopin’ to surprise you, but it looks like you got the jump on me.”

“Well, everything is looking good to me.” You chuckled, leading him over to the bed. “I especially like this.” You reached down, tenderly stroking his hard cock, pulling a soft moan from Jack.

“Wanted to offer myself up for my boy.” Jack purred into your ear. “Where do’ya want me?”

You bit your lip, still smiling at him as your eyes drifted down to the outfit on the bed. As soon as you realized what it was, your eyes lit up. Running your fingers over each piece, your eyes drifted back to Jack.

“Are you gonna put these on for me, Jack?”

“I was…” Jack looked down at his body for a second before giving you a lopsided grin. “I was nervous. Worried I would look a fool.”

“Never.” You whispered into his ear, kissing it gently. “Let me help you.”

Jack watched as you reached down to grab the leather harness. Made up of a series of thick leather straps and buckles, it was designed to not only drawn the eye to his chest, but had wrist hooks at the back to hold him in place. As you guided it over his head and started to secure it, Jack could feel his cock twitching as his confidence grew.

The leather against his skin was warm and soft, contrasting with the coolness of the metal rings and buckles. It fit perfectly, pushing Jack’s worries about his body away as a feeling of desirability started to creep in. He felt sexy. Probably sexier than he had in a long time as you finished the last of the buckles.

“How’s that feel?” You tugged on one of the straps, testing its strength and how it sat on Jack’s form.

“Good baby.” Jack leaned in for a kiss, capturing your lips with his own. “What’s next?”

“Hmm.” You looked down that the remaining leather pieces, pondering your choice for a moment. After a couple of seconds, you picked up two larger leather thigh cuffs. “These, then the ankle ones, I think.”

Again, Jack let you place them on him, the smell of the leather filling his senses now and adding to the growing arousal he felt. That earthy smell was why he was glad he’d had these pieces handmade. They had cost a lot more than the more readily available bondage gear, but the softness and that smell was something only older leather had. That was as much a part of it for him as the sex itself.

Finally, everything in place except the last piece. A thick leather collar.

You took extra care putting this around his neck and Jack could see your eyes checking every detail, before you eventually took a step back.

“Perfect.” You nodded with a smile.

Jack’s chest swelled with pride as your eyes raked over his body before resting on his leaking cock. Biting your lip, you stepped towards him, taking his wrists and guiding them behind him back. Securing them in place with the hook, you then gently helped Jack lower himself onto the bed until his face was buried in the mattress and his ass was in the air.

“Comfy?” You soothed, running your hands over his bare skin and double-checking the straps.

“I’m good sugar.” Jack grinned at you over his shoulder, wiggling his butt a little. “Nothing diggin’ in or where it shouldn’t be. You want my legs next?”

“I do.” You chuckled at his cheekiness, guiding each ankle cuff to its matching partner on his thighs until he was spread open for you to use as you liked. “Color Jack?”

“Green all the way, darlin’.”

“All right, I’m gonna milk you.” Jack could hear you moving around behind him, getting things ready for the evening’s fun. “Then we can see how much you can take, cowboy.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels

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starstruckunknown-princess · 1 year

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This Must Be the Place

Summary: Emma McDonough was at her brother's wedding in Minneapolis when the world ended. Twenty years later, the boyfriend she left behind shows up in Lincoln, MA just after she gets her feet back under her. Follow Emma on her journey from Austin to Minneapolis to Lincoln to the Boston QZ to...wherever else Joel Miller may lead her.

Pairings: Joel Miller/OFC, Bill/Frank, hints of Joel/Tess

Warnings: Angst, canon-typical violence, fainting, former lovers reunion, mentions of dead pet (dog), if I missed any let me know!

Word Count: 3023

A/N: First time writing for TLOU -- I've never played the game but I'm head over heels in love with the show, so this series will follow that. Somewhat established relationship between Joel and OFC, Emma, but they haven't seen each other in twenty years which complicates things a bit!

Looking forward to your feedback! There will be at least a Part 2, but hoping this will be a series so let me know what you think!

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

April 16, 2023

When Joel flicked on the radio, “Cecelia” by Simon and Garfunkel started playing on the radio. Followed by “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac. Then “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Diana Ross. Joel glanced at Tess where she was sitting at the shitty little table in the kitchen. All she did was nod.

“Tomorrow night?” he asked.

Again, Tess nodded. Joel got to his feet and started packing for the trip to Bill and Frank’s. Seventies hits meant “new stock” and since his normal oxy dealer had stood him up last week they were hurting for supplies.

From under the floorboards he unfurled his pack and reached inside, feeling for the collar that he kept in the bottom of it. His fingers brushed against smooth leather, and relief spread up his arm and across his chest.

The collar meant almost as much to Joel as his watch did. It served as a reminder of those he had lost, but unlike the watch that was entirely Sarah, the collar held a double meaning. First, of the dog who had worn it. Secondly, of the woman who had picked it out.

Bash, a shaggy black border collie/lab mix. Emma, the lost love of his life.

Blue leather, dirtied brown with age, and a metal clip that jangled every time the dog shook himself out. Since Emma hated the constant clicking of his tags, she’d found a one that clipped onto the band of the collar rather than dangling off the d-ring.

Once upon a time, the tag was engraved with ‘Bash’ and had her phone number beneath. Nearly half of it had been scraped away due to age and the car accident they’d been in on Outbreak Day.

Somehow the dog had escaped the accident unscathed, had followed Joel while he carried Sarah through the wreckage of their Austin suburb. Had laid down and whined next to Sarah’s body. Like Joel, Tommy had to drag the dog away from the girl’s body and get them moving again. Joel had buried his face in the dog’s thick fur to sop up his tears. For the next six years, Bash didn’t leave Joel’s side.

Until he got bit.

Joel couldn’t think about what happened next, just like he didn’t let himself think about what happened to Sarah.

It was better, easier, to shove those memories into the back of his mind so he could get on with the business of daily survival.

By now, fourteen years later, the dog would’ve been long gone anyway. Still, Joel shoved the collar into the bottom of every bag he packed. Every time he and Tess left on a smuggling mission, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind, hidden under the floorboards with his weapons and whiskey. If he believed in that sort of thing, he would think bringing the collar was akin to bringing the dog himself. With you in spirit, or some shit like that.

But he didn’t believe that. The dog was dead. Most likely, his owner was too. If the world was kind, she had been dead since the beginning.

But this world was far from kind.

It was only habit that made him stash the strap of blue leather in the front pocket of his pack. Like checking over his shoulder while walking through the QZ after sundown or tapping the bottom of his whiskey glass on the table after a ‘cheers’.

Not the unhinged glimmer of hope that one day he would be able to present the collar to its original owner. That one day he would see her face again. That one day he would know for sure if she had survived or not.

Joel shook the thoughts out of his mind, clenching his jaw at his own foolishness. He packed the rest of his supplies quickly, then put the pack by the door so it would be ready to grab and go after his shift at the ash pit tomorrow. Tess had a street sweeping rotation, so they’d get done around the same time.

The sound of the spring rain against the windows helped usher him into sleep that night despite the ache in his knees and back. Joel dreamt of her for the first time in ages and awoke feeling emptier than usual.

Emma enjoyed going up and down the stairs without a cast and crutches so much that when she reached the bottom, she turned around on her heel and climbed them again before descending once more.

“Someone doesn’t miss her cast at all,” Frank commented, wheeling himself into the foyer from the parlor. A wide smile cracked her face in half.

“Not even a little bit,” she replied. “Where’s Bill?”

The gruffer of the two gentlemen was usually right behind his partner, wheeling him from room to room even though Frank insisted he could do that himself — “It’s my legs that are useless, Bill, my arms are fine!”

“Making sure the seedlings survived the storm,” Frank explained, gesturing out the back door with one hand. “His elbow is still bugging him though, so we’re in for more rain.” He let Emma redirect him back to the parlor and she sat on the piano bench in front of him.

“He could’ve asked me to do that,” she said as she held up two fingers of each of her hands out to him and Frank reached forward, squeezing them as tightly as he could. His grip was a little weaker than yesterday, but she didn’t mention that out loud.

Now that her right leg was out of the cast, she knew her time in this well-equipped domestic paradise was coming to an end. Bill had always insisted that once she was healed she would continue on her way to the Boston QZ and never mention Lincoln to anyone. He’d even made her sign a contract to that effect in her own blood.

Even though Frank insisted that Bill softened over time and had come to enjoy Emma’s company, a pit in her stomach told her that sooner or later she would have to call the Boston QZ home.

“You know him, so used to doing everything his own way. If he had asked you he would’ve redone it anyway,” Frank said as she led him through the physical therapy exercises she knew for dexterity.

Tapping each fingertip to the thumb (the middle finger of his left hand didn’t cooperate), flexion/extension (mostly good), and the wrist deviations (again, the left hand was less than cooperative). Then they did their regular arm stretches together.

“That’s fair. I still feel like I should pull more weight around here,” she lamented.

The couple had taken her in, fed her from their garden and supplies, and for the first two weeks she wasn’t able to do much more than entertain Frank until Bill found her a pair of crutches in one of the various places in town he’d squirreled things away.

Frank put a hand on her knee. “You’re doing all you can. The cast only came off a week ago, you need to take it easy or you’ll re-break your leg.”

“Hey, who’s the doctor here?” Emma joked, smiling at Frank. He smiled back at her and tugged at the end of the braid that lay on her shoulder, fondness crinkling his eyes. She was going to miss him dearly.

They’d spent hours talking about their lives in the pre-outbreak days and the years since. She told him about how she was at her little brother’s rehearsal dinner when the shit hit the fan, running for her life in a cocktail dress. He’d shared the horrors of the Baltimore QZ falling and his journey north. She let him know the heartbreaking reason she was traveling to Boston.

Emma hadn’t thought she would ever tell anyone that secret, but Frank was so easy to trust, to befriend, to adore. His big blue eyes never showed the slightest hint of judgment or disgust at the things she had done to survive. He was an incredible listener and he gave the best hugs, even in the wheelchair. She understood why Bill fell for him.

Bill, on the other hand, was more reluctant to open up to her. He listened to her stories like he was looking for weaknesses or trying to catch her in a lie. Once he saw that Frank was comfortable around her, however, his answers to her questions became less monosyllabic. They talked about wines and gardening and radio broadcasting and he even let her start seeds in the seedling trays.

“Oh yeah, Doc?�� Frank teased, “Where’s your degree?”

“University of Shitty FEDRA Med School, class of ‘05,” she joked. This was a common back and forth between them.

They laughed as she wheeled him to the back porch in front of his easel. Once she got him a clean rag for his brushes, she retreated to her room and picked up the book she had started the previous day, Jane Eyre. One of her favorites.

Her reading was interrupted an hour and a half later by Frank shouting at her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Em! Come down and meet our friends from the QZ!”

She’d heard tell of the smugglers, Tess and Joel from the Boston QZ. They brought building materials and seeds and, most importantly, Frank’s pain meds. She’d pointedly ignored the flash of excitement the name ‘Joel’ gave her — the chances of this Joel being her Joel were slim to none.

Emma made herself presentable in the dusty hall mirror, then descended the staircase — only once this time — and went out the open front door. Outside smelled like wet earth and petrichor and ozone. She stepped onto the porch with a ‘creak’ and two people who stood midway down the front walk whipped around to face her. From the other side of them, Frank was smiling and waving her closer.

A tall woman with graying brown hair and intense hazel eyes straightened as Emma approached. Her face told Emma the story of hard-won survival, of a fierceness that Emma recognized.

The second person, the man reaching for his gun, made her heart thud to a complete stop. His dark brown eyes widened and his hand fell away from the gun tucked in his holster.

Joel.

His hair and beard were grayer, his face lined deeper in what she figured was a permanent frown, but it was him. Same firm jaw, same powerful frame. Joel, it was Joel — her Joel!

Emma couldn’t draw a breath. Instead, she felt all her blood rush downward and her vision blackened around the edges. Her shoulder slammed into the door jamb, but she barely felt it and her knees crashed to the wood porch.

She came to almost immediately, multiple pairs of hands helping her up and ushering her into the parlor.

“Head between your knees, hun,” a woman’s voice reached her as they placed her in a plush chair. “Deep breaths, in and out. There you go.”

Emma followed the instructions and felt oxygen beginning to circulate in her body again. Bill’s rough hand passed her a glass of water, and she took small sips as she sat back up. The woman — Tess, she assumed — had a look of concern on her features, Bill’s mustache twitched.

“Can you tell me your name? Do you know where you are?” Tess demanded.

“Emma McDonough, I’m in Lincoln Massachusetts,” Emma answered. She could hear Frank yelling from outside and Bill ducked out, returning momentarily. Frank’s eyes were as wide as saucers and he all but lunged for Emma, his hands fluttering around her like a mother hen.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine, I swear, I was just…surprised, is all.”

“Surprised by what?” Frank asked, dropping his hands.

Bill answered, “You know Joel. There’s history there?”

Emma nodded, “Yeah.”

“Oh, shit,” Tess said, “You’re her, aren’t you? The girlfriend who was out of town when it all happened?”

Emma nodded. The room went silent. She looked between the three others in the room, not seeing the cause of her embarrassingly Austen-like swoon. Tess looked out the window, then crossed to the front door. Bill and Frank shared one of their looks and Frank’s hand came to rest on her knee. They all turned their heads at the sound of approaching boots. A few seconds later, Joel’s broadness blocked most of the door frame.

“Can-” he paused, clearing his throat, “Can y’all give us a moment?”

“Of course,” Frank said, squeezing Emma’s knee. “We’ll be just outside if you need us.”

Bill gave her a look that said, ‘I’ll shoot him if you want me to,’ as he wheeled Frank out the door to join Tess on the porch.

Joel closed the pocket doors next to her, then leaned his forehead against them. Emma got to her feet, slowly so as not to faint again. Her mind buzzed with questions, so many of them she had no idea where to begin.

“I-I don’t even know where to start,” she offered. “What-? How-? I…I…”

Joel turned to face her. His eyes darted over her figure, an unreadable expression on his hardened face. All of a sudden, Emma felt self-conscious.

Twenty years had gone by and she knew she didn’t look the same as she used to. Like Joel, the years had hardened her face. Her body was softer in places that were once firm, thicker around the middle but still svelte. She wasn’t the sexy thirty-year-old she’d been when they’d started dating. Then again, he’d softened around the middle too but it hadn’t detracted from the strength and power he radiated.

It didn’t detract from how drop-dead sexy he was. If anything, the years of survival had given his rugged good looks sharper edges that she was more than willing to dash herself against.

She moved first, taking a half-step toward him like he was a timber wolf she had managed to corner. He instinctively stepped back and held up a hand to stop her. She stopped. The air between them thickened.

Slowly, Joel shrugged off the pack on his back, holding it with one arm and digging into it with the other. Emma’s brow furrowed and her head tilted. Once he had retrieved what he was searching for, he let the pack drop to the ground and stepped toward her, offering her what was in his hand.

A beat up scrap of leather that might’ve once been blue. The clip-on tag was all scratched to shit, but she knew it had once read ‘Bash’. Joel was careful to not let their hands touch as she let him place the collar in her hand. Her fingers closed around it, tears springing into her eyes. She noticed Joel’s shoulders tighten, his hand scrubbing down his face.

Memories of the smiling, happy dog flooded her mind and she pressed the collar to her chest. Her eyes slid shut.

Picking out Bash at the shelter, just a little shaggy floppy-eared puppy. All the training that had convinced her she would never be ready for a baby. The fights that realization caused with her ex-husband. Bash putting himself between them during those fights, growling at her ex-husband.

She heard wood tracks rattling and opened her eyes just in time to see Joel exiting the front door of the house.

Emma jogged after him, “Hey! Wait!”

Joel was halfway down the front walk again, heading toward where Bill, Frank, and Tess were chatting. He paused but didn’t turn back toward her.

“What? Were you expecting some tearful joyous reunion?” he asked from over his shoulder, voice dangerously low.

Emma stopped her approach at the bottom of the stairs, mouth agape as if he’d just slapped her. Rage swelled within her. What the fuck did he have to be so defensive — so dismissive — about? “After twenty years, maybe I expect a little more than you handing me my dead dog’s collar and leaving, yeah!”

Joel turned to her, “I’m not the same, Emma. It’s been twenty years, I’ve been through a lot-”

How dare he! She whipped the collar at him and raised her voice, “Fuck you! You don’t think I have too?” He caught the leather and tucked it into his back pocket. Tess, Bill, and Frank all turned toward them when they heard her shouting. She ignored them, keeping her focus on Joel.

“I didn’t say that,” he argued, his hands going to his hips in a way she remembered all too well. “Just trying to temper expectations.”

“Temper expectations? If you’re not happy to see me just fucking say so,” Emma spat. Her volume had returned to normal, but the three other adults were heading their way.

“It ain’t that. I’m glad to see you alive, Emma, I am, but it’s not like we have the time to fall into each other’s arms and sob it out right now.”

She threw her arms up in frustration. “You were the one who asked for a minute!”

“Cuz you fuckin’ fainted!”

He may as well have slapped her. All at once, she understood why he’d given her the collar after carrying around for so long. The hard look he was giving her and how he was carefully maintaining his distance —

He thought she was weak. Vulnerable. A damsel in need of protection. And, if this world had taught her anything, it was no place for damsels.

Good thing she wasn’t one.

She closed the distance between them and slapped him across the face, making sure she made it hurt. Tess shouted and slotted herself between the former couple and Bill grabbed Emma around the waist, dragging her back. Turning, Tess guided Joel back a few steps and spoke to him in a low tone.

Emma shook Bill off of her and headed back into the house. She glanced over her shoulder, catching Joel’s gaze on her for a moment. He rubbed his jaw with a big hand and brushed Tess’s hands away from himself, dark brown eyes following her into the house and up the stairs.

#joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou series #bill and frank #tlou bill and frank #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo fic #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #pedro pascal characters #long lost love #lovers reunite #poor bash

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distoretion · 2 months

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Dis half jogged towards the bus stop, fumbling in her bag for the schedule so she could check her earliest possible chance to catch the next one.

It was already an hour past sunset, her errands in town having run late enough to throw her whole schedule off. Late enough she was probably going to be in for a particularly draining evening if she didn’t hurry…

The sight of the bus already idling at the end of the street made her face light up with hope, but before she could make a real run for it she felt a pair of clawed hands wrapping around her arms to drag her away from the streetlights.

Yanked into the darkness before she had the chance to scream, she was pulled along faster than any human could possibly move before eventually being spun around and pushed up against a rough wall.

“You’re late, bunny. I don’t like it when you keep me hungry…” The figure from the darkness hissed, his claws already running up her arms and shoulders to tug at the spiked collar around her neck. “So rude, making me come get you.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” She protested, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light that filtered in through the mouth of the alley he’d brought her to.

They seemed to have passed over into one of the more run down parts of town, judging by the cracked concrete and the occasional broken street lamps. There weren’t as many people out on foot either, a fact she realized with a start must have been what he was after: fewer people to interrupt the meal.

“I was on my way over…”

“Uh-huh,” The creature barely responded, glowing red eyes still fixated on her neck where he was busy pulling at the leather choker. Obviously eager to get it free.

“I really was. I know better than to let you go without my blood for more than three days.” Dis tried, her breathing turning shallow as he yanked harder. Making her squirm when he could so easily just ask her to take it off for him. “Come on, Kas…”

Finally he looked up at his name, something in his stance relaxing, only for him to slink closer and bring a hand around her wrists, wrapping them up and pressing where he’d be able to feel her pulse. “Fine, little bunny. Since we’re both here now, I can overlook it…”

The way he smirked down at her with his sharp fangs glinting openly made her body shiver and her toes curl, and she just knew he could feel the way her heart was racing at the sight. Gods, it was so embarrassing she could die right here…

“But I still need to collect what you promised~” He continued darkly, the hand at her choker moving down to her shirt and ripping it to shreds in a few quick motions, his claws leaving her in just her shorts and a pretty lace bra.

“Kas!?”

It was all she managed before he slid her bra strap out of the way and dipped down to sink his fangs into her shoulder, his free arm bracing against the wall behind her as he took a few quick gulps.

Running his tongue over the bite marks as he pulled away a few seconds later, he moved his mouth lower and bit again, sucking on her greedily before letting go to find a new spot to get his teeth on.

“Wait-!” Dis gasped, falling back against the wall behind her as his teeth sank into her again.“Kas, why…!?”

“Because,” He hissed softly, lapping at the spots he’d already bitten her before trailing past them towards the swell of her breasts. “You won’t let me at your neck. I have to find other places…”

“That’s not-!” Her words were cut off as he bit her again, hard, making her cry out before her voice morphed into a series of soft, pathetic whimpers.

"Such cute prey~. You like it when I bite you, hm?" Kas asked, already licking at her skin again, catching whatever drops of blood welled up before moving on. Gripping her wrists harder than before, he hooked a couple fingers from his other hand beneath the front of her bra and started to tug, clearly trying to rip it open. "Don't worry, I've got plenty more places I want to taste~"

"No!" Dis pulled back, eyes widening as she felt the band of her bra stretching uncomfortably taut. She could tell her pulse had spiked, and she pressed her legs together as goosebumps broke out over her skin. "You can't, don't break it!"

Kas paused long enough to glance up at her from where he hovered over her cleavage, narrowing his eyes uncertainly and giving the fabric another tug. His tail was flicking impatiently from side to side behind his back, his instincts clearly pushing him to hurry up and unleash the lovely mounds trapped inside her bra so he could sink his teeth in.

"Kas, please," She tried, her green eyes soft and pleading. She only had so many bras after all.

He growled and let go, moving to yank down one of the cups instead while he lifted his head to her unbitten shoulder, nudging her bra strap out of the way with his nose before opening his jaw wide to give her a truly vicious bite.

She cried and whimpered again, actually letting out a moan when he responded by clamping his lips around the wound and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Tease." The pout in his voice was audible when he finally let her go, breathing in her scent as his bloodied lips rubbed over her skin. "Getting yourself all eager for me then saying I can't eat you..."

"I'm not..!" She gasped as he nipped at her skin again, trying and failing to keep the arousal out of her voice. "What, what do you even mean, 'eager'?"

"Don't play dumb, bunny," Kas said, grabbing her exposed nipple and giving it a tug, showing off how hard they had gotten. “You got like this just from my teeth~”

Dis moaned, shaking from the way he pinched and played with her breast. “That’s-!”

“You’re my girl. I know you, you can’t act like you don’t want me to gobble you up already. Not when your scent is like this,” He said, breath hot and hard as he breathed her in. The hand that had been holding hers in check finally let go and went for her shorts instead, snapping off the button and splitting the zipper so he could get at her panties. “You know I can smell how wet you are? Imagine how you’d get from a little nibble down here~”

Her moans grew as his fingers brushed against the very edge where he shouldn’t touch, the sharpness of his claws making her twitch and shudder as she felt them through the fabric.

His fangs sank into her again, and his hand shifted to tug her panties upward, wedging them against her slit while his free hand openly groped her through her bra.

“Ka-aaaas!”

“You make the sweetest sounds when you cry, bunny~” He purred, licking his lips as he pulled away. Searching for a place he hadn’t bitten yet, he grazed his teeth over the area to make it even more sensitive before plunging in to bring out her loudest moans yet. “Ah, but, if you keep making so much noise someone might get curious… You’re screaming so loud, after all.”

“But-! You keep biting everywhere, it feels-!” Dis tried to explain, shuddering again in a mix of pain and pleasure. From the way she looked at him, with her pupils dilated and her black lipstick already smeared from trying and failing to bite back her sounds, it was obvious which side was winning.

“No choice then,” He said, glowing eyes locking in on her swollen lip before he darted forward, pushing his tongue inside her mouth for a rough kiss.

This time any noises she made were swallowed up immediately, only the tiniest of whimpers making their way past as he pressed his lips against her and made her taste the traces of her blood covering his tongue and teeth.

She opened her mouth wider for him, her arms sliding up to wrap around his neck. Craning her own forward to try and meet him.

Kas growled and kissed her even deeper, moving his tongue wildly and sucking at her mouth hard enough he had to stop groping her so he could grab her by the waist when her knees went weak. He held her, flush against him, pressing into the wall as they kept kissing and occasionally running his claws down her exposed back to pull another sound from her just so he could swallow it up.

Whatever other thoughts Dis might have had were gone, replaced by slick lips and a long tongue and the faint taste of copper. A warmth spread through her from her lips, down her throat to pool in her stomach as her head turned fuzzy.

Slowly she lost any strength she had to hold on to him, rag-dolling as she struggled to find any more air in her lungs.

Kas continued to kiss her a few more seconds before finally pulling away, tugging at her lower lip as he went.

"Good girl..." He told her as she tried to catch her breath, his own coming a little faster than normal. "You were so nice and soft for me I won't even finish draining you."

His hand came up to caress her cheek then, seeming pleased at how she quivered under his claws like some sort of prey animal. "You'd probably break if I tried it, huh bunny? It'd almost be a shame if the idea weren't so cute. But don't worry: I'll let you go tonight, show you what a good boyfriend I'm going to be."

Saying so, he kissed her forehead, letting go of her and stepping back to leave her leaning against the alley wall.

"Hah... hahh....." She slid down the wall, legs still useless as she only half managed to catch herself from falling to a heap on the ground. Her head was still swimming from the kiss, and her body felt cold now that she wasn't being held anymore. She'd felt a tug when he moved away, too, had he taken something...?

"Kuh-kissing me like that..." Dis managed to get out after a few more gasps of air. Her face felt like it was burning, enough she knew he didn't need his night vision to see it. She couldn't even mention the way he'd touched her, the mere memory of it making her drop her gaze in embarrassment. Catching sight of her now completely naked chest, her head darted up to see her bra in his hands, intact except for a few loose hooks at the back. Dumbstruck, she lifted an arm to partially shield her breasts as her blush spread down to them as well.

"Yes, bunny?" The vampire piped up, licking the last of the blood off his fangs as he stood there, watching her with a satisfied smirk. Playing with her bra and looking like he fully expected to be praised as he took in exactly what state he'd left her in.

Suddenly she was hyperaware of what she must have looked like, standing half-naked in some dingy alleyway with her shorts opened and her lipstick smeared.

Knowing him he could probably even spot her lace panties poking out right down to the color.

"You -- you're really going to send me home like this?" She asked, shaking as she struggled to push herself back onto her feet.

He smiled again, more broadly. "Mm. Aren't I nice, bunny?"

"But," Dis said, holding her breasts tighter as her voice turned into a pleading sort of whine. "If somebody sees me like this- I really don't want anyone else..."

Kas stopped, frowning as he let his eyes roam her body one more time, slow and predatory. Thinking intently about how she was dressed: naked except a collar and a pair of tiny shorts, her huge tits spilling out from where she tried to block them with her arms and her panties visible through the broken zipper at the front of her pants...

Pulling off his jacket, he quickly wrapped it around her shoulders and placed a protective arm around her, letting out a growl. "I'll eat anyone who even looks at you."

"Kas..." She blushed despite herself, looking up at him in surprise. "Just, get me home without us running into anyone in the first place, okay?"

"Okay," He said, his taut muscles beginning to loosen under her gaze as the smile returned to his face. Much smaller this time, but genuine and almost soft. "Lets get you home, bunny."

#disxkas #kasxdis #80s AU #drabble #inthedarkx

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Text

the way we were / the way we are - chapter 6 - is there somebody who can watch you

summary: howard watches over you, and you reveal some helpful talents.

warnings: nightmares, a little bit of heartache 🥺

a/n: it’s so hard to write warnings for these I barely remember this story l o l

(series masterlist) (main masterlist) (ao3)

He’s not quite sure where he is.

There are doctors and other men around, that much he knows. They have him strapped down, and his left arm has gone numb from the repeated blood-draws they keep pulling.

His jaw aches and his face hurts and he’s half-sure his collarbone is broken. He’d tried to fight. God only knows, he tried to fight.

Bucky made you a promise. That he’d come home.

Whatever they’ve been injecting into him makes his brain foggy, and his head feels like a lead weight on his neck. Something hurts – is it his collar? His face? He’s not totally sure.

He tried to fight back, but the drugs made him weak. He sifts blearily through memories, trying to pick out faces, trying to remember how he got here.

When that fails, and the memories seem to slip away like water between his fingers, he thinks of you.

He repeats your name over and over in his mind, along with his own. My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. I live in New York. I’m married to Y/N Barnes. We have been married since March 9th, 1943.

He pictures you smiling and laughing, always. Dancing with him on your wedding night, watching the stars on the pier, wrapped up in his arms the night before he shipped out. Whatever they’re pumping into him seems to be trying to steal away his memories, his thoughts, turn him into something else.

He won’t let it.

My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. I live in New York. I’m married to Y/N Barnes. We have been married since March 9th, 1943.

Y/N.

The most beautiful girl in Brooklyn.

You’re dreaming about Bucky.

You’re back in Brooklyn, at the dance hall. As you wander through the tables, they disappear as soon as you walk past, and by the time you reach the dancefloor, the whole place is empty.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice calls, and you turn to see Bucky, standing a few feet away from you, his hand outstretched towards you. “Dance with me.”

He wears the same grey shirt and dark pants he had on your first date. You’re barefoot, you realize as you step onto the dancefloor, the wood slipping beneath your feet, and wearing the same nightgown you’d worn on your wedding night.

You close the distance between you, and as soon as your hand touches his, he slumps to the floor. There’s blood everywhere, gunshots echoing through your ears. Instinctively, you throw your body over his, to protect him, but when the shots recede, you look down and see his chest is riddled with bullet holes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to you, and his voice is thick with blood. He coughs, blood spraying from his lips, and reaches up to touch your cheek. Your nightgown is soaked with his blood, streaks of it line your arms. “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

His eyes roll back and…

…you wake up screaming.

There’s a needle in your arm, a blanket over your legs, and you instantly try to push it all away, push yourself up to stand. But someone stops you, grabs your shoulders. You grapple for a moment until the man speaks.

“Y/N, it’s all right!” Howard Stark is saying to you. “You gotta calm down, kid. You’re okay.”

You stop screaming, blink hard, and just stare at him. “Where am I?”

“London,” he tells you, releasing you with another once over, sitting at the edge of the bed you’re lying in. “SSR Headquarters.”

The memories return slowly; Steve’s show at the front, the Colonel’s disclosure that more than half the 107th had been killed or captured, your insistence that Bucky wasn’t dead, Steve’s promise to bring him back to you.

“Steve?” you ask, still trying to find your voice. “Is he…? Did they…?”

Howard takes your hand between his, squeezing lightly. “Nothing yet. The Colonel isn’t happy, not that that’s a shock. He’s been putting Peggy through the ringer over it.”

You rub your free hand over his face. “I promised Bucky I’d look out for him, and now I…” You trail off, shaking your head. “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Rogers?” Howard asks, grinning. “You’re telling me.”

You glance around the room, realizing the needle in your arm is dripping fluids into your system. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Couple days,” Howard replies. “Steve thought you were going into shock, so I had the docs look you over once we landed. I’ve been keeping an eye on ya ever since.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice meek.

He squeezes your hand one more time before releasing it. “Don’t mention it, kid. Steve mentioned you needed something to do, keep you under the radar for the time being.”

You just nod. “I’m not leaving until I know if Bucky’s alive.”

Howard looks at you for a long moment before standing, pointing his finger at you. “You got fire, kid. I like it.”

For the first time in days, you feel yourself smiling.

“Is Dr. Erskine here?” you ask. “I’d spoken with him before, he mentioned being able to find something for me.”

Howard blinks. “Rogers didn’t tell you?” You shake your head and he lets out a breath. “Erskine was killed shortly after the experiment on Rogers was successful. A HYDRA agent had infiltrated, shot him in the chest.”

You shudder, trying to process. “HYDRA?”

Howard spends the next hour filling you in on what he knows. Some details are confidential, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but you’re grateful for the information. It fills in the few gaps you’d picked up on; just who Johann Schmidt was, and what Steve was up against.

“Dr. Erskine was very kind,” you say, frowning. “He deserved better.”

Howard nods. “He did indeed, kid.” He glances around, spots your bag on a table beneath the window, and points to it. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll show you around the lab? I’ll send a nurse in to get that thing out of your arm and we’ll have lunch.”

He leaves after that, giving you a small smile. A nurse enters shortly after, and tends to the needle in your arm. After she leaves, you pull yourself off the bed and cross the room to the table holding your things. Your bag and purse appear untouched, and you heave a sigh of relief when you discover the leather pouch still tucked between two blouses, all five vials still intact and full.

You change quickly into a skirt and blouse, and use the strap from your purse to affix the leather pouch high on your thigh like some sort of holster. Since Howard told you Erskine was killed after Steve was changed, you can’t help but think the vials are of greater importance. The puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place.

Howard is waiting outside of the room for you, hands stuffed in his pocket. “Shall we?”

The SSR – Strategic Scientific Reserve, Howard tells you – headquarters appear to be the lower levels of some sort of bunker. The walls are all brick, the ceiling curved and arched. There are tables filling every available space, every wall covered with plans and maps and weapons schematics. There are people everywhere, mostly men, carrying files and folders and plotting routes on maps.

You follow Howard through the space, but you still feel off. There’s that pain in your chest, the one that’s been there since the day Bucky shipped out, and an almost gnawing feeling in your stomach, anxiety building as you await news about Steve.

Howard shows you to his lab, shows off some of the prototype weapons he’s been working on. And…shields. They’re all shapes and sizes, some covered in dials and switches on the cover. And in the corner of the lab, there’s a large hunk of metal, fashioned in the shape of a square.

“For Rogers,” he tells you, standing over the table with his arms crossed. “He seems a little attached.”

You let out a little scoff. “I think he likes it better than a firearm. Steve wants to protect, not destroy.”

“You seem to know him pretty well,” Howard muses.

You nod. “He’s a good man, and my friend. My best friend, probably.”

You keep glancing around the lab, looking over all the different weapons and gadgets. You wander over to the hunk of metal in the corner, and run your fingers over its shining surface.

“What is this?”

“Vibranium,” Howard supplies, joining you. “Rarest metal on earth, completely vibration absorbent. It’s stronger than steel, a third the weight. But that right there is all we’ve got. I was trying to figure out a use for it, but I keep coming up blank.”

You cock your head to the side, staring at the edges of the vibranium.

“You look like you have an idea,” Howard says, poking your arm.

“Could I have some paper?” you ask, eyes still glued to the metal. “And a pencil?”

He produces what you ask for, and you mutter your thanks as you take the pencil from him. You draw a large circle, ringed with smaller circles inside it. Then you draw it again, sketching out grips for the inside, a wider one for the forearm, a narrower one for the wrist.

Ever since you were young, you’d always had a penchant for drawing. You had sketchbooks hidden all over your house, stashed beneath your bed, crammed on your bookshelves. Never a painter by any stretch, and you couldn’t draw a face to save your life, but you liked diagrams. You liked drawing out how things worked, the pieces of a puzzle and where they went, how they worked. It wasn’t a hobby you often shared; even Bucky didn’t know. It never seemed…relevant. Or useful. But now…

Howard watches over your shoulder. “Not bad,” he comments as you keep sketching, angling out the curve of the metal. “Not bad at all.”

“What angle, do you think,” you ask, “would make it the most shock-absorbent?”

He just grins.

You spend the rest of the day in Howard’s lab, bent over a desk, pencil in hand. He hovers at your shoulder, pointing out angles and lengths, helping you form the schematics in the most efficient way possible.

You keep going back to the first drawing, of the circular shield. In the back of your mind, you can picture Steve in his uniform, shield held in front of him, and Bucky a few steps behind, gun in hand.

Before you can stop yourself, you pick up your pencil and sketch a perfect star in the centre of the shield.

You’ve been in London a few days before you run into Peggy again. She gives you a warm hug when she finds you in Stark’s lab, sitting at the desk you’ve claimed as your own, working on more drawing and schematics.

“I don’t have an update,” she tells you, noting the hopeful look in your eyes, “but I am returning to Italy this evening. Phillips has requested me.”

You nod, not sure what to say. Besides Howard, you’ve spoken to no one, and when you do speak, your voice feels strange and detached. You still feel like a ghost.

“How are you feeling?” Peggy asks, touching your cheek lightly. “You look better than when I last saw you, but you were quite a fright back in Italy. Steve was very worried.”

You lift a shoulder. “I’m okay. I’ll feel better once they’re back.”

Peggy just nods. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it, and if I hear any news, you’ll be the first to know.”

You just nod again. She touches your shoulder lightly, and then exits the lab.

A few more days pass, and you settle into a routine. You wake early, go to the lab, work with Howard until the later afternoon, break for lunch, work some more. Some nights you wander out of the bunker to a bar, sip on some whiskey and listen to Howard talk about his latest conquest. You tend to drink until your mind is hazy, so you can fall asleep easily when you return to the bunker.

But no matter how much you drink, the nightmares don’t stop.

The location is different every time, but the outcome stays constant. Blood everywhere, Bucky’s body in your arms, and you wake with a start.

If Howard notices the bags under your eyes, he doesn’t let on. You drink your weight in coffee every morning, but he’s found you slumped over your desk more than once, dozing.

It’s been eight days since Steve’s departure when Peggy returns to the bunker. She’s dressed in a beautiful red dress, her lips painted to match. She finds you in the lab, and unceremoniously plucks the pencil from your hand, pulls you to your feet, and drags you through the bunker to the room you’ve been staying in.

There’s a deep purple dress laid out on your bed, a pair of sheer stockings, and shiny black heels to match.

“What is…?”

“Get dressed,” she says simply, winking at you. “You have a date.”

The bar is full of people, but you don’t notice them. Your palms are sweating, and your stomach turns with every step. The pain has ebbed slightly, but you know it won’t dissipate completely until you see him. You nearly bounced out of your seat the entire cab ride over. Peggy had laughed and squeezed your hand.

You see Steve first, his large figure leaned against the bar. And beside him…

Something stops you. You want to force your feet forward, but they won’t move.

Peggy turns to look at you. “Y/N?”

“I need a moment,” you hear yourself say. “You go ahead.”

Peggy heads through the doorway, and you instantly dart to the edge of the frame, peering around it. As soon as she’s through the door, the men that had been drunkenly singing in the back of the bar cease their noise, and every set of eyes in the room lands on Agent Carter.

“Captain,” she says, nodding slightly.

Steve swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “Agent Carter.”

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. A few new designs, and I’m told Y/N had some input. She’s quite the sketch artist, it would seem. Tomorrow morning?”

You don’t miss the way Bucky’s whole being seems to twitch at the mention of your name, and his eyes are instantly darting around the bar. “Y/N?”

But the pair pay him no mind. “Sounds good,” Steve says.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” Peggy says, gesturing to the group of men towards the back of the bar that has resumed their awful singing.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky asks, and God, you had nearly forgotten how much you loved the sound of his voice.

“I do, actually,” Peggy replies, her eyes still glued to Steve’s. It’s like watching a romance novel unfold before you. “I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.”

“And what are you waiting for?” Bucky asks. His eyes are still moving about the bar.

“The right partner,” Peggy replies, and a small grin tugs at her lips. “0800, Captain.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve says, nodding once. “I’ll be there.”

Without another word, Peggy turns on her heel and departs, brushing past you as she exits the bar. You’re still hiding, and you hear Bucky berating Steve.

“You told me she was here,” he says, his voice low. “I swear to God, Steve, if you don’t take me to see my wife this instant, I’m gonna-”

It’s something in his voice, you think. Something in the way it breaks on the words my wife, that propel you forward and through the doorway, your heels clicking against the floor.

Bucky has his back to the door, but Steve spots you over his shoulder. He sips his drink, and points a finger in your direction. “Why don’t you turn around then, Buck?”

He whips around so fast for a moment you think he’s going to topple over. His hair is mussed, strands falling over his forehead, and his face is a mess, bruising beneath his eyes and a cut on his cheek. He looks freshly shaved, but there’s a nick on his jawline. The uniform he wears seems to hang from him a little, and his cheeks are a little sunken in.

But his eye are blue fire, wet with tears. “Baby?” he says, his voice trembling. “You’re really here?”

You barely squeak out a yes before you close the distance between you and launch yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, arms tightening around you, warm and familiar, and buries his face in your neck.

“This is real,” he whispers to you, and you’re not sure if it’s a statement or a question.

You pull back slightly, putting a hand on his cheek, thumb swiping at the single tear that slips from his eye. “This is real,” you repeat.

Your lips meet a fraction of a second later, and the whole bar erupts in cheers.

#the way we were / the way we are #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier fic #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x y/n #my fics

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koumine · 3 years

Text

🛌😴💖💦[new fic: NWCSMR] [Belphie/Reader] [OM!]

Fic: nobody who can set me right

Chapter 1/?: calm me down, wake me up slow

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Author: Koumine Rating: E

Summary:

This morning, though, you wake up in your bed with the dim orange light of midmorning in the Devildom creeping through the gap in your curtains, with Belphie curled up beside you and snoring softly with his face pressed to your arm, with nothing you need to get up and do for hours yet, and you want.

You. Belphie. Your bed. A combination made in hell (or heaven). Interconnected dom!Reader / sub!Belphie smut scenes. Gender neutral, AFAB, dom reader. Part of my like a crown series.

Content tags [ch 1]: dom!Reader / sub!Belphie, gn!AFAB!Reader, kink negotiation (mentioned), somnophilia, anal fingering, MC's magical strap-on, pegging, edging, ruined orgasm, orgasm delay / denial, verbal humiliation ("slut"), hair pulling, begging, aftercare.

Notes: gift for a friend of mine <3. Based on their prompt, and also this prompt.

Excerpt [ch 1]: [rated E below the cut]

Belphie’s had fuck me while im sleeping on his kinklist since the beginning, since he announced his interest in having sex with you by way of shoving his kinklist in your face and then falling asleep on your shoulder on the couch. You’ve never acted on that particular kink yet, not even now that it’s months after you started domming him, months after you and he sat down and properly talked through everything that happened, that he did, and you forgave him. It’s never exactly been the right time for it, for one reason or another, despite how many times you’ve slept with Belphie, fallen into bed with him to fuck, to nap, to dream, but the idea of it has never left your head. This morning, though, you wake up in your bed with the dim orange light of midmorning in the Devildom creeping through the gap in your curtains, with Belphie curled up beside you and snoring softly with his face pressed to your arm, with nothing you need to get up and do for hours yet, and you want. You want to see his pretty face blush as you arouse him, want to see him squirm in his sleep as his body reacts to your touch, want to see if he wakes up desperate or demanding or languidly dreamy. You roll away to lean over the side of your bed and get the lube from your bedside drawers and the box of Belphie’s toys from under the bed. You’ve amassed quite the little collection already, since Belphie keeps buying you things to not so subtly demand that you use them on him: a thrusting-style vibrator; a variety of butt plugs; a full bondage set of collar, belt, and wrist, ankle, and thigh cuffs (your one contribution to Belphie’s toy box); and of course, the magical strap-on that Belphie got for you to use on him, with a long but slender dildo. Both dildo and harness are adorably cow-patterned, like he wanted to stake a claim. After a moment’s consideration, you leave the box open on the floor. Yeah, you’ll get the strap out and fuck him later, you think wickedly, but first you want to go in with your fingers and wake him up. First you want to see if you can make him beg for it. When you roll back into place on your bed, Belphie hasn’t moved an inch, as expected. You know from experience that you could jump up and down on the bed right next to him, and he would barely stir. So of course he doesn’t stir at all when you slip a hand onto his lower back where his sleep shirt has ridden up. Doesn’t even stop quietly snoring when you slide your hand down the back of his sleep pants and cup his round, soft ass. You drag his pants all the way off, and rearrange his limbs a bit until he’s lying on his side with one leg draped across yours while you lie by his side. That leaves his soft cock open to be cupped in your hand, and his legs spread for you to slide your fingers down between them and start rubbing against his hole. You suddenly feel a bit giddy, now that you're getting to do this. He's so helpless like this, so vulnerable in sleep, defenseless as you circle your dry fingertips around and around the soft pucker of his ass. Defenseless as his cock starts to stir in your hand, so much quicker than you expected. You could do anything to him like this. Open him up, stuff a vibrator into him, make him come twice before he even wakes up. Tie him up, blindfold him, wake him up with your cock in his ass and your flogger on his back. Finger him, tease him, edge him until he wakes up enough to beg. You slick up your fingers and return, rubbing the thick slick lube onto his hole, and his cock starts to slowly harden in your hand. He doesn't stir at all, still deeply asleep; his body reacting while his mind still dreams. You keep going, taking your time, squeezing more lube onto your fingers to smear down between his legs, get him wet and messy for you. He gets fully hard before you even put a single finger into him, before any hint of a flush rises to his cheeks, before he stirs in his sleep at all.

read more -> [AO3] [masterlist]

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harold holland #baz holland #harry holland fluff #harrison osterfield #harry holland smut #harry holland x reader #harry holland angst #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland blurb #harry holland fic #harry holland x y/n #harry holland one shot #harry holland x female reader #harry holland x fem reader #harry robert holland #h holland

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sevendeadlymorons · 3 years

Note

I got this idea into my head of mammon reaching a breaking point and getting really jealous. He decides to tie mc up and play with his most prized possession😈

I hope you two don’t mind that I put these two as one! I just saw two smuts of Mammon and was like ‘perfect’ 👀 ok anyway thank you, I love these requests

Jealous Mammon

WARNING: NSFW // Smut // Breeding Kink // Bondage // Blood

————————————

Mammon normally comes in unannounced, it wasn’t too much of a big deal for you now

Sometimes he walks in on you changing and it’s always a laugh to see his face turn bright red and his entire personality change

But besides that, today it was just you and Levi, having a lazy day, lounging around in your pajamas binging a new anime he’s recently got you into

He were lay between your legs watching the show as he was the one who suggested trying it out since he saw it in an anime the once

Obviously you wanted to try it out too as you played with his hair, feeding him popcorn every couple seconds and enjoying some time with him

But suddenly, the door flies open and in comes Mammon, once again completely unaware of his surroundings as his face was in his D.D.D

He sits down on the bed right next to Levi, still unaware you weren’t alone

“Oi, MC, I’m bored, entertain me-“

He then looks up to see your hand on Levi’s head, your fingers tangled in his hair as you both looked at him embarrassed

He jumps up from the bed and starts complaining about Levi being too close, the usual Mammon

You sigh, realising you weren’t going to be able to finish this series in peace and look at Levi apologetically

He sighs too and gives you a weak smile, getting up and packing his things to go before glaring at his brother and leaving

You shake your head and look at Mammon in front of you

“You didn’t have to start yelling you know... we weren’t doing anything”

He looks at you as if you just cussed out his entire family

“What do you mean, nothing?! He was way too close to you!”

His voice was frantic and you could hear the jealousy spike in his tone, to which you smirk at him teasingly

You pat the bed besides you and shuffle over to make room for him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder when he sits down next to you

You hear him sigh and rub his face into your neck, the hot sensation of his breath tingling your bare skin

He reaches for your hand like a small kid who just finished their tantrum and kisses your fingers, looking at you as if to apologise

You laugh slightly and kiss his head, feeling his body instinctively press against you

“You know...”

You hear him begin; looking down to see him covering his face so you’re not quite sure how he’s feeling

“Why does he get to touch you and I can’t?”

You hum in confusion before he gets up and straddles you unexpectedly, looking down at you with your wrists pinned at your sides

You peer up at him, watching his eyes burn with jealousy, and pings of lust

You squeeze your legs together as he presses harder on your wrists, feeling quite aroused at the position you two had found yourself in

He leans forwards to steal a kiss, then another and another and before long, he had his hand wrapped in your hair, tugging it tightly as his tongue explores your mouth, licking and tasting your tongue playfully

You moan against his lips as his spare hand squeezes between your thighs, pleasuring you as he finds himself reaching a point of no return

He spreads your legs apart, getting off of you for a mere second so he can drag you down the bed and sit between your open thighs

He caresses your inner thighs and trails his finger dangerously close to your crotch, causing you to bite down on your lip

He eyes up at you as he leans down to plant kisses all up your legs and thighs, then biting harshly on the sensitive parts; feeling his sharp canines dig into your skin and cause it to bleed when he realises his grip

You tilt your head back as he begins to pull down your shorts, almost like he’s in a rush and desperate to stick his cock deep inside of you

You feel his erection on your leg and you let loose a quick moan, your underwear now clearly on show for him as he starts to pleasure you with his finger

You reach up to grab him but he slams your hands back down, looking at you to stay still, to which you abide

You see him start to unbuckle his belt, eying you every couple seconds and then leaning forward to tie it around your wrists, pushing your hands above your head and tightening the strap until you thought it would cut off your circulation

You lay helplessly on the bed as Mammon ran his hand down your body, teasing your nipples, kissing your stomach and playing with your private parts naughtily

You raise your hips into his hand and moan his name, noticing his bulge twitch in anticipation

He couldn’t hold back any longer as he slips down his boxers and pulls your underwear aside, grabbing his cock and pushing his entire length into you suddenly, causing you to jolt forwards and cry out

Your hands were restrained above your head so you could only lie there as Mammon grips and spanks your thighs and ass, pounding into you with desperation so the bed is slamming against the wall behind you

You cry out his name as his nails dig into you, leaving bloody little marks in your skin as he bends down to whisper in your ear

“Try and be quiet... unless you want my brothers to know how hard I’m fucking you right now...”

You let out a breath you never knew you were holding as he catches your lips with his, kissing you passionately as you feel his cock enter in and out of you, pleasuring every inch and making you feel so good

“I wonder what you’d do if I just shot my load deep inside of your pretty little hole...”

You look up at him in surprise as he stares back at you in all seriousness, his thrusts getting rougher as you feel yourself getting close already

He continued to whisper dirty things in your ear; how badly he wants to cum in you and watch his sperm slowly leak out and trickle down your ass

You groan, feeling so painfully aroused in the moment that you’d let him do anything as long as you can feel his warm semen enter inside of you and make you feel completely filled up

You beg him to cum, his teeth now biting down on your neck and collar bones and leaving teeth marks and hickeys all over you whilst he rails you into the mattress, now no longer caring who hears as long as he gets to hear you cry out his name

Your legs begin to tremble and you wrap them subconsciously around his waist, squeezing tightly and not letting him go until he empties himself inside of your hole

He makes his last thrusts as you feel the hot liquid enter your body, filling you up completely as you let out a low moan and thrust your hips into him; finally finding yourself reaching your climax as well

He grabs your thighs a final time before pulling out, his cum already seeping out of you and dirtying the sheets

He takes a final look at you all tied up and bruised, your skin already turning purple from the bites and the hickeys

He smirks as he traces his fingers over the marks, admiring his most prized possession all claimed

He leans down to eventually untie your wrists, feeling relief as you feel the blood rush back to them

Your wrists were red raw, a clear line from where he aggressively tied the belt too tight, and now a clear indication that you’d been fucked by the Great Mammon himself

He smiles apologetically and kisses your wrists, not meaning to tie them that tight but somewhat happy and proud that it’s another mark that he made on you anyway

He grabs your discarded shorts from off the floor and wipes up the mess between your thighs; pulling your underwear back in its place and lying between your legs, satisfied and with a shit eating grin on his lips

You roll your eyes and pet his head, twirling strands of his messy, white hair around your fingers, thoroughly exhausted

You yawn and bend down to kiss his head a final time before falling asleep with Mammon still between your legs

He looks up at you asleep and smiles, moving to settle next to you in bed, holding you tightly in his arms and keeping you warm

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon smut #obey me mammon #obey me mc #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #omnsfw

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mandos-sluts · 3 years

Text

The Visit Part Two

This is Part Two of a three-part series

The Visit Part One

The Visit Part Three

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Smut, dubious consent, fingering, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, hint of voyeurism, mentions of sex work

Summary: All you want to do is forget about your encounters with Din, so you go out with your friends in search of a quick hook-up to take your mind off of it. Upon seeing Din at the bar, you decide to try and give him a taste of his own medicine.

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!! Also we love feedback <3

You awake feeling well-rested. The sleep helped. You don’t feel as bad as you did last night, but you still basically want to crawl under a rock and die.

You can’t focus during your combat lesson with Luke, all you can think about is how much you want to erase the prior day from existence. Sensing your anxiety and distraction, your Master cuts the lesson short.

The two of you walk side by side out of the arena and down the corridor. Your sweating, your hair is a mess, and all you have on is a sports bra and spandex. All you want to do is get back to your room and shower.

You're walking beside Luke, looking down at your feet, barely registering what he is saying to you. You bring your head up and you almost faint at the sight of Din walking toward the two of you.

Panic engulfs you and you feel like turning around and sprinting in the opposite direction, but you’re stuck, stuck walking next to Luke, watching Din stride tall and confidently closer and closer.

“Din!” Luke says cheerfully as the three of you stop in your tracks.

“Hello, it’s nice to see you two again.” Din responds in his low voice as he brings his hand out and shakes Luke’s hand. You put on the saddest fake smile and shake Din’s hand, looking anywhere but into his visor.

“How was your visit with Grogu today?” Luke asks.

“It was great, thank you.”

“Well I’m very happy to hear that.” Luke says as the three of you continue your separate ways.

Your heart breaks at Din’s indifference toward you, and it makes you want to cry. It’s truly as if nothing happened between the two of you. He didn’t get the chance to fuck you yesterday so he went out and got a sex worker, and now, your existence means nothing to him.

Ugh why was he even here? Ever since you were a child the “no attachments” concept was drilled into you. Why is Luke letting this guy visit Grogu? Whatever. You need to do something to get your mind off of the situation.

*************************************

It’s Saturday night and your friends are forcing you to go out. At first you really don’t want to; your experience last night at the cantina was horrible, and you would prefer to avoid it all together. But you sip a few drinks with dinner and have a change of heart.

Instead of dwelling on this horrible situation, you figure that you should do something to distract yourself. Going out with your friends, letting loose, and hooking up with someone else will relieve your tension and hopefully make you forget about your regrettable encounters with Din. Screw him, you shouldn’t let yourself be sad over some random guy who didn’t give a second thought to you.

You decide to pregame the night, and are already quite tipsy by the time you and your friends arrive at the cantina. You look good, like, really fuckin hot. You’re wearing a simple, short, light pink silk dress.

The cantina is not as crowded as last night, but it’s still pretty busy. Your friends grab a table and you walk up to the bar to get a drink.

“Hey, y/n, how you doin tonight?” The bartender greets you.

“Great, thanks.” You say with a soft smile, thinking about what you want to order.

The bartender shifts over and continues talking to someone on the other side of the large Twi’lek standing next to you. “But yeah, wow, that’s really cool. You must get hot wearing all that–”

Just then, the Twi’lek grabs their drinks and walks away from the bar. You turn your head to see who the bartender is talking to, and it is none other than Din Djarin, standing just a few feet away from you. You don’t freak out as much as you think you might, and you have the alcohol in your system to thank for that.

“–Hey, y/n, do you know Mando? He’s visiting the Academy up the hill.” The bartender asks.

You turn to look at Din. “Mando? What’s th– ohhh. I get it. Mando as in Mando-lorian. Clever. Kind of. I mean, not really, but….Later!” You say to the bartender as you stutter your way out of that situation.

Fuck. That was so awkward, you didn’t even order a drink. You're embarrassed, but also hurt. Din didn’t say a word to you, not even a hello. His disregard for you makes you all the more determined to find a hot guy who can distract you from that beskar-covered jerk.

You do a lap around the bar, surveying your options. You spot a tall, handsome boy in a group of guys, probably tourists. Had you not been buzzed, and had that uncomfortable situation not just transpired, you would be very reluctant to just blatantly walk up to a stranger and introduce yourself. But you really don’t care; you know you’re hot and bagging him shouldn’t be any trouble at all.

His back is to you as you make your way to him, he’s talking way too loudly with his frat-boy friends. You gently run your hand down his bicep.

“Hi.” You say sweetly.

The boy turns around and his eyes widen as he looks you over. “Hey.” He says with an eager smile.

You grab his arm and get on your tippy toes, leaning in close to his ear. “Can you buy me a drink?”

“Yeah, a-absolutely!”

You and he walk up to the bar. Din is on the other side, and you notice he’s watching you. You do your best not to look at him, still you can’t help but glance at him every so often, and when you do, his visor is patently on you.

The boy you’re with puts his hand around your waist as you order your drink. “I’ll have a spotchka, please” You tell the bartender.

“Make it a double.” The boy says as he winks at the bartender.

You put your elbows on the bar in order to push your boobs up slightly. Gazing at you, Din observes one of the silky spaghetti straps of your dress fall from your prominent collar bone down your smooth shoulder. You make a point to leave it there a while before pulling it back up.

The bartender brings you your drink and you bring the glass up to your lips. Din watches as the boy puts his hand on the bottom of your glass and tips it upward, trying to get you to drink more. You swallow as fast as you can, trying not to choke as his hand continues tilting the bottom of the cup higher and higher. Din’s fist clenches at the sight of you coughing while some of the liquid falls out of your lips as your mouth overflows with the drink; it dribbles along your throat and runs down your chest. Coughing and trying to catch your breath, you set the drink on the bar as the boy looks at you with a satisfied half smile.

What a dick move. But honestly, you don’t care that he’s a asshole trying to liquor you up, you just need to get laid. In fact, if you’re going to be fucking this pretentious kid, you’ll need to be a little drunker.

“C’mon. Finish this and then let's go dance.” He says picking the glass up and bringing it back to your lips.

You chug what’s left and then, walking behind you, the guy guides you to the dance floor with his hands on your waist. You’re a little nervous as you realize that this area of the bar is closer to where Din is sitting, allowing him an even clearer and more direct view of you. His eyes stay glued to you the entire time you move through the cantina.

The boy pulls you against him and the two of you start grinding to the beat of the music. You can feel the alcohol warm your insides and ease your apprehension. Instead of trying your best to avoid looking at Din, you decide to do the opposite, and stare directly into his visor while you dance on this guy.

His hands are all over you. They make their way from your hips to your stomach, and they dance around your tits, pulling your soft silky dress as they explore your body. His lips are against your hair and he’s mumbling things in your ear that you’re not at all paying attention to.

It’s not too long before you feel his boner poking your ass. You bite your bottom lip promiscuously as you stare into Din’s helmet, the alcohol fueling your staring contest with him. *see gif* You’re relishing in this moment— in the fact that he is watching you dance on this hot guy.

To be honest, though, you really have no idea what Din is thinking or feeling, his helmet and his laid back position don’t tell a thing about where his head is at. It’s not even clear that he’s looking at you, but you can tell he is. You can tell that his eyes are locked on your form.

“Maker you’re so fuckin hot.” The boy whispers in your ear.

Din stands there watching you; watching this guy's skinny fuckin hands roam all over your pretty figure and smooth skin. He watches his hands run down your body and tease your inner thighs, right at the hem of the dress.

Then, Din observes him flick his head up, and turns to see that he is gesturing for his friends to watch. The kid's buddies are standing at the edge of the dance floor, elbowing each other, laughing and smiling, watching the drunk hot girl grind brazenly on their friend. Din looks at the stupid boys. He could kill them all so easily.

As he’s watching them, Din notices a few of their mouths drop, and looks back at you to find the guy you’re dancing on slowly lifting up your dress, exposing your black lace underwear as he nods at his friends and smiles.

Grinding on this guy, you feel slightly discouraged as Din breaks the staring contest to look elsewhere in the room. But then you see him abruptly get up and walk toward the dance floor. You lose him in the crowd, and then feel a large hand grab your upper arm and yank you away.

You trip over your feet but Din's hold on your bicep keeps you from falling forward. He doesn’t even look back at you as he drags you through the mass of people. Most move out of his way as soon as they see him coming, and those who don’t are shoved aside. He drags you out the door into the cold, dark air. Din finally propels you upward onto your feet after he turns into the dark alley next to the cantina.

“Din! What the fuck!” You’re finally able to yell.

“That fuckin guy was lifting your dress up in front of the entire bar.” He informs you in a frustration-laced voice.

“So?”

“So, you're okay with that? He was putting on a show for his friends.”

“….whatever.” You mutter looking down at your feet as your face turns red and shame creeps into your chest. You didn’t even realize the boy was doing that; you were so focused on keeping Din’s attention.

“Pfft, okay, if you’re fine with being paraded around by scummy guys–”

“I don’t need your slut shaming, Din. And speaking of sluts, why don’t you go find yourself one?”

Din pauses for a moment and you can feel the energy around you shift. He creeps closer to you, and you instinctively step back as he closes in on you until you’re against the brick wall, unable to move.

He lowers his voice. “Speaking of sluts, you said you were only one for me. So why the fuck are you letting that guy put his hands all over you?” Din says slowly as he grabs your shoulders and pushes you against the wall.

“Get off of me.” You return, trying to shake free from his grip and push him away.

Din grabs your wrists and slams your arms into the wall by your head, and he positions his knee tightly between your legs, inhibiting your movements completely.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Din purrs in your ear. “Were you jealous seeing me with that other whore? Aww, you left too soon, pretty girl.” He says as he begins rubbing his leg against your crotch.

“N-no...but I will say that it’s very audacious for you— a guest at the Jedi compound— to bring a sex worker back to your room.”

Din scoffs. “I’m not an idiot.” He spits out. “I didn’t bring her onto the estate. She sucked me off in the bathroom and then I left.”

“Well, congratulations.” Is all you can think to say

“I imagined it was you.” Din utters as he brings his helmet just inches away from your face. “Yeah, I imagined it was you on your knees on that filthy bathroom floor, gagging with my cock down your dainty little throat.” He says as one of his hands wraps around your neck.

You let out a whimper at his words, arousal shooting straight to your pussy as he continues to drag his thigh against your crotch.

“And then today, I jerked off the second I got back to my room after running into you and Luke. I couldn’t fuckin help myself, baby. It made me so fuckin hard seeing you like that. It was so fuckin cute how nervous and shy you were. You were panting and sweating, your hair was so messy, you were barely wearing a fuckin thing. I know that’s how you would look after I fucked you.”

His words turn you on more and more, pulses of arousal twitching your cunt.

“And I know that your Master thinks you’re a good little girl, huh. He doesn’t know how much of a fuckin whore you are, he doesn’t know that you asked me to tie you up and fuck you.”

A high-pitched moan flees your mouth, prompting you to take your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to keep it together.

“Come on, pretty girl.” Din growls as his hand slides down to your waist and grasps it tightly. “I said I’d show you how Mandalorians fuck, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Th-that why you hired a sex worker last night?” You say quietly, not wanting to let him off the hook for it just yet

“I didn’t know you were gonna be there, princess. I didn’t even know if I would see you again. I was ready to toss that bitch aside as soon as I saw you, but you fuckin bolted.”

Din moves his hand that was on your throat down to your groin, bringing his knee down slightly to make room for his fingers. You gasp as you feel his gloved digits rub your wet panties around your cunt.

“Come on.” Din breathes in your ear. “You’re dripping wet. You need to get a cock in this desperate fuckin pussy.”

“Ah-I have options.” You counter, trying to hold out for a little longer.

Din scoffs. “That boy in there can’t fuck you like I can and you know it.” He says as he pushes your panties to the slide, exposing your bare, wet pussy to the cold air. Din starts circling your clit as he picks up his head to watch your expression. Your mouth falls slightly open as breathy whines fall out.

“HEY!” You hear someone yell in the distance. “Mandalorian, what the fuck are you doing with my girl!”

Your head turns to see that guy you were grinding on approaching you and Mando. Great.

Just then, Mando starts pumping two fingers in and out of your hole fast. "Ah!" You inadvertently moan out.

“Get lost, kid.” Mando says casually as his arm clearly drives up and down under your dress.

Your mouth falls wide open at the sudden stretch and pounding of your hole, and you try your best to stifle your moans as you dig your nails into Din’s arm. You regrettably make eye contact with the kid as Din conspicuously continues his brutal finger fucking.

“N-no fuck you, we– we were dancing. Who do you think you are taking her from me?” Anger and offense cover the boy's face, pride shaken at the scene in front of him.

Din lets out an annoyed sigh. “If she wanted to go with you, she would. Now get the fuck out of here. Unless you want to watch her suck my cock.”

The guy grunts and turns around to walk swiftly out of the alley.

Din’s pace slows down just a tad, and you’re able to catch your breath. He leans his helmet against the wall next to your head. “Fuck. I wanna break that kid’s neck.” He whispers.

“Ah. You should.” You purr.

Din removes his hand from your cunt and takes a small step back. “Come on, baby girl. Let’s go back to my room” He says. Din walks to the center of the alleyway and then stops.

You take a few steps toward the street. “Okay...let's go.” You say softly, noticing that Din isn’t following.

“Come here.” He says holding his arm out.

Confused, you walk into his arm and he wraps it around you tightly.

“Hold on tight, okay?” He says as he motions for you to wrap your arms around him. Why is he taking you in for this awkward side hug? He just said he wanted to leave.

“Wha–”

Just then you’re lifted into the air, grasping onto Din for dear life as he jet-packs towards the Academy.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Visit Part Three

*************************************

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The Visit Series:

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Start Again

summary: A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), sex pollen (dub/con), a very slight dom!steve, angst, absolute filth ok dont shame me a/n: first sex pollen fic, first steve smut. felt right. and hot.

“Rogers! Watch your six, dammit!” you shouted, hair whipping into your face as you lunged at a stray opponent aiming a gun directly at the back of Steve’s head. Roundhouse kick to his hand and the weapon flung halfway across the room; another blow to the man’s temple and then, he collapsed to the ground in a heavy thud.

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Steve chuckled from the doorway, turning back with a smirk over his shoulder as he nudged his way into the vault with the edge of his shield. All confidence and charisma and still, his ears were a little pink, his eyes flickering down at the floor by your feet when he held your gaze a moment too long. A hesitancy in his teasing. A sincerity nestled in pale blue eyes.

You chewed on the edge of your lip, unbothered by the coppery taste left behind by the hit of a Hydra agent unconscious at your feet, and you side stepped your way into the vault. Steve stood with his arm extended, gesturing you to lead the way, smile creeping up the left side of his mouth before he followed behind.

This was how things were between the two of you. Flirty banter. Quiet moments. Poking at the tension in the air with the blunt edge of a knife. Careful, but still pressing. Lingering. Waiting in agony until the moment it snapped.

“What is this place?” you asked, covering your nose with the crook of your elbow as a lingering burning sensation filled the air.

The walls were lined with chemicals placed neatly in organized vials, within enclosed glass tubes, and refrigerated syringes. Beautiful bright colors to dull, dreary shades, big and small, carefully sealed, with hazmat suits hanging from the rack at the corner of the room. At the center sat a single metal table with restraints hanging down off the sides.

You stepped closer to it, carefully examining the cuffs made of leather where it cracked along the outside from years of use. You shuddered to think of the men they laid strapped on this cold unforgiving surface, injecting god knows what into their veins.

“This is sick,” you exhaled, dropping the restraint and watching as it swung over the edge of the table.

“It’s Hydra,” Steve replied tensely. “Whatever they have in here, it can’t be good. Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out.”

You nodded, walking closer to the shelves in search of the small vial Dr. Cho described. Blue in color, almost translucent, a liquid of only a few milliliters in total. If you were lucky it would be labeled NR-829. You didn’t know what it was for, but you weren’t one to ask questions. Steve went along with the mission without hesitation and you followed his lead. You trusted Steve enough for that.

It took a while as you filtered through dozens of unknown chemicals until you found the vial. Tucked in the back of the shelf, hidden behind a series of test tubes and a particularly large glass bottle with a large ‘X’ scribbled in black marker over the cap, the light blue serum sat in wait. You grinned, gently pulling the tube from its stand and holding it up for Steve to see.

“This is why I keep you around,” Steve teased, a sigh of relief etched into his tone.

“Thought you needed me to watch your six, huh?”

“That, too.”

Steve hung his head with a smile so wide on his face it made your stomach twist into knots. Hands planted firmly on his hips, stealing careful glances up at you from under long, thick lashes, you couldn’t help but admire the tenderness he carried. Even under pounds of muscle, a super soldier’s strength running through his veins, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he still managed to carry an innocence, a lightness, and he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“We should go,” Steve said after a moment and you nodded quickly, hoping he didn’t notice your staring.

You were just about to place the vial into the small pouch at the edge of your hip when a movement at the edge of the vault froze you dead in your tracks.

A flicker of metallic.

The click of the safety unlatching.

The grunt of a man in vengeance.

Laying on the floor, mouth covered in blood as it drenched down from his broken nose, the man you’d rendered unconscious now aimed a gun in your direction; a sickening grin pealed up along his cheeks to reveal yellowed teeth soaked in red.

Steve’s arm jutted out in front of you, yanking your body quickly out of the line of fire, but the man only smirked. He didn’t attempt to follow in his aim. Instead, he narrowed in on something beyond your position. Something on the shelves.

The gunshot rang out, echoing painfully within the small confines of the vault enough for a violent ringing to pierce in your ears, and still, you heard the glass shatter.

The air filled with the sudden sweet smell of candied apples and caramel; a scent specific to the night Steve dragged you out to Coney Island in efforts to relive his old memories, when you’d spent nearly half the night sitting on the docks prying sticky caramel from your fingers and laughing until your stomach hurt. The way he’d looked at you that night, like maybe all these feelings stirring deep in your chest might not be unrequited, how he’d smiled just enough until it pressed dimples to his cheeks.

No ordinary chemical could produce a smell like that. Not something so specific. Nothing but—

“Oh God.”

Steve was at the doors to the vault, desperately trying to pry his shield between them as the chemical spill must have set off emergency protocols and sealed you inside, but it was no use. He let out a visceral groan as he used all of his force, and still nothing.

“Steve,” you crocked, already feeling the sweat dripping at the nape of your neck. Your eyes glanced back at the emerald green liquid fizzling on the cement floor. The smell was intoxicating, burning almost to the point where it physically ached, and you closed your hands tight into fists.

“What is that?” Steve grunted, finally turning away from the doors. He brushed at his nose, confused, as tried to find the source. “It... it smells like... coffee and—and cinnamon sugar.”

The bakery down the block from the tower. Where you’d taken Steve in the early hours of the mornings when he’d find himself standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, shame lingering in his features and a redness in his eyes. It was a safe haven. An escape. The smell of a pleasant memory.

You’d heard that this chemical had the ability to manifest individually to those it effected, but it still took you by surprise. Drawn on the desires of its host, different to each in its unrelenting path. There was no time to wonder what it meant, why it smelled like the bakery around the corner and the nights you spent with Steve when the nightmares woke him in a blinding panic. There was no time because your eyes kept flickering down the lines of Steve’s body, tracing him hungrily, like a woman starved.

You choked back a moan, squeezing your thighs together as a sudden all-encompassing emptiness tore through you.

“Steve, listen to me,” you tried again, voice a little dry as you stretched your neck away from the collar of your suit, tearing your stare from his body as you focused on the wall in front of you. You zipped down the edge of your suit to your sternum and it only provided an ounce of relief. You were suffocating under it, burning, and you swore if you didn’t get it off soon you might collapse.

Steve didn’t seem to hear you though as he walked towards the exposed chemical on the floor, examining it. “Why expose us to this chemical instead of just killing us? What’s the point? What the hell is this stuff anyway?”

Your legs were crossed at the ankles, thighs pressing tightly together in an effort to relieve some of the ache at your core, but it did nothing. Not when you knew what you needed. Not when he was standing right there.

“Steve, please,” you whined, close to tears, hands gripping tight at the edges of the metal table.

Steve whipped around at the sound of your voice, panicked by the urgency, the desperation in it. His shoulder tensed, eyes darting wide at the sight of you.

The chemical had taken its effect quickly. Your hairline was drenched in sweat, heart pounding so painful in your chest you were certain he could hear it across the room, but what surprised him most was the slight tang in the air, a sweet kind of smell that was only and entirely yours; one he only dared allow himself to notice once before, under the cover of night when he’d walked past your bedroom in and heard the soft whimpers beyond the door.

Your legs were shaking under you, ready to collapse, and Steve darted forward. His hand gripped at your waist, trying to hold you steady.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he cooed sweetly, though there was a panic in his voice as he turned to look back at the sealed exit. He exhaled a heavy breath, pulling you in closer. “I’ve got you. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

The pressure of his hands was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was exhilarating, like the touch of lightening to your skin and still, feather soft. It was a jolt of desperation that only worsened the pulsing at your core, the agonizing emptiness you felt between your legs.

You whimpered, shaking terribly in his arms, and then, his hands moved slowly up along your body to cup at your cheeks. He pushed away the damp hairs on your face, sky blue eyes searching yours, trying to understand what was affecting you like this, so concerned, so full of worry, but it was too much.

Your skin was too sensitive; every touch heightened beyond what you’d ever experienced and each rub of his thumb over your cheek bone, each pressured dip of his fingers against your neck, was almost unbearable. Your cunt clenched around air, waiting eagerly to be filled and used and — fuck — you were going to die if you didn’t get that damn suit off now.

“Y/n?” Steve called, though it sounded far away, like a lingering semblance of an echo long carried through a tunnel.

Unable to take it, you tore Steve’s hands away from you, stumbling back until you hit the table with a painful corner to your spine. You whined, shaking, whimpering, and as Steve tried to take another step closer to you, you held up a desperate hand.

“It’s not effecting you as quickly because—because of the serum,” you gasped, trying to find your breath as a hand slipped under your collar, pushing down at the zipper on your suit in search of relief, “but it will. It will, Steve, and we—we have to—God, we’ll die if we don’t, but—”

“What are you talking about? What’s happening to you?” Steve demanded, trying to step closer to you, to reach out in comfort, but you flinched away. You still had some semblance of control, even if your dignity was in pieces. You wouldn't dare let him touch you again until he understood what this was, until he could have some kind of choice.

“The chemical,” you shuddered, pointing to the shattered vial on the floor, “it’s the extract of the pollen Tony warned us about in Brussels.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. Brussels was almost three years ago but he remembered it well. They’d been tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base attempting to create an army of enhanced super soldiers by pairing the gifted with their knock off experiments. Creating offspring artificially wasn’t an option, it seemed, and well, Hydra needed to convince their participants to engage.

Realization hit Steve like a truck and he stumbled back, eyes wide. “N-No, it’s can’t be. That stuff should have been destroyed when we blew up the base...”

“Should have been,” you repeated, nodding slowly as you shrugged your shoulder out of the suit. The cool air touched your skin and it was instant relief. Teeth clenched, lump in your throat, you looked at Steve. “We don’t have a lot of time. I—I have to get this off. I feel like I’m burning alive...”

“Okay, okay,” Steve nodded, rushing towards you to help. You choked back a whine as his fingers touched over bare skin, slipping under your suit as he helped peel away the skin tight fabric until it dropped down over your thighs and was left in a pile on the floor.

Left only in your sports bra and panties, Steve started to evert his eyes, even as his breathing started to pick up in pace. It was affecting him slower than it did you, but it was still in his veins, it was still coming for him.

“Steve,” you gasped, your hands fumbling with the band of your bra, trying to pull it over your head. Your nipples were pebbled hard, the touch of the fabric agonizing against the buds. Your thighs squeezed tight together and you could feel how soaked through the thin cotton between your legs had become. You could smell it yourself, so you knew Steve could, too.

“Steve, please. I—I need you. It hurts so much…”

Steve swallowed, eyes gazing up at your body as you stripped clean of the remaining material. He tried desperately to hold your eye, but as your hand slipped down between your legs in search of some relief, he followed.

Your fingers dipped in between the folds, swirling in the wetness that dripped down your thighs, and even as you circled in rushed movements, sunk two fingers deep inside you, it did nothing to relieve the ache. It couldn’t be relieved on its own, not without help.

In a surge of pollen-induced confidence, you carefully reached out for Steve’s hand, letting your fingers hook around his as hooded eyes gazed up to a startling pale blue and the bite of teeth over pink, swollen lips. Slowly, you guided Steve’s hand closer to your core and when you were met with no resistance, replaced your fingers with his own, pushing his touch to the heat between your legs.

He shuddered as the wetness dripped over him, fingers moving of their own accord and circling sweetly at your clit. It was like fire through your veins, rendering you outside of yourself, and still, you needed more.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, running a free hand through your hair, but you could only whine in response, resting your forehead to his shoulder.

Hands curled into the thick fabric of his suit, dipping into the muscle in his arms as you tried to focus on the pressure on your clit, how his fingers swirled and circled and pressed and flicked at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but that emptiness lingered. It screamed at you, tore through your body and consumed you, begging to be filled, to be abused and used.

“More,” you begged, too far lost to the effects of the pollen to feel shame for the tremors in your voice or the neediness with which you rolled your hips to his fingers. “Please, Steve. I—I can’t. I need—”

“Okay, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, a softness in his tone as he helped ease you up onto the metal table. It was cold against your exposed skin, though it supplied no relief to the fever lighting like flames within your veins.

You called his name again, a desperate cry, and Steve gently ran his hands down your curves, slipping over your hips and thighs and gently returning to where you needed him. It was like he was trying to hold onto some kind of semblance of romance or affection amongst the intensity of the pollen igniting dangerous levels of dopamine and oxytocin in your brain; like maybe he could fool himself into believing it was real.

“It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart. Just try to relax for me,” he whispered, sinking two fingers into you, and then a third. It was relief unlike anything else. The slight sting of the stretch, the rub of his knuckles by your entrance, the curving of his fingers deep inside your walls, pressing up against the spot that made your back arch up from the table.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasped, eyes closed, overwhelmed in the sensations, in the pumping of his fingers and his thumb circling at your clit, the high that started to take over completely and render you in a mess on the table, open and exposed. “Yes! Ah—don't—don't stop!”

Even through your haze, you felt the slight touch of his lips on your forehead. Something so tender, so soft, in stark contrast to the heat of the pollen’s chemical amplifying your senses.

“That’s it,” Steve urged, his breath warm on your skin as your walls began to clench around him. Tighter. Tighter. He pumped his fingers faster, the sounds filling the room enough to draw heat to your face if it wasn’t for the heightened bliss produced by the pollen.

You rolled your hips against his hand, meeting him at his knuckles, begging for more.

More, more, more—

“Let go, doll,” Steve whispered against your ear, breath hot to your skin, “come for me.”

Closer and closer and rising to the very edge of the peak and— nothing.

You whined, a sob breaking through you as the crescendo faded out just before the highest note. Your body collapsed, sinking into hardened metal, exhausted, desperate, aching.

“What is it? What happened?” Steve questioned, panicked.

“It’s not enough,” you gasped. “I need you.”

Steve froze, slowly pulling his fingers from between your legs to find them dripping in your wetness. He closed his hand. “Y/n, I—”

“I need you to fuck me, Steve.”

He shook his head, backing up. “You don’t-- You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. Please, Steve,” you begged, your own fingers circling back at the head of your clit, swirling in the drench of your juices at your core and still, it wasn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough. You needed thick veins and a pulsing heartbeat, rushed thrusts, hands digging to your hips, and the labored pants of a man above you.

You needed him.

“You don’t want this,” Steve argued, determined, though you could see the pollen starting to take its effect. His pupils were blown wide, sweat dripping at the nape of his neck though he tried to brush it away. His legs were trembling.

“The pollen is only enhancing desires that already exist,” you urged, breathy and in gasps as your fingers worked tiredly at your clit and still—nothing. In your haze, you didn’t notice how Steve’s eyes widened at your confession. He stared at you for just a moment longer before he shook the thought from his mind, unwilling to let himself go there.

“Steve, I’m begging you. I gonna—I'm gonna die.”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let that happen.”

He could feel the pollen starting to take it’s hold in his own body and the longer he looked at you, exposed and ready for him, dripping, the sweet smell of your cunt filtering in the air, the closer he came to the losing edge of control.

The serum kept it at bay for a while, but he could feel his cock aching painfully hard under layers of Kevlar. The fabric rubbed against it, creating an almost burning sensation, and he understood why you were so desperate to rid yourself of your clothes.

Jesus – it was a miracle he kept it together as long as he did. He could still feel the squeeze of your pussy on his fingers; the heat, the wetness, the softest most vulnerable parts of you. His hand was sticky in your slick as he clenched his fist, nails digging painfully to his palms.

“Steve, it’s starting to affect you, too.”

He shook his head. “I can deal with it. I’ll handle it on my own.”

“You can’t, Steve. It won’t be enough.”

“It has to be!” he snapped, harsher than he meant to, but the pollen was pushing him towards an edge he wasn’t certain he’d ever come back from. “I can’t-- I won’t let that fucking chemical turn me into a monster!”

Steve groaned, raking his fingers through sweat damped hair and ridding himself of the shield and weapons strapped to his suit. He was panting long before he started shouldering the vault doors again, desperate to lodge his way through.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping past your temples as you laid on the metal table. Shaking, dripping at your core, aching. Your fingers doing nothing to relieve the painful, empty feeling left in Steve’s wake. Chills swept up your spine, like a fever, and you stared up at the ceiling, watching as the tiles swayed over one another, melting and twisting into a blur of grey cement as you listened to Steve’s labored breaths, the grunts in anguish, as he tried to break out of the vault.

But suddenly, it came to a stop.

A heavy exhale. A pained groan. And then—

“How certain are you?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, vision blurring, dizzy, but you could still see how desperately Steve was trying to hold himself back. His arousal was thick and prominent against his thigh, a wet spot growing at the head, as he rubbed himself through the outside of his pants.

“Y/n,” he asked again, tenser, strained. “How certain are you that it’s only enhancing existing desires?”

“Certain,” you choked out. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Steve. Since Coney Island.”

Steve gritted his teeth, and you could tell there was a part of him that lingered, wanting to know more, wanting to say something meaningful in return, but the pollen had taken a hold of him and he wasn’t the one in control anymore.

“I can’t hold back.”

You shook your head, heart racing in anticipation. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand, Y/n,” Steve groaned, sliding his hand under his belt in search of some relief, unabashedly stroking himself in full view as his pants circled around his ankles. “I can feel this shit taking over and— I won’t be able to— I can’t hold myself back. Do you understand?”

He took a step closer to you, pulling his jacket off as well until he was naked before you. He paused at the edge of the table, hesitant for a moment, before slowly, he set his hands on the tops of your thighs. You moaned at the sensation, arching up for him, though he didn’t touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he let his hands travel along your legs, sliding all the way down to your ankles before he yanked hard enough to pull your body right to the edge.

You met him with a gasp, hands landing on his chest as you looked up to darkened eyes.

“It’ll be rough,” he gritted out.

You were panting, heart stammering. “I can take rough.”

“I might hurt you.”

“So hurt me, Captain,” you begged, voice low, hands snaking up around his neck.

“Say it again. Tell me you want this. I need to hear it,” he demanded, darker than you’d ever heard him, and still, there was a soft kind of pale blue in his eyes; a lingering piece of that tender, hesitant man you knew who kept his distance, who flirted and teased with shades of pink in his ears. He practically growled as his fingers dug deeper into your thighs.

“I want this,” you said firmly, your left hand raking through his hair, your right slipping down his stomach until you reached his cock. Circling your grip around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him and spread the precum down the throbbing vein underneath. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a harsh breath.

“I want you, Steve,” you whispered against his neck, your lips pressing a kiss to his pulse point before you licked a stripe along his jawline, up to his mouth, where you paused. You caught his eyes for a moment, laced in lust and thick in desire, and you mewled against his lips, “fuck me, Steve. Use me. I’m yours.”

It was hard to tell what was the pollen and what was inherently you, but when it was Steve standing in front of you, his erection sliding at your folds, his eyes gazing hungrily into yours, you couldn’t find it in you to care where the words came from. They were real desires, a real longing, a real desperation you carried deep inside you, hidden under lock and key, and the vial shattered in the back of the room only released them from their cage.

Suddenly, Steve yanked you from the table, spun you around, and held you firmly against him, his breath like fire against your neck. Your back was only kept pressed up against his chest for a moment before he pushed you flush onto the table. The cold of the metal ice against your skin, your cheek pressed onto the surface as he kept you still with a hand on the mid of your back. Your toes barely touched the ground, but Steve had a good hold on your hips with his free hand.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his hand on your back nestling along your spine, pressing like the keys of a piano. You shuddered under him, trying to squeeze your thighs together but he kept them propped open. “Be a good girl for me, won’t you, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” Your hands gripped onto the edges of the table, your toes lifting off the ground.

“Gonna let me take what I want from you? Gonna let me use your body how I want? Fuck your tight little cunt? My sweet girl...��

“Yes,” you whimpered, shaking, as the painful aching between your legs grew stronger. “All for you. Just you. Steve... please...”

Steve’s hand gripped to your hips, painful enough to leave bruises but your whole body was stripped to the bare edges, sensitive unlike you’d ever been in your life, and the divots he dug were sweet relief. You ached for more. Whatever he would give you.

You felt the tip of Steve’s cock edging at your entrance and you let out a desperate whine. You tried arched up for him as much as the position would allow, even with Steve’s hand keeping your upper body flattened on the table as he came up to you from behind.

He slid into you with ease, bottoming out in one harsh thrust that nearly jolted the entire table. You gasped, holding onto the surface, reveling in the ache of the stretch, how thick he was pressing you open, stretching you.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Steve grunted, adjusting his grip on your hip. He pulled out, just to the tip, slowly, agonizingly, before he slid back in with a shuddered breath. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Your cunt’s fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Shit.”

You’d never heard Steve curse like that. It was foreign in his voice, but God, it was like pure sin. Pieces of him he kept hidden, desires he wouldn’t dare allow to the surface broken free by the pollen littering the air and seeping deep into his veins. A man without boundaries or confinements. A man unleashed.

“Fuck, yes, Steve,” you moaned, gripping so tightly at the edges of the table, you wondered if you might be strong enough to crack it. “God, Steve, don’t stop! Just like that—Just like—ah, fuck—”

He was relentless. Rushed. Desperate. Quick and harsh thrusts of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock throbbing and dragging against clenched walls, spurring on that twist deep in your stomach, bringing you closer and closer to release, to relief.

The noises he made only urged you on, filling the room with cries and screams, his name and yours, uncontained, unfiltered. Through the gasps in his breath, through your name exhaled low in his voice, he muttered praises and curses, his grip tightening, your skin burning against the metal surface with every drag of your body. It was a rush, a high, every thrust, every bruise he pressed into your skin, every inch closer to the peak that left you screaming his name over and over again until finally—

The ground fell out from under you, mountains crashing down, and you cried out through the free fall; impossibly sensitive, withering and desperate to hold on as he chased his own release, prolonging the longest, most intense orgasm you’d ever had, one that left you in near tears, until he came into you, releasing against your walls.

There was a moment of relief, of a comforting stillness. The labored pants of your breaths filling the room and the sticky sweet smell of sex overpowering the long faded scent of the pollen. The dizziness cleared from your mind, the high of the orgasm pulling you fully back to your senses, and you were shocked to find how cold the room had become.

And then the silence started to carry an unease within it.

Steve’s hand released its grip on your hips, on your back, unpeeling away from skin he’d colored under his touch and you tried not to wince at the sting of it because you knew he was watching you. Then, he pulled his softened cock from inside you, slipping out slowly and leaving behind a kind of emptiness that pierced straight through to your chest.

With the desperation gone, the heat of the pollen absent from your veins and a chill in your spine, you turned to find Steve, hoping for something as tender and sweet as the man you knew to offset the bruising on your body and the new kind of ache between your legs; pains you eagerly agreed to and even in your clearest thoughts knew with certainty you had wanted. Still, there was a need for more, something of the man you know Steve to be.

“Steve?”

He was scrambling to put his suit back on. Hands fumbling with his pants until he covered himself, then, quickly began to search around the room. Shaking hands yanked open drawers, throwing around papers and supplies until they covered the floor.

“Steve, hold on a moment...”

“I don’t-- I don’t have anything for you to--” he exhaled harshly, rubbing at his eyes and you realized what he meant. The sticky residue between your legs, his release and yours. He swallowed thickly, and it didn’t slip your notice that he couldn’t meet your eye. “Just-- just give me a second. I’ll-- uh—I'll find something.”

“Stevie, it’s okay,” you tried to tell him, but he couldn’t hear you.

You bent down and grabbed your suit from the floor, stepping into it as his cum had dried along your thighs. You could wash it away later. There was no concern for pregnancy. SHIELD provided all agents with standard birth control. Steve should know that and he should know that Sam would still be waiting on them in the jet, concerned that the coms hadn’t been working for the time you and Steve were trapped down there.

You crossed the room, coming up behind Steve and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. He flinched the moment your fingertips grazed his flushed skin and you pulled away, curling your hand to your chest. He turned to face you, but his eyes were focused on the floor by your feet. Even clothed, standing in front of him as the woman who had loved and adored him for years under the guise of friendship, he couldn’t bear to meet your eye.

A crack nestled in your chest, straight through your heart. God, you just wanted to hold him.

“Steve...”

The vault doors sprang open with a thunderous echo, a clear mist expelling from the ceiling.

A sudden darkness came over Steve’s features, the soft outline of his face turning hard as a growl brewed in his chest. He grabbed the gun from his waistband and bounded toward the exit. Without a moment of hesitation, he fired a single shot at the Hydra agent who had broken the vial of pollen in favor of killing either of you; still laying on the floor, barely even enough time to react to defend himself.

You gasped as a bullet lodged through the man’s head and he slumped over. Deep red pooling around him.

Steve stomped back into the vault, slipped the top of suit back over his head, ran his fingers through his hair to tame the mess. With his back turned to you, he paused.

“You have the vial we came for?” His voice was cold, detached, incredibly unlike the man you knew.

“Y-yes,” you replied, feeling for the small test tube securely placed in the container at your hip. You zipped up your suit to cover the exposed hills of your breasts; even with Steve’s back to you, it left you feeling exposed.

His back straightened, a short nod to himself, and he stepped over the body of the Hydra agent. Boots imprinting into the mess of blood, leaving a trail in their wake as he quickly made his way back to the jet.

You waited until the echoes of his steps disappeared down the hallway and you were left with a deeply unsettling silence. There, you allowed yourself to cry.

part two

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers one shot

3K notes · View notes

byuntrash101 · 3 years

Text

PARAPHILIA - Part 7

Pairing: Dom!Baekhyun x You; Boss!Baekhyun x You; CEO!Baekhyun x You

Genre: smutttttt

Tags: cuckolding, cheating, NTR, cum play, dirty talk, name calling (light), edging, oral (f)

Raiting: +18

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: When you are desperate for money you have no choice but to seek the help of Byun Baekhyun: your husband's rich, powerful and wicked boss.

A/N: This is the only part where OC and Baek are not a couple but keep reading it might even be better hehe. Guys this one is one of my faves of this whole series so I hope you like it toooo~ 😇😇 -Cat 😼

Tag list: @lovebuginlove @calamell @bobohumyonlyboo @smolbeanmika @making-me-blush @wooya1224 @yixing-jaehyun @f4ncyvelvet @lalalala-lav @deligxt @xofanfics @byunsugar @dixnysustae @to-all-the-stories-i-love @artisticcgroove @myexoobsession @geniusloey @blahblahblah-boo @nana-banana @mingiandbaconjam @chanyeolscoon

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Gif credit: thristyforbaek

Paraphilia #7: Troilism, Observing one's partner engaged in sexual activities with another person

T H E A L P H A M A L E

"Come on Seokjong, we're going to be late!" you tell your husband as you precede him on the pathway towards the big mansion. Your husband pants behind you.

"I know honey but... slow down a bit, will ya?" He puffs holding his side, difficulty going up the stairs. Your husband was never one to be really fit. He was rather short, not even taller than you and also a little chubby. People often told you that you two were not a good match. Telling you how much more good looking you were compared to him. Often you had to turn down the advances of men that thought themselves to be better than Seokjong but the truth was that you loved him. You loved him exactly the way that he was. Happily married for 4 years now.

Well... That was true up until recently. Even though you try to convince yourself otherwise. Your feelings are... changing.

You ring the doorbell in front of the enormous door of the even more gigantic mansion. While your husband catches up to you.

"Please enter" the distinguished butler says. "Please get seated. Mr Byun will receive you shortly" he points towards comfortable couches placed in the entrance. You look around the now familiar place. The floor is made of black marble tiles, the walls have an elegant white wallpaper with exquisite details. The entrance is very big, so big a renaissance style statue of a woman sits in the middle, while a huge staircase is right in front you.

You know the entrance very well but not the rest of the house because apart from the hall and another room you never visited it. Even though it was your 10th visit. Only two more to go...

After a while the butler came back and signaled you to both go upstairs. You politely nodded and went on your way. You knew exactly where to go...

Last room on your right... Mr Byun's office.

"Enter!" the low voice commanded from behind the door. You pushed in the door, your heart beating loudly.

The first thing you notice is the atmosphere. The big windows that accompanied the tall walls and the high ceilings are covered by curtains. The only light source is the desk lamp placed on the elegant dark wood desk that sits in the middle of the big office. The room is grand, the atmosphere very intimate.

Mr. Byun was standing there, slightly leaning back on his desk, shuffling through some paperwork, absentmindedly playing with the collar of his white shirt.

He wore a really expensive suit, very professional looking. Navy blue with discreet golden yellow accents and of course a thin white shirt that was perfectly hugging his frame. Which made your heart stomp even harder.

Mr. Byun was exactly what every woman would desire. He was handsome, had beautiful shiny chestnut hair. A body shape to die for with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs. Gorgeous smooth skin, the most charming and seductive smile and of course... he was powerful.

Everything about him was, this mansion, the sports cars he drove, the way he dressed, the way he walked and even... The way he looked at you. Like right now.

He lifted his eyes from the paper, when they landed on you he took his time fully appreciating the view. He started with your shoes. You were wearing the sleek black shiny high heeled pumps he had requested for today. Then his eyes went up your legs to the slit of the red bodycon dress you paired with the shoes then to your breasts where his eyes lingered for a bit then to your collarbones then your neck then your plump red lips then finally your eyes.

Definitely you were not growing accustomed to the way he looked at you.

Seokjong also came in panting and profusely sweating. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. You rolled your eyes at him. You felt bad for that but at the same time... How could you not be mad at him? He was the reason why you were here in the first place.

Seokjong had an addiction. An addiction to gambling. For the past couple of years it has gotten worse, to a point where Seokjong lost 1 million dollars to the mob. It was a colossal amount of money that needed to be paid back right away. So of course you took two other jobs and also borrowed money from your parents but you barely could gather 80 000 dollars. It calmed down the mob for a while but after a time they started to threaten your family and loved ones.

So Seokjong turned to his boss: Byun Baekhyun. He had worked for him all his life and even for his father before he took over the company. So you both went to see him on the top floor of the big company building. Your husband got on his knees and begged him to lend him the money. He told him that he would work his whole life for it. He offered to put Mr. Byun on his will, he even offered him his parent’s farm, which was a ridiculous offer, and he knew it but he just had to take the chance in order to save your marriage, your family and even your life.

But Mr. Byun laughed at his face.

"Look at me... Look at this office. Does it look like there is anything in the world that I can't afford but you... somehow can?" his voice sounded so cold at the time.

"N-no..." Seojong said, lowering his eyes.

You remember how Mr. Byun leaned over your husband still flat on the ground and said:

"Offer me something that's unique, that only you have. Something that money can't buy and I might consider it..." with that his eyes turned to you and he looked at you for the first time like he did moments ago.

You remember how the shivers ran down your spine when his lips curled in a carnivorous smirk, how lust gradually clouded his eyes.

That time, for the first time. You let another man touch you, feel you, and look at you in places that were before only for Seokjong. Only for your husband.

That time, for the first time, at the top floor of the big highrise. You let Mr Byun Baekhyun have his way with you.

That's how you both agreed to let Mr Byun fuck you in front of your husband every month for a whole year in exchange of clearing Seokjong's depts with the mafia.

That was what you were now: Mr. Byun Baekhyun's whore.

"The door, Seokjong" Baekhyun commanded which brought you back to the present moment.

Slowly he walked up to you... Gradually you felt heat washing over you. You didn't want to admit it but there was a moment in time where you started to anticipate every time you had to come into this mansion. Of course you never told anybody, not even yourself.

Baekhyun walked behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. You felt his warm breath brush on your ear and his body press against your back. His fingers brushed up your arm. From your wrist to your shoulder, sending goosebumps all over your body.

Already you felt a tingle build in your core. Because Baekhyun didn't even have to try to get you started. His aura and the simplest, littlest touches were well enough. But the worst part was that he wasn't content with that. Everytime he made sure to drive you crazy with desire, pushing all the right buttons to the point where you were the one begging for him.

Without even a word he slipped one of the spaghetti straps of your dress off your shoulder and started to nibble at your neck and earlobe. You knew your husband was right behind you, watching your every move so you tried your hardest not to make any noise as he planted blue and purple love bites all over you. He smirked when he noticed you were holding yourself back. Because he loved when you resisted him. The more you resisted the more gratifying it was when you finally gave in. And he knew you would... eventually you will give up yourself to him, again.

"Seokjong come here" he commanded while stepping in front of you and standing at a little distance, to be able to fully see you. Your husband shuffled to his side.

"Yes Mr Byun?" he asked looking up at him as he was a lot shorter.

"Strip her for me" he said motioning to you with his chin.

"Yes sir" Seokjong responded. He came to you and slipped off the other strap. Then with caution he slowly pulled on the thin red fabric and rolled the bodycon dress off you. First, your breasts popped out since Mr. Byun specially requested you to not wear a bra. It made him smile and lick his lips when he noticed how hard your nipples already were. Because even though you're trying to resist, your body speaks the truth.

Slowly but surely the dress was completely off you. Leaving you close to naked in your red lace thong and your shiny black pumps.

Baekhyun stayed silent for a minute while he walked around you. Admiring your breasts, your beautiful legs in the shoes he chose and even your perky ass in the minimalistic red thong.

He licked his lips again. Then walked in front of you. He slowly closed in the distance between the both of you until you felt his warm breath tickle your cheeks, his broad torso pressed against your naked chest and his bulge against your stomach. You held in your breath trying to contain the thumping of your heart.

"Seokjong come here" your husband shuffled to him. Baekhyun placed a hand on his shoulder. "There... stand... right there" he said as he placed him exactly facing the both of you only a few centimeters away.

"Pay attention" he told Seokjong, winking at him and playfully padding his shoulder.

"Yes sir" your husband answered.

"Now baby" Baekhyun brought back his attention to you. "Stick your tongue out for me"

Hesitant you slowly opened your mouth to stick out your tongue. Baekhyun glances again at Seokjong, making sure he's watching carefully. Then approaches his face to yours. Slowly he sucked on the tip of your tongue then he pushed his soft lips against yours. Embarking you on a hot kiss. His tongue swirled inside your mouth and as heat started to wash over your body you couldn't help but to look at Seokjong. He didn't lift an eyelash, he was petrified. Baekhyun deepened the kiss. His hand went up your hair, tangling his fingers in it, while the other slipped to your lower back where he pulled lightly on the waistband of the thong to let it slap against your skin. Gradually you felt his bulge harden against your stomach which made the tingly feeling even stronger.

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath and looked at you with a satisfied smile. Stafisified because you couldn't hide anymore. Your eyes were begging him to continue as your body was too... Baekhyun felt that.

"Seokjong" Baekhyun called your husband, before sitting you on the desk and sliding off the red thong, passing it over your heels. "Look, that is what a simple kiss with me does to your wife" he said holding the little fabric in front of your husband face. You felt embarrassment creep up inside you.

The thong was drenched with juices, and you hated that. You hated how this was the truth. Your body was betraying you, craving more of his touches, longing for the moment he was going to be inside you.

Seokjong looked at the shameful result of your arousal and simply nodded.

"Lick it." Baekhyun commanded, smirking. "Taste your beloved wife's desire for my cock"

You whipped your head in the direction of your husband. He, too, looked at you before slowly bringing the red piece of fabric to his face and licking the wet spot. He closed his eyes, his eyebrows creased.

"How is it?" Baekhyun asked.

"Delicious, sir" Seokjong answered, opening his eyes. Baekhyun smirked before turning his attention to you again.

"I want to try it too" he said before crouching down and bringing his face close to your heat. You felt embarrassed. But at the same time you didn't move a muscle because you couldn't wait anymore for him to finally touch you there.

You immediately let your head fall back when you feel his warm and wet tongue on your slit. Slowly going up to your needy clit. A small whimper escapes your lips which makes Baekhyung smile against your folds. His skilled tongue paired with the teasing from earlier makes the knot in your stomach tighten. Really quickly, you feel the pleasure rising uncontrollably. But as soon as Baekhyung feels you twitch under his tongue he slows down to an unbearable pace.

You can't help but whimper desperately. He smirks again and picks up the pace, circling your swollen bud with his tongue.

This time shameless moans escape your lips, the pleasure is just too much and you can't help it. You're so close, you want to cum. But again, he slows down. You look down at him with pleading eyes but don't dare to actually say the words. He smirks at you; he loves to see you struggle like this. He loves the frustration in your eyes.

He starts up again. He gives you just enough to be close to the edge but not enough to actually go over. He keeps you there, in the middle, playing with you, torturing you. And you just can't take it anymore.

"Please" you whisper. He parts his lips from yours.

"Please what?" he says smirking, looking up at you. He brings his hand to your heat and draws small circles on your very sensitive clit. You gasp, biting your lip.

"Please let me cum" you beg in a breath, your head is dizzy, you have trouble keeping your balance on your high heels and you hold on for dear like to the edge of the desk.

"You want to cum baby?" you nod.

"Seokjong come here" your husband comes to stand directly behind him, facing you. "Watch how your wife cums for me".

With that Baekhyun's fingers slip inside you and curl up immediately spotting your good spot. You can't help but to moan loudly. His lips go back to your clit where his tongue continues to tease you further. Only this time, it's to finish the job.

Mercilessly his fingers and tongue attack you, to transform you into a moaning mess and as you feel the knot threatening to come undone you look up at your husband. You feel immense shame to let him see your delighted, sinful expressions from another man's touch. You're ashamed of letting him hear you moan for Baekhyun like that but at the same time... It turns you on so much. When you're met with the disappointed eyes of your husband you are finally able to cum. Your walls tighten around Baekhyun's fingers as you twitch uncontrollably under his tongue. Your juices rush out of you completely soaking the wooden floor. Completely out of breath you squirt all over, a blissful and lingering moan rolling off your tongue.

Baekhyun pulls out his drenched fingers out of you and stands back up before turning to Seokjong.

"Did she ever squirt like this for you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, sir." Seokjong said, lowering his eyes. Baekhyun smirked, satisfied.

You tried catching your breath as you held yourself up on the desk with difficulty.

"Seokjong sit there" Baekhyun said as he pointed to the floor in front of the desk. Seokjong complied and sat his back straight against the darkwood and waited, his eyes locked on the floor.

Baekhyun started to undress himself. One by one he undid the button of his white shirt and took it off. Revealing his perfectly sculpted body. His chest was glistening from lightly sweating. His cologne gracefully floated to your nose. He smelled exactly like he looked: very expensive and manly.

He then took his pants off and kissed you again. Forcing your mouth open with his tongue as he pushed his hips on your stomach. You couldn't wait for him to be inside you.

"Bend over the desk baby" he said softly in your ear.

You turned around and bent over. You were positioned in a way that your husband's face was directly underneath your crotch. This way he had a front row seat on your adulterous sex with his boss.

Baekhyun came over and rubbed his hot tip against your drenched heat. He brushed it against your swollen clit before slowly slipping inside you. You moaned shamelessly at the delicious full sensation he was making you feel. There was no comparison. He was so much bigger than Seokjong.

"Seokjong, did you see how easily I slipped inside her? It's almost like she was made for me" Baekhyun said in a groan. Fully indulging himself in the tightness and warmness of your naughty little pussy.

Seokjong didn't even reply, instead he started to palm himself through his pants. He hated himself for it but he couldn't stop himself from getting aroused. He saw expressions you never made for him. He heard moans he never heard from you. All of that was, inevitably, turning him on.

Baekhyun started to slowly thrust himself in and out of you. You moan for him like he is the only one in the room. At this stage, you don't care one bit about your husband anymore. The only thing that you want is Baekhyun's fat cock rearranging your guts to fit him.

"Please faster" you plead. Baekhyun smirks but decides to grant your wish and goes faster and even deeper inside you. You throw your head back as he tightens his grip on your waist. Making your breast jump and the desk shake to the sound of your skin clashing.

He feels so good inside you, no one can ever fill you up like he does with his huge cock. You moan for him, forgetting about your husband right underneath you. You want Baekhyun to hear how good he makes you feel.

"Does it feel good baby"? he groans in your ear.

"Yes!" you reply without hesitation, his low voice sending goosebumps on your skin.

"Does my cock feel good?"

"Yes! Aaah.. So good!!" you close your eyes as you feel the knot tightening again.

"Yes you're a dirty little slut of a wife" he whispers in your ear.

Seokjong palms himself harder, rubbing circles on his aching cock. Drunk on the sounds that you make only for Baekhyun. Droplets of your juices crash on his cheeks and bottom lip which he sucks off hurriedly. It's almost like you never tasted so good.

Baekhyun picks up the pace again when he feels your pussy tightly gripping on his cock.

"Moan for me slut" he says through gritted teeth.

"Aaaah Baekhyun I'm cumming" you moan shamelessly. But Baekhyun once again slows down, a whimper escapes your lips as you feel your orgasm getting away.

"I'll let you cum if you tell Seokjong how much of a disgraceful wife you are" he says in a low voice, groaning in your ear as he fucks you at an agonizingly slow pace. You whimper, not wanting to go that far.

Seokjong doesn't move anymore, he holds his breath, somehow... he wants to hear that...

Baekhyun violently thrusts inside you to convince you. You scream out a moan to the immensely pleasurable but ephemeral sensation. With a trembling lip you start.

"Seokjong I'm sorry to be such an undeserving wife" you start, Baekhyung goes ever so slightly faster inside you.

"Aaaah... I let Baekhyun fuck me and... Aaaah.. I love it"

Seokjong rubs himself through his pants once again.

"But his dick is so much better than yours... Aaaaah"

"Good girl continue" Baekhyun encourages you by fucking you harder.

"There's no way... Aaaah... I can go back to your tiny penis anymore... Aaaah. After getting a taste of Baekhyun's huge cock"

Baekhyun goes even deeper and faster. The knot is threatening to come undone at anytime.

"Baekhyun's cock is... aaaah... aah... So good I only want him to make me cum. Only he knows how to manhandle me."

Seokjong furiously palms himself underneath you, his face towards your heat, where he carefully watches his beloved wife's pussy get rammed by his boss.

"Good girl." Baekhyun praises as he doesn't stop fucking you mercilessly. Feeling your pussy twitch around his cock. "Now cum for me baby. Cum on this dick baby" he commands.

You give yourself in to the pleasure Baekhyun makes you feel as your tongue loosely hangs out of your mouth and your eyes roll back. You can't control anything anymore. You're cumming harder than ever.

"Seokjong, listen to me moan while I cum on Baekhyun's fat cock" you scream as you finally cross the edge.

Your pussy pulsing around Baekhyun's huge cock inside you. You scream Baekhyun's name one last time as your juices gush out of you again. So much liquid spurts out of your pussy, to completely soak your husband that is still sitting right underneath you.

Seokjong releases himself in his pants. A stain of cum appears on his crotch through his pants as he opens his mouth wide to catch as much squirt as he can. He drinks your juices as his dick pulses under his hand.

Pleasure completely takes over your body, making your mind blank until the only thing you can ever remember it’s this incredible sensation of Baekhyun’s cock inside you.

You don't even have time to get down from your high that Baekhyun pulls on your hair to make you face him and kneel before him. He violently pumps his fist around his cock.

"I'm gonna cum in your mouth. Baby open wide" Without even a second thought you open your mouth and stick your tongue out more than happy to welcome his warm cum.

Finally Baekhyun shoots to the back of your throat and all over your face. You look delighted as so much thick cum coats your tongue and cheeks, the delicious bitter and manly taste spreads in your mouth and makes your head dizzy.

You fully savour his cum playing with it in your mouth before swallowing it all. Baekhyun looks at you with a satisfied smile. He taught you well. His eyes turn to your husband again.

"Now Kiss her. I want you to taste my cum in your beloved wife's mouth".

To Seokjong it's an unexpected miracle. He quickly scoots over to you and happily links your lips together. The bitter taste spreads to his mouth as he thoroughly licks and sucks your tongue, not forgetting one corner of your mouth.

Seokjong never told you either, but with time he also came to anticipate the visits to Mr Byun's house.

You both liked the thrill of doing something so bad, so wrong. But it felt so right and both of you were hooked.

Baekhyun smirked, a carnivorous smile plastered on his face. In the end, he both transformed you. He was proud of turning a happy couple into to two adulterous sex hungry freaks.

"See you next month"

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

if you’re still doing the ask game, I’d kill to see number five for either Jake, Jameson, or Jax. you know how I love my drug whump

I have so many prompts sitting in my inbox that are numbers to ask games that I can't remember what the prompts were... but I remember this one. This is as good a time as any...

CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, drugged whumpee, beating, described body/bones, brief emeto ref, restrained, sadistic whumper, collared, chained up

Direct Sequel to Deep Breath / I'm Ready. Part of the Jameson's Backstory mini-series.

"I have a system, dog. I have a method. I have a way these things are done."

Robert punctuates each sentence with another kick to his ribs, and the pet grunts with the impact, telling himself to let some of the pain bleed out into the man's boot. With his hands tied behind his back, a short rope linking them to his ankles, he's forced into an arch that leaves his most vulnerable places entirely unprotected.

Open.

On display.

Inviting the next blow.

At least whatever was forced down his throat dulls things a little bit. It's a mercy, he thinks, because Robert isn't done with him yet. The world roils and spins around him like the ocean on a stormy day. The pet is a white-capped wave when the next kick comes and something snaps inside him.

Watch it rain, a soft voice says somewhere inside him. A small hand grabs his own. Watch the rain fall, Johnny. Don't you love rain?

He whimpers, sweating into the blindfold, shivering reflexively as cool air hits the sheen of wet over his skin. He doesn't know who Johnny is.

"Please... please..." His pleading is weak, voice cracked and breaking.

But he just wanted to do the only thing he could to help the young man in the bathtub. He just wanted to help.

Now he's helpless.

Robert's boot, pulled back for the next kick, pauses at the sound. "What's that? You not enjoying this?" He exhales, letting out a thready laugh, before he drops into a crouch, running his hands over the pet's hair. Robert watches him flinch back, unable to see it coming. His thumb finds a spot rubbed bald by the straps of the muzzle and he runs over it, humming, finding the scarred places where the muzzle has cut in enough to make him bleed, over and over. The pad of his thumb is rough, calloused from his job. "You don't like taking your punishment, hm? Is that it?"

The pet holds as still as he can, panting, trying to push past the throbbing ache on his left side. Broken rib, maybe, or just bruised. He'll find out if it heals right or doesn't.

"Please-... please stop," He whispers.

That only gets him another laugh, meaner this time. "That boy had two more weeks of life left in him," Robert says, in a tone of perfect rationality. "I chose him special, and you got it in your head to ruin everything. I just don't see how I'm the bad guy here."

He sighs, and rips the blindfold off over the pet's head.

The pet looks up, struggling to focus, only to take a fist to the face as soon as he does. Knuckles crack into his jaw, but nothing breaks. It's a miracle he hasn't lost any teeth.

His head bounces off the floor, a flash of white behind his eyes. He hears a rough voice cry out in pain and realizes it's his own. The world, already a seasick cruise ship, bobs even more dangerously around him.

He's being blown around in circles, saltwater coming in too fast to bail out. He's going to be sick. He's going to throw up on the floor and drown.

Just like he drowned the man in the bathtub who begged him to do it, who said I'm ready, who held his hand, who struggled at the end and then stopped, and then-

And then...

The air had gone briefly cold after the man had stopped moving and the pet had felt a breeze through his hair, as if something in the man was leaving and moved past him on its way somewhere else.

He starts to cry, unwillingly.

His sobs comes out through gritted teeth, tears forced out of eyes he's closed as tightly as he can to try and keep them hidden. His body shakes.

"Two weeks you've robbed me of," Robert says, standing back up. He groans, and the pet can hear him moving around the room. He doesn't dare look up to watch him, not now. "Two weeks, and now it's all wrong. Now nothing happened the right way, it's all fucked up now. I have a system. I have a method, I have a routine, and you fucked it all up!"

The last words come out a deafening scream, and the pet cries out again, trying as hard as he can to duck his head and hunch his shoulders, wanting only to protect himself in whatever meager way he can. The sound of Robert's voice bounces around inside his fucked-up skull. The water is pulling him under now.

The waves lurch and break against him as Robert grabs him by the arms and drags him. Hog-tied, he can do little more than squirm as he's pulled back into the hallway, to the grimy bathroom.

The young man isn't in there anymore.

"I should kill you," Robert snaps, depositing him back on the cold tile, wet now with water splashed out from when Robert found what he had done and had dragged the body out, trying to revive it so he could hurt the young man more. "I should fucking kill you, you stupid dog. You ruined everything!"

The pet tips his head back until it touches the floor, looks up at Robert looming over him, all malevolence and rage. Beyond his fear, the pet finds a core of something that burns bright and hot, stronger than the smell from the basement. Something sharper than the knives he is cut with, something stronger than Robert's shouting or his fists.

The pet makes an expression that could be a smile or could be a snarl. It could be appeasement or bared fangs. His lip busted at some point and he feels blood on his teeth, tastes it on his tongue.

It makes him think of Nanda.

He lets the blood shift into his mouth, lets it pool on his tongue. Tastes the copper-salt, the hint of sweet. The taste of love, of Nanda's mouth, of his low voice, hands in his hair or on his hips.

Once he has enough, the pet spits blood into Robert's stupid fucking face.

"I hope the next one goddamn kills you first!"

Robert goes still, and silent. His eyes are ringed in white, like a horse about to bolt. Then his hand comes up to slowly wipe away the smear of pink-tinged saliva on his cheekbone running down to his jaw, marked with a five o'clock shadow.

"Fucking dogs don't know how to stop their bark," He mutters to himself. Whatever his plan in the bathroom had been, it's clearly not enough. He pulls the pet up, then lets him fall again. Stares around, eyes bouncing over the still-full tub, the ring of grime around the tub where the water still sits.

Then he just shakes his head. "No, no, no," He mumbles. "No no. Calm it, Bobby. Calm it. Think think think."

The pet stares up at him. His body holds more disgust in that moment than he ever thought possible.

Robert disappears back into the hallway, leaving the pet where he is. Outside the barred bathroom window there's a soft birdsong and the faint hint of sunlight. What time even is it? The pet never knows. The bathroom is the only window that isn't covered with heavy blackout drapes almost all the time.

He focuses on breathing, keeping things shallow to hold the pain in his ribs at bay as best he can. His wrists hurt from the ropes rubbing them raw, his muscles are pulled painfully taut and stretched.

Robert returns with the gag-muzzle, forcing the plastic bit between his teeth. His tongue pushes against it uselessly, working to try and make it comfortable even as his jaw already protests what it knows is coming. The straps slide over the bald spots, buckle into place. The pet shudders at the familiarity of the feeling and tries instinctively to jerk his head to the side.

Robert grabs him by the hair and forces his head back, giving a humorless rictus grin at the pained grunt forced from the pet's throat. "Oh, you don't like that, huh? Shoulda thought of that before you fucking ruined my system. My method. My routine."

You said that already, the pet thinks, but it occurs to him Robert probably doesn't remember that. He's never sure what Robert actually knows about his own words, how much sinks in to memory. He's always repeating things like it's the first time he's ever said them.

The rope between his wrists and ankles is cut and Robert pulls him up to his feet, shoving him forward. The drugs keep the pet struggling to hold himself upright, stumbling to one side or the other. He can still feel the waves - inside him, battering, trying to pull him back under the cold dark water.

He goes willingly enough, shuffling with his hobbled ankles, until Robert has him at the basement door.

The pet rears back in a sudden panicked realization, a muffled, unintelligible babbled plea coming out around the bit, behind the leather muzzle already making his skin pour sweat. He shakes his head wildly back and forth, tries to yank himself free.

Robert's laugh is wild and crazed this time as he shoves the pet forwards and it's either go down the stairs or fall.

The pet's foot finds cool smooth old wood that creaks and he whimpers, the smell flooding his nose making his stomach twist and turn. The next step. A third. A fourth.

The light is on in the basement, a single bare bulb shining a thin circle of light over the disturbed earth on one side. The other side is untouched except for some boxes and the chemical barrels, wreathed in dark shadows that let nothing escape.

"You like 'em so much, you can spend the night with 'em, huh? Just have a little sleepover with my friends here, hm? How's that sound? How that fucking sound?!"

The pet whines as Robert screams in his ear, shaking his head again and again as he is forced step by step down into the basement where they die, where he buries them. His bare feet touch down onto the earthen floor, coolly dry down here, chilly compared to the upstairs. The pet is shivering but it isn't really from the cold.

Goosebumps burst all over his arms and legs, a thrill of terror down his spine as Robert pulls him over to the shadowed corner where the boxes are. There's a hinged metal collar with a chain that attaches to the wall, and the pet realizes that Robert must use it when they're down here just before Robert throws him down on the ground and closes the metal with a snnnnkt over his leather collar, around his neck.

There's thigh bones, he thinks, in a pile over underneath the lightbulb. Just a bunch of fucking goddamn femurs, like Robert comes down here to play fucking barbie dolls with dead people, taking them apart and putting them back together.

Welcome to Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse, he thinks, and a manic horrified laugh bubbles up his throat. John Wayne Gacy edition.

A padlock is hooked through the front of the collar, cold metal slapping down against the top of the pet's collarbone. He looks up at Robert, who is right in front of the light bulb from his perspective, his face black and unreadable.

Please, he tries to say. I'm sorry. Please. All that comes out is muffled animal whines.

"You love them so fucking much, you can be best friends." Robert ruffles his hair. He grins, and the yellowy white of his teeth is all the pet can see of his face. "Enjoy your sleepover, dog."

He turns and leaves, ignoring the pleading whines of the pet as he climbs up the stairs, the creaking like a chorus, a harmony to the pet's cries for this to not be real.

The light seems to shimmer around its edges - it's just the drugs, he tells himself, it's just whatever was in those pills - and shift. Dead people could hide down here in the dark places, with their bony fingers reaching out to grab him.

He whimpers again, softer this time.

He manages to shuffle himself on his ass backwards until he hits the basement wall, smooth stone older than the house itself. His hands are still tied behind him and his ankles are still hobbled. Tears run from his eyes, drift along the edge of the muzzle, drip down from his jaw into the dirt. He sobs around the bit gag, whining until he can't remember if he even is human at all any longer.

Then he sees a face and gives a full-body shudder.

At first he thinks it's the drugs, but it's not. The young man who begged him for help, the reason he's down here at all, isn't buried yet. He's just lying on the ground under a worktable on the other side of the basement. His hands are still tied together in front of him, his soaking wet hair has begun to dry, frizzy and tangled.

Something about the face, though, gives him pause.

He's seen them dead before, their faces etched in horrified screaming, empty eyes wide and terrified. He's seen them trapped in their final agonies long after they're gone.

But the young man across the basement looks like he's gone to sleep there on the floor, that's all. His color's all wrong but the dim light keeps that from being too obvious.

He looks like he's sleeping.

He didn't die screaming under Robert's knife, or begging for it to stop as the blows kept raining down. He isn't tied to Robert's bed, he isn't anything like that at all.

The pet's fear is still in him, heart beating jackrabbit-fast against the inside of his chest, but he stares and stares at the young man's body and begins to understand that... he doesn't need to be afraid of them.

He doesn't need to be afraid.

He needs to be angry that they die like this, not afraid of them.

Anger is what keeps him breathing, what keeps him thinking, what keeps him alive.

He made Robert furious, but more importantly he took a victory from him, he took power from him. He took away control. He made it so Robert can't feel like he owns the young man in his death, like the body is his because he made it.

No.

As long as he isn't dead, that means he isn't out of time. As long as he keeps breathing, as long as he keeps thinking, as long as there are parts of him that Robert doesn't know, doesn't own, that he can't control.

As long as he stays angry.

As long as he has hope.

I'm going to get out of here, he promises the young man's body, the pile of bones, the rest of them under the soil. I'm going to escape. I'm going to do something, someday, when he gives me the chance.

I'm not like him.

I'm not like any of them.

I want to be like you, instead, but alive. I want to live.

I'm going to live.

For a second he smells water, he hears a voice he can't understand and tastes the young man's voice on his tongue, the taste of sage tea with milk.

The pet swallows and closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose, holding the air, breathing out again. The air shifts around him, touches his face just above the muzzle.

In the perfectly still basement, a breeze shifts along his skin, rustles his hair just a little.

Something moving past him on its way to somewhere else.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

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