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my-meadowlark · 2 years

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fic: monster mash [supergirl - kara danvers/lena luthor]

Title: Monster Mash Fandom: Supergirl Characters/Pairing: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor Rating: E Word Count: 3,134 Content warnings: Smut, Kara's cowboy impersonation Summary: The last thing Lena wants to be doing is hosting L Corp's Halloween party, but as the CEO, it's not like she has a choice. She doesn't like Halloween, she doesn't like the people at the party, she doesn't like that the best friend she has unrequited feelings for couldn't come to the party, and -- as if that wasn't enough -- she especially doesn't like Supergirl's cowboy hat. But sometimes all you need is a helpful super-heroine and an empty office to discover a newfound appreciation for celebrating All Hallows' Eve. Prompts used: "Monster Mash by Bobby Pickett" for the Halloween Bingo at @mfbingo "Celebratory Sex" for Kinktober Bingo "Kara" for Supercorptober 2022

Read on AO3 HERE or under the cut.

"Welcome to the L Corp Halloween dance!"

Lena hears herself say the words in her best corporate voice. Just this side of enthusiastic. Almost sincere. She smiles for the press and shakes hands with all the important people she has absolutely no interest in beyond the name recognition they bring to any event.

There are very few holidays Lena Luthor hates more than Halloween. And she uses the term holiday loosely.

"Miss Luthor! A picture, please?"

Lena flashes the photographer a smile that doesn't even attempt to reach her eyes.

She's never been a fan of Halloween, but this year she's feeling particularly curmudgeonly towards it. Maybe because she's getting more and more tired of feeling like everything she does has to count as networking somehow. Maybe because the one relationship that truly feels hers -- hers, not L Corp's – has accidentally crossed the line from friendship to a hopeless, very much unrequited crush. Maybe because her party is full of reporters but the only one she wants to see had to stay home to get her approaching deadlines under control.

Maybe Lena just needs a drink.

Maybe – she thinks when she finishes her drink and her mood hasn't improved one bit – she needs two.

And she's on her way to get it when she's intercepted by someone dressed up as Supergirl. Someone who very clearly did not get the memo that this is not a costume party. Just a party that happens to fall on Halloween.

But when Lena looks up at the Supergirl impersonator's face, she realizes it's actually...

"Supergirl."

In a cowboy hat, may she add. Supergirl in a cowboy hat. She swears she only had the one drink.

"Howdy," Supergirl says, touching the rim of her hat and winking at Lena in a way that's not even flirty. It's just friendly. Borderline goofy, even. So why – Lord, why – is Lena suddenly feeling like someone's cranked up the party's temperature by at least ten degrees?

"Are you all right?" Supergirl asks, suddenly serious. There's this... this concern in bright blue eyes that's devastatingly sincere and makes Lena think of another set of blue eyes that look at her like that sometimes.

And she can't have that. She can't—she can't stand here and try to mingle and network all evening while her brain is full of the kind of thoughts that can only be entertained when there's free time for wallowing in self-pity while rewatching Titanic. She just can't.

"I'm fine."

She very clearly is not. Supergirl either doesn't notice, or chooses to ignore it.

"I think I saw a bar over yonder," Supergirl says in an atrociously bad accent that Lena can't even place, "wanna go wet your whistle?"

Lena feels her skin flush pink, Supergirl's display of-- whatever that was working for her somehow. She purses her lips and shifts on her feet, thighs rubbing together as she considers her options. She could go have another drink or two or three or however many it takes to put her brain in stasis for the night. But that would not be too conductive to networking.

Or.

She could do the adult thing. Have a conversation with Supergirl. A mature conversation about double checking dress code instructions when receiving a party invitation and how she should never, ever, say 'wet your whistle' in her presence again.

"Pardner?" Supergirl attempts to pull Lena back out of her thoughts, and the combination of that goofy accent and the genuinely caring smile on Supergirl's face is nearly enough to make Lena choose option A and order a dozen stiff drinks.

Nearly enough.

"You," Lena says, and it comes out like she’s accusing Supergirl of something, "come with me. My office."

“All righty,” Supergirl says, already following Lena towards the elevator. At least it’s not yeehaw, Lena figures. Small victories.

It’s the longest elevator ride in history. It must be. Lena stares intently at the vertical line between the closed sliding doors, trying to ignore the fact that Supergirl is right there, right behind her.

When the elevator finally, mercifully dings and the doors slide open, Lena lets out a breath she hadn’t even noticed she’d been holding.

“Lena, seriously,” Supergirl’s hand wraps around Lena’s bicep, gently, and something about knowing how much self-control that must take for someone who can crush cars between her hands makes a shiver run down Lena’s spine, “are you all right? You’re kinda worrying me.”

“I’m fine,” she lies once again, pulling herself free from Supergirl’s grip and walking towards her desk.

“Well, somebody's poisoned the waterhole.”

Lena freezes mid-step. She recognizes that line. She recognizes that line because Kara’s been making Lena sit through the entire Disney-Pixar catalog to make up for everything she missed during her childhood, and they watched Toy Story just a couple movie nights ago.

“Okay,” Lena says, turning around and pointing her index finger at Supergirl, “that stops now.”

“What?”

“That. The cowboy…” Lena gestures in the general direction of Supergirl, “everything. Enough.”

“But why? It’s Halloween! Come on, Lena, yee your haw.”

Lena frowns. Stares at Supergirl like she can’t believe she just said that. Subtly pulls on the satiny fabric of her own dress because it’s just so hot in here for some reason.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just need—“ A quick lobotomy. An ice-cold shower. Hard liquor. “I need—“

Supergirl does it again. She looks at Lena like that again, concerned and sincere and like she cares so much. Like she’s desperate to fix whatever’s wrong. Like she’d do anything to make Lena feel better.

“Lena,” Supergirl says, strong fingers ever so gently wrapping around Lena’s wrist, and Lena swears she can feel her own pulse against Supergirl’s warm skin, and she feels her eyes flutter closed against her will, “just tell me. Anything you need.”

It’s something in the way Supergirl’s voice sounds when Lena has her eyes closed. Some kind of deep brain connection that sparks alive when she hears her voice like that. Lena will blame that for what happens next.

Because one second she’s standing there with her eyes closed and the next her eyes are still closed but she’s kissing Supergirl instead. It’s greedy and hungry and immediately — and enthusiastically — returned and Lena is so glad everyone’s busy with the party because she’s not sure she’d be able to stop even if every single reporter in the building walked into her office right now.

Lena presses her free hand against the crest on Supergirl’s chest to guide her towards the glass wall behind Lena’s desk. Supergirl’s back meets the glass with a soft thud, and she sighs into Lena’s mouth as she grabs Lena’s ass to press her closer, deepening the kiss, and Lena is so glad she chose to have a mature talk about this.

There’s a moment when Supergirl sucks on Lena’s tongue, lightly, and Lena’s knees buckle under her weight, and Supergirl holds her up and keeps kissing her without missing a single beat and Lena is pretty sure this is how she dies (and that’s ok) except suddenly it all stops.

“Oh!” Supergirl pants against Lena’s lips. “I love this song.”

“What?”

“They’re playing the Monster Mash at the party,” Supergirl explains like this is normal behavior, head bopping slightly to a rhythm Lena can (thankfully) not hear.

“Okay. Supergirl?” Lena extricates herself from Supergirl’s arms. “I need you to focus.”

She’s sure having superhearing makes tuning things out a little harder than it is for regular humans, so Lena decides to help her out. She crouches down just enough to wrap her fingers around the hem of her dress and starts pulling it up her legs, but when it’s just above her knees she hears Supergirl’s voice humming quietly. Humming the freaking Monster Mash.

“No singing.” She can tolerate the cowboy hat but she draws the line at having sex to the tune of that song.

“Aw, but I—“ Supergirl suddenly sees what’s right in front of her, blue eyes darkening as they roam up Lena’s legs and up where the dress is bunched up mid-thigh.

“Oh.”

Lena smirks. That’s more like it. And she wants to reward Supergirl’s redirected attention by taking her dress off, but suddenly Supergirl’s hands are on Lena’s, stilling them.

“No,” she says, voice just husky enough to make Lena feel it right between her legs, “leave it on.”

And then one of Supergirl’s hands is under her dress and Supergirl kisses her again, slow and deep in a way that feels almost like she’s showing off, and Lena suddenly feels the edge of her desk against her ass and she slides her fingers into the softest blond hair to have something to hold on to.

Not that Supergirl seems likely to let go any time soon.

Especially not when her hand slides up the inside of Lena’s left thigh and Lena can feel the exact moment she realizes just how wet she is because Supergirl moans quietly into Lena’s mouth and her breath catches in her throat.

Supergirl’s fingers press against damp lace and Lena moves her hands to strong biceps, feeling the muscle through the material of her suit.

And then, something changes. It’s a split second. Lena pulls back from the kiss to take in a breath and she opens her eyes and sees Supergirl looking into them, and for a second she thinks she sees—

But before Lena can let the thought fully form in her head, Supergirl grabs her waist and turns her around so the edge of the desk is now against her lower stomach, and then Supergirl presses herself against Lena’s back and moves her hair out of the way so she can kiss her neck and whisper a soft, “Is this okay?” which travels up Lena’s spine leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yes,” Lena breathes out, both hands on the cold surface of the desk, “yes, don’t stop.”

If it was an important thought, she’s sure it’ll come back later.

Because right now she has more important things to focus on. Like Supergirl hiking the skirt of her dress up over Lena’s ass and leaving it bunched up around her waist. Supergirl holds her there, strong hands on Lena’s hips and soft lips trailing kisses down the back of Lena’s neck, below the clasp of her necklace, down her spine, making Lena so very glad she chose a dress with a very, very low back.

Supergirl sinks down to her knees and Lena bends over her desk, already knowing she will need all the support she can take.

“That’s pretty,” Supergirl says almost to herself, fingers hooking under the elastic of Lena’s lacy black thong. She pulls it down over the curve of Lena’s ass and halfway down her thighs, following its path with a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses that have Lena struggling to keep any air in her lungs.

“Still okay?” Supergirl asks, sincere as always even when her lips ghost over the spot where Lena’s right ass cheek meets her thigh.

The simple question makes all the warmth pooling on Lena’s lower stomach relocate to her chest for just a moment, and her voice comes out slightly shaky when she manages to speak.

“Yes.” Lena feels Supergirl’s lips on the back of her thigh and Supergirl’s hands on her ass, pushing just enough to spread her pussy lips open. “Yes.”

“So pretty,” Supergirl all but whispers, almost awed, and that’s really the last thing Lena can process because next thing she feels is Supergirl’s mouth on her cunt.

She doesn’t know exactly what Supergirl is doing — whether she’s using her alien powers or this is just plain superhuman skill — but Lena doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked this effectively in her life.

Flushed cheek rests against the cold surface of her desk, fingers gripping the edge of it like she’s scared she might lose all sense of reality if she lets go. Supergirl’s lips are around her clit and then her tongue is inside Lena and then teeth nip at swollen, dripping lips and all Lena can do is moan her encouragement and let Supergirl do whatever she wants to her. And then—

Lena hears the spank before she feels it, somehow, the sound of skin of skin thrilling between her legs right where Supergirl’s mouth keeps working its magic. It takes a fraction of a second for the sting on her ass cheek to fully register, and then Lena is fighting her incoherent brain to let out intelligible words instead of desperate moans.

“Oh—kay,” she manages, not without difficulty, just because she’s fairly sure she will die if Supergirl stops what she’s doing to check in on her feelings regarding being spanked right now, “I’m o— fuck,” one of Lena’s hands lets go of the edge of the desk just so she can slam it on the cool glass surface instead, thighs quaking as every flick of Supergirl’s tongue pushes her closer to her release, “don’t stop. Justdon’tstop.

And Supergirl doesn’t. There’s lips and teeth and God, that tongue, and another spank on Lena’s already sensitive skin and when Lena finally comes she presses her own hand against her mouth to keep herself from screaming but even she realizes just how ineffective it is.

She repeats Supergirl’s name like a chant, a little softer each time as Supergirl helps her ride out every wave with her mouth.

Lena’s muscles are still weakly contracting when she feels herself land back on Earth. Supergirl’s still between her legs, but her mouth feels gentler now — almost lazy, like she’s no longer doing this for Lena but for her own enjoyment. And Lena, still trying to catch her breath, is more than happy to oblige.

When Supergirl finally pulls away it’s with a sigh, something content and almost dreamy, and for a split second Lena has that feeling once again — that spark of something that could become a fully formed thought if she’d let it. But she won’t let it. Not right now, when she feels fully relaxed for the first time in weeks and her body feels weightless and like it’s made of lead at the same time.

So she focuses on the present instead. On the way Supergirl ever so carefully pulls Lena’s thong back into place. The way she kisses the lacy triangle and then the still tingling skin on Lena’s ass cheek before fixing the skirt of Lena’s dress and letting it fall into place once again.

Lena hears the slight rustle of the fabric of Supergirl’s suit as she gets back on her feet, and then Supergirl’s slick lips pressing a kiss to her shoulderblade.

“Better?” She asks, voice lower than before — lower than ever — as it hits Lena’s skin.

Lena nods and takes it as her cue to at least attempt to stand up straight and see if her knees will support her. Supergirl, unsurprisingly, is right there for Lena to hold on to as needed until she feels like she can stand on her own two feet.

“Thanks,” Lena says, feeling a little ridiculous the second the word leaves her lips. But she figures it’s really only polite.

Supergirl chuckles. “Hey. My pleasure.”

Lena just takes her in for a moment. The bright blue eyes and the even brighter smile and that stupid cowboy hat and her lips and chin glistening with Lena, and Lena doesn’t even know how she feels. Doesn’t even know how she’s supposed to feel. So maybe grateful will do just fine.

“Here. Let me—“ Lena reaches for the box of tissues on her desk and grabs a couple of them to wipe Supergirl’s face clean. She only realizes it’s a mistake when she notices the way Supergirl looks at her as she works — the way Supergirl’s breath hits her lips in warm puffs and Lena’s heart can’t seem to find its rhythm. And she knows Supergirl can hear.

“There,” she says, voice quiet and suddenly almost bashful, which is absurd after what just happened between them.

“Thanks.” Supergirl echoe’s Lena’s word from before, and her hand wraps around Lena’s fingers, and it’s suddenly a bit too much. It’s suddenly a bit too close to the way she feels about— It’s too much.

“Supergirl,” Lena starts, taking one step back, “you know this was—“

“Nothing,” Supergirl finishes with a smile and something Lena is completely unwilling to acknowledge in her eyes, “I know. Just… a Halloween celebration, right?”

Lena lets out a quiet chuckle. “Right. I’m nothing if not festive.”

“You could even call it a—“

Lena knows what’s coming. She knows what’s coming so she puts one finger up and opens her mouth to stop her, but Supergirl has Superspeed after all, and she finishes her sentence anyway.

“Monster mash. If you will.”

Lena stares for a second. “I will not.”

Supergirl laughs, something light and genuine, and it works to clear the energy in the room somehow.

“Oh!” Supergirl’s eyes round in delight, and she grabs Lena’s wrist once again, pulling her along towards the elevator. “They’re playing it again. Giddy up! We’re can’t miss it this time.”

And Lena is a bit too relaxed to argue with her.

***

On November 1st, Lena wakes up slightly hungover. Nothing scandalous. In her defense, you need a certain level of alcohol in your blood to endure a night of dancing to ridiculous songs with a superheroine who is fully committed to her Woody impersonation. All things considered, Lena thinks four drinks was close to angelic.

But she still feels… is guilty the right word? She’s not ashamed. Not embarrassed. She shouldn’t feel guilty, either. But when she walks into Kara’s workplace with two coffees and an extra jam-filled donut, she feels like she’s maybe trying to atone for something not even she can name.

Her mood lifts the second she sees Kara, bright and beautiful even this early in the morning. Lena often feels like she has her own personal sun to orbit around, and today is no exception. Especially when she notices Kara seems to be in an extra good mood this morning, smile even wider than usual as she does a cute little dance by the copy machine.

Lena takes a few steps closer, fully intending to surprise Kara with her favorite breakfast treats, but the second she’s close enough to hear the song Kara’s quietly singing as she dances, all she can do is freeze and keep herself from dropping the coffees on the floor.

They did the monster mash (The monster mash) It was a graveyard smash (They did the mash) It caught on in a flash (They did the mash) They did the monster mash

#fanfiction #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fic #supercorptober2022 #mf halloween bingo #kinktober bingo #kinktober 2022 #my fic

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swampstew · 7 months

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Eustass Kid, G-49 ~ Glory Hole

Summary: Sea-trow: a malignant or mischievous fairy or spirit, regarded as monstrous giants at times. Trows are nocturnal creatures, they venture out of their 'trowie knowes' (earthen mound dwellings) solely in the evening, and often enter households as the inhabitants sleep. Trows traditionally have a fondness for music, kidnapping musicians or luring them to their dens, and having sexual intercourse with women on their land. They are regarded as hideous creatures that are hung like horses. This is the story of their glow up and thriving business model.

Warnings: Spicy, modern monster au, Eustass Kid as a Sea-Trow, Female reader, glory hole/reverse glory hole trope, fingering and vaginal penetration, creampie, degradation, calling reader slut and pet names, Kid being an amazing Dom. Not edited cause I'm stoned and sleepy. Word Count: 2K

Visiting a glory hole was one of your secret kinks – always too shy to share with anyone you’d ever been intimate with. Even soft voyeurism suggestions like car sex while in your relationships gave you surprised and shocked looks. Tempering your appetites, you hid a part of yourself under lock and key until circumstances found you free again. Emboldened, excited for adventure, ready to shed the weight of judgment – you were finally going to try it out.

Your fantasy included either having your body used at a glory hole or visiting one to play at. Due to the stigma, glory holes became nearly extinct. In fact, you had to resort to using the internet to finding any, but thanks to the help of some kink friendly resources and associates, you found a list of the last remaining glory holes, and to your delight, it was a global map.

Deciding to cash in your hoarded holiday time at work, you booked a flight overseas to visit an online friend in the kink community you felt safe with. They offered to go with you as well, for the experience and to be your buddy in case things went wrong. It made you feel better, though you still felt timid as you parked in a dim parking lot adjacent to a nearly deserted beach.

The air was breezy but not too cold, just shy of the fall weather, and music was pounding from the shack down the beach. Some people filtered in and out, some smoked down by the shoreline, but the shack doors were always forcibly closed as soon as someone cleared the threshold.

Exhaling away your anxiety, you entered. Then you stepped through another double set of doors. Then you were inside.

Down the hallway were picture frames of the…options. None showed their faces, but they showed everything else. Magnificent physiques, sculpted bodies, chubby bodies, scarred bodies, eccentric styles, colorful hair and painted nails accessorized their bodies – but the draw of course, were their huge cocks.

Your jaw dropped – certain you’ve never seen them that big before. Under each frame was a short bio and the person’s house name, and what the list of kinks they were into. There were two options: glory hole, reverse glory hole.

“Some of our young stallions don’t mind showing their face,” a tall woman with an old-fashioned crown on her head walked towards them with a clipboard in hand. “Quincy, house madam. You’re in luck, a few of our studs are available.”

“Which ones?” your friend inquired.

Quincy’s hair bounced as she flounced to each picture frame, sometimes turning the frame to show a face. A man with long blue locks that partially covered his thorn tattoos, a man with a burned right arm and massive pecs with flowing blonde mane, a sculpted man so tall the picture was taken with a wide lens scope. A handful more were shown but your eyes stayed glued to the frame of the heavily scarred man with a metal prosthetic arm, bulging drool-inducing muscles on a buff frame, red happy trail that led down to his generously proportioned cock, framed with that same red hair.

The madam noticed your staring and with a smirk flipped the frame over. Revealing a gorgeous face with equally heavy scarring. Fiery red hair styled in tufts, heavy black eyeliner defined his sharp, golden eyes, and deep matte red lipstick gracing a handsome smile. Your heart was pounding.

“Would you like to use him?” Quincy asked. You nodded, unable to speak from such a parched mouth. “I’m sure he’ll be excited to meet you. If this is your first time, I’d recommend the reverse hole, especially with a beast like him.”

Sheer heat pooled between your legs as you nodded.

“Right this way.”

-- Quincy placed you in a small room that was partially lit with candles, peering at all the framed photos of The Bull as you undressed. You sat on the custom bench that was mounted to the partition wall – a large heart shaped hole in the wall with a harness to strap you in and hold your legs back.

“Ya’know the rules, darling?” a gruff voice came from the other side of the wall, making you jump in surprise. “The safe words an’ everything?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you, “Y-yes. The three color system: green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Thass’good lass. Was told this is y’first time in a place like this – don’t pretend you enjoy something if y’don’t. Say something, ya hear?”

“Y-yes.”

He let out a light chuckle, “Ooh a shy one eh? I’ll show ya a good time, don’t y’worry. Ready to strap in?”

“Uh, um one moment,” you gasp, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. All you had to do was lay down on the bench, scoot your ass through the hole, put the harness around your thighs to keep you up, but you were moving sluggishly. Red flushing your body as you came to the precipice of a fantasy you had long suppressed, long been shamed for.

“Oi,” his voice was soft, “Having regrets?”

With a wavering voice you summarize the shame you felt and bad experiences, tears spilling down your face completely embarrassed.

“S’ok, darling. There’s no shame here,” he whispered. “Want me to strap you in?”

“Ye-yess, erm, is that…is that allowed?”

“TCH. O’course it’s allowed. I own the feckin place.”

You were surprised to find that the hollow partition wall had a door behind the floor length mirror so you jumped again when The Bull ducked inside your side of the room. His photos didn’t do him justice. He was practically a giant compared to you. Large limbed, every bit as good looking in the flesh, the way his eyes pierced you made you feel like you were seen for the first time. That you would be ok in his hands.

He held out his hand, a pleased grin curled on his face when you grabbed it. Gently shifting you down the cherry oak wood, massaging your bare bottom as he eased you into the opening, caressing your calves and thighs as he slipped on the harness straps.

“Thassa good lass indeed,” he purred, “So shy and obedient. I’ll give ya somethin’ special I don’t do for no one else if yer honest with me,” he said. With his flesh hand he cupped your mound, making you shudder and moan at the contact. “How’s it feel?”

“G-good!” you were breathless.

“Ya’ lyin?”

“No-no! I’m green, good to go!”

His face relaxed and he grinned again, “Good.” He then plunged a thick digit into your pussy making you clench and squeak in pleasure. He thrusted shallowly a few times before pulling out, wiping his finger down your body until he cupped your cheek. “I’m gonna have fun with ya. Pull more squeaks from ya, little mouse.”

He smashed his red lips into yours with ravenous need, leaving you panting and pleading for more. He pulled away with a teasing nip on your bottom lip, looking at you with a devious smirk. He leaned back down and pressed an open-mouth kiss on your neck, sucking it harshly to leave a mark.

“So everyone here knows you’re my little plaything,” He fondled one breast while he sucked the nipple of the other before leaving to his side again.

“Ready fer’me darling?” his voice was deeper, huskier.

“Yy-yes, I’m ready,” your hips wiggled impatiently.

“First things first, dirty girl,” he mocked you, lightly slapping a rubber packet on your clit making you arch your back. “I don’t shoot my load in ya unless y’buy me dinner first.”

Before you could giggle, you choked out a gasp as he rubbed his stiff cock between your folds, jutting against your clit. He teased you while muttering out all the things he would do to you, all the positions he’d have you in just to see your cute face pinched in ecstasy – you felt his metal hand slap the wall making it tremble. Rubbing his thumb on your clit with more pressure, keeping his tip at the edge of you entrance to feel you clench around nothing, so close to penetrating you but not quite there.

“Wassa mistake seein’ ya,” his voice sounded restrained, “I wanta bust on yer face instead of in this feckin rubber piece o’shit!”

You heard him loudly grunt as he sunk into you, pushing out all the air from your lungs. He was stretching you far beyond what you’ve ever experienced and despite it burning just a wee bit, the pleasure was far overtaking the minor pain. His fat cock pressed against all the right areas making you pulse on him, your legs shook against the restraints as you tried to wrap your thighs around his hips.

“Ahhh shit,” he growled, “So feckin tight! Ease up or I won’t last long darling!”

You thought you were answering but instead a wail was ripped from your throat as he changed his pace from rapid thrusting to long, slow strokes. Coaxing your orgasm while tempering his own. His painted nails dug into the back of your thigh as his metal fingers dug into the wooden wall, slowly denting with the mounting pressure he applied.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been fucked so well, felt so full, felt like such a toy but still felt important enough to be taken care of. The Bull railed you over and over again, making it his personal mission to make sure you cum at least eight times before he was done with you.

“Thassa good pet!” he grunted after the seventh one. “Took me so well, d’ya want more special treatment?”

You babbled out what you hoped was a yes.

“Well well well, turns out you weren’t a wee mouse but a desperate bunny ready to be bred. Is’that what y’want darling? Want me to rip this condom off and bust on ya? Are you a kinky lass, wantin’ it inside ya? I think you’re a slutty little thing, slutty little bunny who wants m’cum dripping from her greedy hole. What’sit gonna be darling?”

“FU-FU FUCCCCKK MEEEE!!!!” you cried.

He hooted, “I already am darling!”

“FUUCK IT IN MEEEEEE!!!!”

“There’s my slutty bunny,” he grinned, and in one swift motion yanked the soiled rubber off his angry red cock, it bobbed in frustration at the sudden cool air and loss of tightness. With a moan, The Bull filled you up to the hilt in one swift thrust.

Shrieking at the overstimulation, your puffy clit throbbed against The Bull’s matted pubic hair as he ground into you. His forehead pressing into the wall as he bullied his cock into you deeper and deeper. Your toes curled as your last orgasm peaked, letting out a hoarse cry as your body shook from the heat that spread throughout you.

Your ears started ringing from the hazy pleasure that washed your body, vaguely aware of the man on the other side of the wall who was clutching your thighs and slamming his hips rabidly as he emptied himself inside you. Could hear his satisfied growl through the background noise, it sounded so far away and yet so near.

You came back to reality when you realized he was back in your side of the room, pulling your legs from the harness and wiping you down.

“There she is,” he grinned, “How’re ya feeling?”

“Go-good, no, fucking, fucking great,” you sigh tiredly.

“Heh, you look wiped out. You need to drink and eat. C’mon, I’m goin’ with ya.”

“You-you are?” you’re surprised as you pull your clothes on.

“Haah! Y’re takin’ me to dinner darling. I put a lotta work into rockin yer world, least ya could do is buy me a burger and beer! Learn my name or somethin’. Is’yer first time to this part of the world right? Y’ever hear about Sea-trowls?”

You hadn’t noticed before that his feet and hand had a hint of webbing between his digits, his feet themselves were shaped more like horse hooves. Despite the leather jacket he donned on, you could see the back of his neck seemed to glimmer, as if the skin on his back was less skin and more like scales.

“M’name’s Kid. What’s yers darling?”

11 tiles to go, 40 calls made so far.

#eustass kid #kinktober 2023 #raven's bingo board #raven's halloween party #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #swampstew stories #swampstew bedtime stories #eustass kid smut #eustass kid x reader #eustasscaptainkid #swampstew

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holylulusworld · 7 months

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Dreams of sharp teeth - Halloween

This story was written for @viking-raider's HALLOWEEN-KINKTOBER CHALLENGE. 🎃

This story was also written for @navybrat817 & @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕽𝖔𝖔 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝕬𝖑𝖑 𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜’𝖘 𝕿𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖘 - I used the following tropes:

An unwanted houseguest

Power outage

A string of unexplained deaths

Summary: People disappear in your sleepy town.

Work Name/Title: Dreams of sharp teeth

Author: Holylulusworld

Fandom: Henry Cavill (MI & Night hunter)

Ship: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Werewolf!August Walker

Square filled for @halloweenhorrorbingo: Square 3: Wouldn't even harm a fly.

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Halloween was always special to you. The costumes, carving pumpkins, and watching scary movies with your boyfriend.

Sadly, you are not allowed to leave your house tonight to watch the kids raid candy and have a few drinks with your friends.

A string of unexplained deaths keeps people in your sleepy little town awake. It’s not unusual for people to die or get killed in accidents. But these days, people disappear and never get found.

The few that got found were missing something important. Their hearts. That’s very unusual and concerning. Especially when the worst crime ever happening in your sleepy towns was when a few teenagers stole a car and crashed it.

Your boyfriend is somewhere across the country, and you are alone in the empty house, feeling a little under the weather as you caught a cold from one of the kids at the local library where you’re working at.

It feels like the hours passed by in a blink, and dusk falls soon after you dragged yourself out of bed. You yawn and try to get your legs to obey.

It’s a struggle but you manage to walk inside the kitchen to make some coffee.

You hate the dark liquid, but you are scared to fall asleep since the killings started - like everyone else in town. If only you can stay awake until dawn, the nightmares will go away.

The monotone noise the coffee brewer makes lures you into sleep again. Your eyes feel heavy, and you yawn once again. “I need to stay awake,” you remind yourself as you remember the dream you had last night.

Teeth - sharp and deadly haunt your dreams. And voices. Deep voice luring you in, calling for you in the darkness. They say your name and promise a life beyond your imagination.

Watching the coffee run into the cup you sigh. If only you could sleep for a few hours. It’s all you want and need. Your migraine is getting worse with every hour you force yourself to stay awake and you are so tired it’s painful.

“Just a few more hours,” you take a large sip of the bitter brew. “Hang on, Y/N. The curfew will be over soon. They will hunt the wolves killing the people in town down, and you can go back to your normal life.”

You chuckle as you realize that you tend to talk to yourself lately. With no one around, and no chance to leave the house, you are stuck here with too many thoughts running through your mind.

Maybe watching a movie will take your mind off the current situation in your town. You walk back inside your living room, searching for the remote control to switch the TV on. As you plop down onto the sofa, you groan as your bad knee cracks again.

“You’re getting old, Y/N,” you chuckle to yourself. “That’s payback for all the times you made fun of your mother for complaining about her age, and the little aches and pains that come with it.”

You take another sip of your coffee and switch to another channel. Horror movies are out of the question. The horror you experience in your dreams is enough.

Switching channels, you try to find anything else to watch but a horror movie. You sigh, as you end up watching a talk show.

Between sipping at the unwanted coffee and watching nonsense on TV you try not to fall asleep. Eyes trained on the tv you try to follow the conversation going on between the host and their guests. It’s boring but distracts you from the nightmare you had.

“It’s not that bad,” you lie to yourself while listening to the show. You are about to laugh about something the host said when the TV turns black. “NO!” All the lights go out, and you are sitting in darkness.

Not another power outage. That’s the last thing you need right now. Fear grips your heart hearing noise come from outside your house. You grab your phone and run toward the front door to double-check if you locked it.

It’s locked, and you feel a little safer. Next is the back door, and all the windows. You almost run upstairs to check on your bedroom window, only to find it closed too.

“Y/N, you need to calm down,” you tell yourself once again. It’s hard to remain calm while people in town disappear, and die, though. “Relax. This is only another power outage. Nothing will happen to you.”

It doesn’t matter that your doors are locked. You walk back inside the kitchen and get the biggest knife you own. Your boyfriend will call you paranoid or crazy when he comes back, but you don’t care.

Better safe than sorry.

You walk back upstairs when someone knocks at your door. It’s in the dead of the night, and you don’t want to open the door.

But what if one of your neighbors is in trouble?

Maybe Mrs. Sinclair, a widow who can barely walk. Or Annie, from three houses down, a nurse with a heart of gold. You cannot ignore them, not if someone is in trouble.

Turning back around, the knife still in your hands you silently walk down the stairs. You’re a good neighbor, but you don’t want whoever is standing in front of your door to know that you are at home.

You look through the peephole, frowning because you can’t see shit.

“Hi, miss. I’m Walter from across the street. Your new neighbor. I mean we moved to town some months ago, but I wasn’t around much lately.”

“Walter,” you whisper and try to remember the people who moved into the only vacant house in your neighborhood.

“Walter Marshall, miss. I was checking on the neighbors if anyone needs help,” he says. “I’m with the police.”

“I locked the doors, and my boyfriend is here with me,” you don’t know why you lie to Walter, but you do. “He checks the windows. We are good, really.”

He chuckles darkly, and you step away from the door. “Sweetie, we both know you are all alone. I can hear your heart racing and smell your fear.”

Smell your fear? How’s that even possible?

You only know one thing for sure - that you won’t open the door for him. No matter what. You step backward, almost knocking the small coffee table next to your couch over as he knocks again.

“Sweetie, open the door. It will make things so much easier for you and us.”

“Go away,” you shiver as he knocks again, louder this time. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t,” he almost sounds sorry. “Y/N, you are not having a cold. Didn’t you ask yourself why so many people died after you got scratched by the kid in the library?”

You shake your head. How can he know about the incident and your cold?

“We know because we were there that day,” another voice says. You feel his hands on you, holding your trembling body in a tight grip. His strong arms wrap around your body. “Let us help you before you hurt more people. It’s not your fault. We should’ve been there to guide you through this.”

“August, go easy on her. She doesn’t know,” your eyes widen when the front door opens. You are sure you locked it and now your neighbor invades your home. “Hold her tight, we need to bring her to the basement before the moon rises again. She cannot control her powers yet.”

“What do you want? Let me go! Now,” you grow and snarl in Walter’s direction. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. “I’ll kill you.”

“I know you are confused,” August whispers in your ear. “But you need to listen to us. The kid that bit you wasn’t a normal child. It was our cousin’s boy and a werewolf. He cannot control his instinct.”

“He’s a good boy. Usually, he wouldn't even harm a fly. But the full moon was close, and you tried to take the book out of his hands. We are sorry, but you are one of us now,” Walter steps closer to cup your face. “You need to come with us before you hurt more people.”

“So far, we were able to cover your attacks. If you run around town and attack more people, they will find out about our secret, and we cannot let this happen.”

“I don’t…understand. I was at the library and then I…” you frown. “I lost track of time. My boyfriend…I need to call him. I…”

“Sweetie,” Walter tries to calm you. Your eyes glow, and you snap your teeth in his direction. “This is going to be hard to stomach but...”

August holds you a little tighter before he says, “He was your first victim…”

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! This is the end of this year's kinktober.

Tags in reblog.

#walter marshall #august walker #halloween horror bingo 2023 #hhb2023 #werewolf au #werewolf!walter marshall #werewolf!august walker #Dreams of sharp teeth - Halloween #kinktober vs flufftober 2023

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traumabuddies · 7 months

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late night devil put your hands on me

buddie | explicit | 13.5k

“God, look at you,” Buck groans, teeth gnawing at Eddie's neck, teasing. “Such a perfect little toy for me. Knew I was right to keep you around, so easy to use.” “Buck,” Eddie moans, his hands holding onto the door hinges and the locked handle. Buck bites down, worrying at the skin until he's sure to leave a mark. “I'm gonna come in you, mark you up from the inside.” or: Buck uses Eddie as he pleases for a whole day

Kinktober lextober prompts: Free Use + Humiliation kink requested by two anons

read on ao3!

#lex.writing #lex's kinktober bingo #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #there it is finally!!

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jessybarnes · 2 years

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I Can Read Your Mind You Know

Title: I Can Read Your Mind You Know

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 1,350

Tags: SMUT, fluff, thigh riding, exploring sexuality, eye fucking, fingering, kissing, Wanda's powers, implied oral sex, implied marking, implied biting, cum tasting, finger sucking, pet names, explicit language, explicit thoughts, explicit sexual content, and I think that's it.

Written For: @kinktober2022 and @lgbtqbingo

Square(s) Filled: Thigh Riding and Exploring Sexuality

Beta(s): T. Thompson, A. DiLorenza, and J. Landis

A/N: любимая is Russian and translates to Darling. I got this from Google Translate so I hope it’s correct. If you’re familiar with the language and it isn’t, please tell me what it should be so I can change it. I want to make sure what I put is accurate. Thank you :)

The Avenger’s Compound is quiet today. Just the way you like it. Sure, you love having everyone around too. Sharing laughs and spending quality time with your favorite group of heroes, but some days, like today, you just want some time alone.

You're sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island munching on a snack and catching up on some reading. You're so engrossed in your book that you don't see Wanda come around the corner, a surprised look on her face.

"Oh! Hello, Y/N. I thought I was the only one here."

You look up at her and almost choke on your food. In lieu of her usual attire, Wanda is sporting tight, black spandex capris and a matching sports bra. Her hair is in a high ponytail and her skin is glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.

You open your mouth to respond, but your brain has checked out and is too busy focusing on her perfectly round ass, voluptuous thighs, and perky tits.

"U-Umm…h-h-"

She tosses her empty water bottle in the recycling bin and grabs a new one from the fridge, "are you alright?"

You manage to force out a meek 'yes' and watch her as she reaches into one of the cabinets for a PowerBar. She stands on her tiptoes and your eyes can't help but glaze over as you stare directly at her backside.

Never in your life has a woman made you feel this way. You always considered yourself to be straight. Always an ally for the LGBTQ+ community, but nevertheless, straight. Until you met her.

You think about what it would be like to touch her, to map out her smooth, milky skin. Running your fingers through her soft red hair, marking her neck up with pretty, purple love bites, leaving a trail of kisses down her body until you're between her beautiful, toned thighs.

You wonder what it would be like to taste her.

You're so caught up in your fantasy that you don't realize that Wanda is now facing you, a knowing smirk on her face.

"You know I can read your mind, right?"

This time, you do choke. "I-I-I don't kn-know what you're ta-"

"Oh, I think you do know." She moves into your space and twirls a piece of your hair around her finger. “I know everything that you just conjured up in that pretty little head of yours, любимая.

You stare at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly open as she leans in a little and bites her lip. The hand that isn’t tangled in your hair comes to rest on your knee and your breath hitches.

“W-Wanda I-”

“You wanted to touch me, right?” She moves even closer, her face now only inches from yours. “You thought about what it would be like to mark me.” You swallow hard as she tilts your head back, her lips just a hair’s breadth from yours.

“You wondered what it would be like to kiss me…”

Your eyes flicker back and forth from hers down to her mouth. “Well, I-”

“Do it… Kiss me, Y/N”

You close the gap and immediately press your mouth to hers. She sighs, parting her lips and you moan desperately. Her grip tightens on your knee and you gently grab her hips. When you finally pull apart both of you are breathing heavily, and the way she’s looking at you makes your panties instantly wet.

“Wow…” You still haven’t been able to say a complete sentence to her and she giggles.

“You’re so cute, любимая.” She pulls you to your feet and leads you over to the couch. She sits down and pats her thigh, "come here, Y/N"

You turn around to sit on her lap, but she stops you. "Not like that, sweetie," she faces you toward her again and you look down at her confused, "sit here."

She gestures to her thigh and you swallow hard before doing what you're told. The combined fabric from your leggings and the spandex of her capris puts delicious friction on your core.

Wanda's petite hand finds your hair again while her other one grips your side firmly. She watches you for a moment and admires how lust-drunk you are. It's true she always thought you were very pretty, but she never really had a free moment to see what was going on in that pretty, little head of yours…until now.

"You look so innocent, Y/N. But your mind tells me something different. Do you always think about me like that?"

She watches you nod, a small whimper escaping past your parted lips.

"Have you ever been with a woman before?"

You shake your head no and Wanda smiles, "do you want to me to help you feel good, любимая?"

"Please!..."

She starts to move you along her thigh, "keep going, sweetheart. But I want to hear you too, alright? You have such a sweet voice, Y/N"

"Oh, Wanda…," you whine as you slide back and forth igniting a red-hot flame low in your belly, "oh, it feels s-so good….so good."

Wanda moans at the sight of you, the hand that was tangled in your hair now rubbing her clit. "Good girl, printsessa. I want to see you cum just like this."

God, this has to be a dream.

"Oh, it's not a dream, Y/N. It's very - mmm, fuck - r-real."

You lean down to kiss her again just to be certain. Wanda sighs and leans into it, her hips are thrusting upwards into her fingers now and the little noises she's making go straight to your soaked cunt.

It makes you almost feral seeing her like this and you decide to get bold. One of your hands grips her shoulder for leverage while the other goes down her capris and slips between her folds.

"Y/N! любимая, Fuck!"

"I wanna fuck you so bad…want you to cum around my fingers…"

Wanda rolls her eyes back as you delve two of them into her pussy. She's so wet, so fucking tight, and it makes your hips stutter a little. She guides your hips again, dragging your core over her thigh in time with the speed of your hand.

Her once blue eyes now glow red and tendrils of the same color dance from her fingers and roll over your skin. It's like someone heightened your senses, dialed them up to eleven, and your cries become louder, needier, you're so fucking addicted to how she's making you feel.

"Don't stop, printsessa…don't you dare stop!"

You fuck her faster, curling your fingers to search for her sweet spot. Desperately wanting her to feel the same way you do right now.

"Shit, you're gonna make me cum. Fuck your pretty, soft fingers feel so good. Come on, baby…show me. Be a good girl and cum with me."

You whimper and move your hips faster, chasing your high like it's a lifeline. You feel her walls start to contract and it sends you into a frenzy.

"Fuck, oh, my god….oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, I-I’m close! Wanda, I'm so close!"

She slams her mouth on yours and that's all it takes for you to fall over the edge into the best orgasm of your life.

She's still peppering little kisses to your lips as her pussy squeezes your fingers and you clench around nothing feeling her come undone.

Wanda grabs your wrist and pulls your fingers out, bringing them to her mouth and you stop breathing when she swirls her tongue around them.

"God, Wanda…"

She stands you up and leads you down the hallway to her room. Once your inside she shuts the door and pushes you gently against the wall, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"But the team…" You stare into her eyes as she cocks her head a little.

"These walls are soundproof, Y/N." Her lips connect with yours in a chaste kiss and once again you're mesmerized by the way she's looking at you.

"Besides, I'm not even close to being done with you, printsessa."

#j snow writes #kinktober2022 #kinktober 2022 #lgbtq+ bingo #wanda maximoff #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader

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michellemisfit · 8 months

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Kinktober Bingo

By @gallavichthings 😏 (Check my Progress)

Jealousy

(Tinted Charcoal, on green paper - for jealousy)

(Close up and In Progress behind the cut)

Click the ‘Mys Art’ tag to see more of my stuff, or check out my work on RedBubble and AO3

#Mys does Kinktober #gallavich kinktober 2023 #Gallavich fanart #shameless fanart #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #Mys art #gallavich kinktober #Kinktober 2023 #it’s a very different style for me but I’m kind of into it #my first notch on the green bingo card 🙌🙌🙌

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soldieronbarnes · 8 months

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Kinktober #1 -- Humiliation, hair pulling

Joining kinktober super late, but if you have any prompts, just drop them in my ask box!!

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan says, and his voice is so full of derision that Anakin squirms, gasping, tears welling up in his eyes. His Master so rarely resorts to contempt, hates having to do so, he knows, and he knows he deserves the scorn, he does, after defying his Master so openly, so carelessly, in front of a Galactic senator no less.

Usually, his Master is so, so gentle and understanding, unless Anakin pushes him too far, and he did – he pushed him too far, knowingly, and he wonders if Obi-Wan knows that it’s a punishment as well a a reward, the way his Padawan braid if wrapped tightly in Obi-Wan’s fist like it’s a leash, the way red blooms around the shape of his Master’s hand on his bottom and makes everything more sensitive, the way the pace of his cock against Anakin’s prostate is just this side of too much too fast, pushing the air out of his lungs and making his spine bend and melt into the movement.

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan repeats disdainfully. “You think you can defy me? You think you are ready to be a Knight?”

He tugs harshly at the braid, and Anakin whines. “Master – Master, I’m –”

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan snarls. “You’re so needy, so desperate for a good fuck. You can’t go three days without panting for it like a dog. You go any longer without anyone fucking your brains out and you turn stupid, unable to formulate any clearly thought out plan, as you demonstrated today. And you want to be a Knight?”

Anakin keens. He needs Obi-Wan to fuck him harder, to evaporate any coherent thought. “Master, Master, please –”

Cruelly, Obi-Wan slows his thrusts until they are shallow, the movement barely noticeable. “A Knight is self-sufficient. A Knight is selfless, serving the people of the Republic. A Knight doesn’t want or need anything.”

He leans down, plastering himself to Anakin, chest to chest, and whispers in his ear. Anakin grasps the opportunity to wrap his legs around him and kiss him, panting against his lips when Obi-Wan pulls back.

“A Knight is separated from his Master, because he can be trusted to act on his own. Do you think you can be trusted to be on your own, away from me for months and months? You can’t,” he says. “Look at how much you need direction, how much you need a cock in you. You get stupid when someone doesn’t fuck you right for a few days. What are you going to do when you are apart from me, hm? Are you going to doom entire civilisations because you are horny and stupid? Are you going to just fuck anyone to keep you in check? Are you going to be happy hanging off the first thick cock you find?”

“I wouldn’t,” he cries, hot tears running down his cheeks. “I wouldn’t, Master!”

“Yes, you would. You’re so hungry for it. You’d let anyone fuck you, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t”, Anakin protests.

“My pretty little liar,” Obi-Wan croons. “You think you can think straight without getting fucked? How will you complete missions on your own, then? Tell me.”

“I’d make a replica of your cock and fuck myself with it,” Anakin gasps, because there’s no line in the sand he hasn’t relished in stepping over. It’s the perfect solution, too; he’d get to go on his own missions without missing anything.

To his surprise, Obi-Wan just laughs. “You think all you need is the shape of my cock, and that will save you?” he asks. He pulls out, wrestles Anakin on his belly before he can protest, and lets the head of his cock kiss Anakin’s hole. “Go on, then. If you think you don’t need me, just my cock – prove it. Get yourself off.”

And Anakin – well, he tries. The instructions are simple enough, and the position he’s in allows for a decent range of movement. He starts slow and sinuous, and ends up with a quick and brutal pace, and it should be enough – enough to entice Obi-Wan to move, to touch him in any way, enough to get off – but it isn’t, and soon enough he’s sobbing with need. He can’t rock back onto Obi-Wan’s cock at a satisfying angle, not quickly enough, not when he’s trying to strip his cock with his hand, and he’s so, so, close, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not enough.

“Let me ride you,” he begs.

His Master snorts. “You think that’ll help you?” he asks, but he lies down on his back, pulling Anakin on top of him, surprisingly indulgent. “There you go. Try your best.”

The taunting challenge in his voice makes Anakin set a quick, rough pace, because he can do this, he can – except Obi-Wan refuses to touch him, crosses his hands behind his back and allows Anakin to use him, but won’t even put his hands on him; won’t touch his cock, won’t grip his hips in those wonderful broad hands of his that can span so much of Anakin’s waist, won’t tease his nipples of pull his hair like he usually does and it’s – it’s torture, is what it is. Anakin rides him until his thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, until tears are rolling down his face and the gasping breaths he takes turn into shaking sobs.

He’s so, so close, still, but he cannot fall over the edge, no matter what he does.

“Master,” he begs, “Master, please, I want to come –”

“And why,” Obi-Wan asks, “do you think you always deserve to get what you want?”

A desperate whine escapes him. “Please, I promise I’ll be better, I’ll be good –”

“Will you? Will you be good so you can be a Knight? So you can be trusted, away from me?”

“No,” Anakin gasps. “I’ll be good for you, I will, but please don’t send me away, I need you, I need you –”

And finally, finally, that’s the right answer. Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s hands are on his hips, the grip tight and bruising, holding Anakin still as his hips piston up into the scorching heat of his hole, the pace fast and relentless and unforgiving and finally, finally enough. Anakin comes with a silent scream, spine bowed and fingernails raking visible trails down the fair skin of Obi-Wan’s chest. He thinks he blacks out for a second, and when he comes to, he’s half collapsed on his Master’s chest, his cock still moving in and out of him at a brutal pace, making him shudder with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Give it to me,” he whines, speech slurred with how good it feels. “Master, come inside me, mark me, please, give it to me, show everyone I’m yours!”

Obi-Wan curses under his breath, and before Anakin can even parse his words, he’s dumped unceremoniously onto his back, and he could cry at the sudden emptiness.

“I’ll mark you, for everyone to see,” Obi-Wan promises, his voice dark and heated, kneeling over Anakin and stripping his cock quickly, wildly, and Anakin keens when he realizes what’s about to happen.

“Yes, yes Master, please –” He barely has time to open his mouth before the first thick, hot stripes of come coat his face and tongue, his neck and chest and –

“Look at this,” Obi-Wan says, tugging at his Padawan braid. That, too, is covered in white strands of his Master’s come. Anakin whimpers when he sees it, and despite himself, he feels his cock twitch with interest. “Do you know what that means?”

“I’m yours,” Anakin whispers, his voice hoarse. “It means I’m yours.”

Finally, finally, Obi-Wan softens. “Good boy,” he praises, and leans down to kiss him, and everything else fades away.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #otp: more intimately than lovers #obikin #kinktober #ficlet #obikin bingo

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demonscantgothere · 8 months

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Jewel Spoilt. Galadriel/Sauron | Mairon. Explicit. 10.5k | 5.3k chapter [2/3]

In an act of revenge, Morgoth cursed Galadriel, muse of the Silmarils, and by proxy, the entire kingdom of Doriath. She and all who remained in the castle fell into a deep sleep. But upon Morgoth’s defeat, the Elves know not how to break the curse. Desperate, Prince Celeborn, her betrothed, seeks Sauron, a powerful sorcerer now said to be penitent and performing good deeds, for nothing else the prince has tried will wake the Lady Galadriel from her endless slumber. Sauron offers aid, as he knows how the curse is broken. . . . And the price is more than just a kiss. Written for an anonymous tumblr prompt: a tale inspired by The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty with Galadriel as Beauty and Sauron as the one to break the curse Morgoth has lain upon her.

Keep Reading, but Mind the Tags.

#haladriel #galadriel x halbrand #halbrand x galadriel #saurondriel #galadriel x sauron #sauron x galadriel #my fic #haladriel kinktober bingo #thehaladrielfancollective

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undercoverdrxco · 7 months

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Okay yes I love kinktober and writing smut all day every day bc it’s what I do best but…

It’s been 24 days and I NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING ELSE. So much kink…too little heart. Never thought I’d say that but :( I miss my pining angst and unfinished WIPs left hanging in my docs

Just another week, just another few short drabbles and we’ll be back in business in no time. Two dramione short fics and ONE BRAND NEW DEAN WINCHESTER FIC on its way ✨

#dramione #draco and hermione #dramione fanfic #kinktober bingo #kinktober #fanfic author probs #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester

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rayrayor · 8 months

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@gallavichthings

Ok trying my idea of filling my Kinktober 2023 bingo card with 100 word shorts😈

Bingo Square : Size Kink

Big Dick energy , Ian had tons directed at one man only, Mickey

His husband

What got him going though was not his 9 inches , it was Mickeys 5 .

Uncut, thick and satin soft . Perfect size to disappear in Ian’s wide grip or take whole down his throat .

Their size difference got Ian frenzied and desperate , touch his man.

Mickey swaggered towards him, confident.

“ something you like tough guy?”

Ian opened his throat like a Southside slut .

Fuck Big Dick energy , give Ian a cocky thug with a compact cock any day .

#gallavich fic #ian and mickey #shameless fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #mickey milkovich #mickey x ian #gallavich #gallavich fanfic #bingo square size kink #size k!nk

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dynamic-power · 7 months

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Text Dirty To Me

More Kinktober :)

You can read it here on ao3

This is for sexting/writing, which means I have my second bingo!

Rated E

Words: 2.4k

CW: sexting; semy-public sex; masturbation; dirty talk; come eating

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Detective Milkovich is sitting at his desk in his office when the first text from his husband comes in.

[5:22] Are you at your desk, baby?

The words are properly spelled out, he’s used punctuation, and he’s called Mickey baby. Mickey knows what’s next. Ian is going to use the last few minutes of Mickey’s workday to blow his phone up with texts so filthy that they’d make a seasoned porn star blush.

[5:23] ya

He only has to wait a half-second for his phone to buzz with the reply.

[5:23] Good boy

Mickey can hear Ian whispering those words into his ear, as though he has actually done something worthy of the praise. Mickey shivers, rubs his eyebrow with a thumb, and stares at his phone screen. The three dots indicating Ian is typing pop up. He glances up at his office door. It’s closed, like he knew it was, but he feels a little better nonetheless.

His phone buzzes in his hand and demands his attention again.

[5:24] Don’t leave your desk. Do NOT touch yourself.

Mickey has to bite his lip to keep himself from making a noise. Despite his brain understanding how much of a bad idea this is, his body is already reacting to what he knows is coming. His heart speeds up and he feels warmth pooling in his belly.

[5:25] why should i listen 2 u

[5:25] Because I’ll make it worth your time.

[5:26] i hav work 2 do

[5:26] Then ignore me.

[5:27] my phone will keep buzzin if u keep textin

It’s a piss poor excuse, and Mickey knows it. He can’t just let himself immediately give in, though.

His half-hard dick would disagree.

[5:29] You know how to get me to stop.

Of course Mickey knows. Ian is a horny bastard, but he isn’t cruel. All Mickey needs to do is type out one simple word, three letters. Everything stops as soon as one of them says “red”. If Mickey calls red, Ian will stop, maybe ask about ordering in for dinner, and Mickey can get back to the incredibly tedious paperwork he should probably finish before he leaves.

Fuck it, he decides.

[5:32] fuck u

[5:33] Oh, no, baby, I plan on fucking YOU.

His paperwork isn’t getting finished tonight, and that’s okay; he’s almost never on time with it, anyway. He doesn’t close the file sitting in front of him, but he does set his phone down on top of it. He leans back in his chair, shifting to make himself more comfortable, as he watches those three little dots appear and disappear repeatedly.

There’s a knock on his door, reminding him why this is a very bad idea. “Come in.”

Officer Barnes doesn’t come into his office, just cracks the door open and sticks her head in. “I got that report in to Fernandez,” she says, “in case you wanted to take a look at it. All the evidence has been logged, too.”

“Thanks, Barnes.” He doesn’t bother to look up at her.

Barnes takes it as the dismissal that it is and Mickey lets out a breath when he hears the door click shut again. His phone buzzes and he wants to curse at Ian for the way his dick twitches in his slacks at the sound.

[5:35] Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you when you get home?

He does. Jesus fucking Christ, he does. Clutching his phone in his left hand, he looks down and considers his chubbing cock. He really wants to reach down and grip himself.

But two things are stopping him. First, there are still officers in the bullpen. His boss is still here, too. So there is a chance that his office door will swing open again and someone will catch him being a fucking horny perv at his own desk. And second, Ian had explicitly told him not to.

He finds the second reason much more compelling than the first and kind of hates himself for it.

[5:35] tell me

[5:35] I will, baby.

[5:35] I’m going to shove you up against the door as soon as you’re home.

[5:36] Kiss you, hard and sloppy the way you like.

Mickey does like that. He likes tasting Ian’s spit in his own mouth and mapping out his teeth with his tongue. He feels his face heat as he imagines the way Ian’s teeth would feel biting into his bottom lip.

[5:37] I’ll make sure I’m naked by the time you get here, so the only clothes we have to worry about are yours.

With his job, he often wears suits, and Ian’s favorite part of this new wardrobe - in particular, the button-up shirts - is taking it off of Mickey. He loves to do it slowly, pausing between each button to thoroughly explore the skin that has been revealed. Mickey has quickly learned to love it, too; Ian’s hands and mouth are often soft as he moves down Mickey’s torso.

[5:38] That’s what got me so horny. Thinking of you in your suit and me completely naked and hard for you.

[5:38] Getting on my knees in front of you.

And fuck, that drives Mickey crazy, too. He can see it now, his gorgeous husband slowly sinking to his knees as he undoes Mickey’s shirt, ignoring his own aching cock in favor of getting to the skin beneath Mickey’s clothes.

Mickey can’t help but let out a groan. He shifts in his seat again, pushing his hips up and swallowing hard as the movement causes his erection to rub against the fabric of his boxers. He’s hard now, and his hands are itching to do something, so he types out a message before Ian can continue.

[5:39] suck me off

Ian stops typing for a moment. Only a moment, though.

[5:39] Whatever you want, baby.

[5:39] I’ll get your pants undone, pull them down, get out your dick.

[5:40] You’ll be hard already from thinking about me on your drive home. Fucking slut.

[5:40] fuck yes i am

He is fucking hard and he can no longer think straight enough to be ashamed about it. He moves again, seeking out that little bit of friction. It’s not enough, but it’s the best he can do while he still can’t touch himself.

[5:41] I’ll suck you down as deep as I can. Won’t go slow, I know how badly you’ll need to come.

[5:41] Think you can come more than once for me tonight?

Mickey knows he can. And more than that, he wants to. They don’t do it very often, but occasionally, Mickey enjoys the overstimulation that Ian can force into a second, or sometimes even a third, orgasm. There’s something about giving up that control to Ian that makes Mickey feral.

[5:42] fuck yes pls want that

[5:42] I want that too, baby. I’ll suck you off until you’re coming in my mouth. I know it won’t take long.

Mickey can imagine Ian looking up at him through teary eyes, spit and precum dripping down his chin and making a mess of him. He wants to hear Ian gag on his cock, wants to feel him moaning around the mouthful. He rubs his length against his boxers again; he knows he’s leaking and leaving a wet spot in the fabric.

[5:43] I love the way you taste. I’ll want to share.

[5:43] I’ll kiss you again, feed you some of your own cum.

{5:43] Watch as you swallow it.

“Jesus, Gallagher,” Mickey mutters as his dick throbs again. The arousal in his core gets stronger. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard while he was still clothed.

[5:44] I’ll take you to bed then. Spread you out on your back and shove your knees to your ears.

[5:44] Do you want me to go slow when I finger you open?

[5:45] fuck no just get in me already

[5:45] need u ian

Mickey doesn’t think there will ever be a moment in which he doesn’t need his husband, but that’s the sort of romantic shit that can wait.

[5:45] I’ve got you, baby.

It can wait because at the moment, Mickey is starting to consider the possibility that he may come in his fucking pants.

[5:45] I’ll do it as quick as I can. Might hurt a bit.

[5:46] u no i like the stretch

[5:47] I know. Which is why I know you’ll be begging me once I have the tip of my cock against your pretty pink hole.

[5:47] yeah pls

[5:48] I’ll push in, nice and slow. Fill you up the way you need.

[5:49] Make you feel so full and right that you’ll forget what it’s like to not have me buried in your perfect ass.

Mickey’s cock is begging to be touched as he starts a rhythmic push of his hips. The friction this provides is still not anywhere near enough, but Mickey is beginning to feel a little desperate. His asshole clenches as his body reminds him that he’s horny and empty. He makes a quick glance at the door. There would be nothing worse than someone walking in right now and seeing him behind his desk, humping the air and groaning like a bitch in heat.

There’s a part of him that finds the idea of that ridiculously hot, but Mickey doesn’t want to think about that too hard.

[5:49] Then I’m going to absolutely rail you. Fuck you so hard you can feel me in your throat.

[5:50] Remind you who you belong to. No one can fuck you like me.

[5:50] Your prostate is so fucking sensitive. I’ll make sure to nail it every time, stroke your cock to make you hard again.

[5:51] I know it’ll be uncomfortable, you just came, but I won’t stop. You’ll love it, won’t you? The pain in your ass and your cock.

[5:52] I’m going to fuck you like that until you’re on the edge again.

Mickey’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he tries his hardest not to whine. He knows Ian will make good on this; he is going to end the night on his back with his husband fucking him like their lives depend on it.

[5:53] make me come

[5:53] Not until you’re home, baby. Drive safe, I’ll see you soon. I love you.

Mickey stares down at the phone with disbelief. That can’t be it, he thinks. His breathing is coming in ragged pants as he waits for the three little dots to appear again.

They don’t.

Fuck him, Mickey thinks. He doesn’t deserve Mickey’s first orgasm tonight, not if he’s going to leave Mickey high and dry like that.

Glancing at the door one more time, Mickey sets his phone on his desk and reaches for his belt. He’s about to get it undone when he has an idea. One that might make up for the fact that he is definitely going to come before he gets home to Ian.

Instead of undoing his belt and pulling his cock out beneath his desk, he palms it over his pants. He thrusts up into his hand, groaning in relief as his desperate humping finally starts to feel good. He knows it won’t take long; he’s too worked up, too close to the edge from just a few dirty texts. He works his palm over his erection, finding the perfect angle, fucking up as he presses down.

The pleasure finally crests and he comes with a moan, toes curling in his shoes and head tipping back against his chair. It feels a little gross, shooting off in his boxers. He can feel his cum soaking the fabric, leaving behind a wet spot that will make it obvious to Ian what Mickey had just done in his fucking office, beneath his fucking desk.

Once his breathing calms down and Mickey is sure that his dark slacks properly hide any evidence of his wrong-doings, he makes a quick escape from the precinct. He’s never appreciated the short drive more; his cum is beginning to cool in his pants.

When he gets home, Ian is waiting by the door, naked and hard, just like he said he’d be. Ian shoves him against the door the moment it’s shut behind him. Instead of letting Ian kiss him, Mickey winds his fingers into Ian’s curls and pulls down until Ian gets the message and sinks to his knees.

“You aren’t hard,” Ian notes. His hand comes up and cups Mickey’s cock and he pauses. Mickey is sure that the crotch of his pants is still a little damp and that Ian can feel it. Their eyes meet for a moment as Ian grins up at him like a kid who’s just learned Christmas is coming early. “Jesus, Mick.”

Mickey helps him with his belt and fly, letting his head thump back against the door when Ian finally drags his slacks down. Ian groans and shoves his face into Mickey’s groin, pawing at his waistband and sucking what cum he can from the fabric of Mickey’s boxers.

“You didn’t listen,” Ian growls at him, but he doesn’t actually sound mad.

“I brought you a gift to apologize.”

Ian groans again. He pulls Mickey’s soft cock out and begins to lick it clean. Mickey’s sensitive still and his hips buck away from the sensation. He can’t go far, though, with his ass still pressed against the door.

When Ian apparently decides he’s tortured Mickey enough for the moment, he rises gracefully to his feet. “There wasn’t enough to share,” he says, leaning in to give Mickey a filthy kiss that definitely tastes like his own cum. “I’ll just have to share the next one with you.” Ian turns and saunters towards their bedroom, leaving Mickey to struggle with his pants on his own before he can follow his husband.

-----

Thanks as always to @gallavichthings!

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #kinktober 2023 #bingo!#dyno writes

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my-meadowlark · 2 years

Text

fic: a woman, not a queen [got/asoiaf: daenerys/ygritte]

Title: A woman, not a queen Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones Characters/Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen/Ygritte Rating: E Word Count: 3997 Content warnings: Complete disregard for canonical logic, general smuttery Summary:

Ygritte knows many things. Useful things. Things that keep you alive. Things that keep you dead. Things worth knowing.

Ygritte knows how to swim and how to control the muscles that make you breathe. How to keep them from seizing up and killing you when the ice shatters under your feet and you fall into the cold water underneath.

But Daenerys makes her feel out of her depth.

Notes: Written for the prompt “Kneeling” for my kinktober Bingo

Read it on AO3 HERE or under the cut.

Ygritte knows many things. Useful things. Things that keep you alive. Things that keep you dead. Things worth knowing.

But Daenerys makes her feel out of her depth.

Like she’s three again and being thrown into the river so she’ll either sink or learn to swim.

“You think very loudly, Ygritte.”

Ygritte rolls onto her side to look at the naked woman next to her. A princess and a queen and a khaleesi and a mother of dragons and whatever else Missandei keeps repeating whenever she introduces her to someone new. A woman, at the end of the day. Just like Ygritte, who doesn’t even have a family name.

Southerners are like magpies, if you ask her. Collecting useless things like strings of titles just because they shine pretty when the sun hits them just right.

“What am I thinking about, then? Since you can hear.”

“Me.”

Ygritte puts on her best imitation of what she assumes southern ladies sound like. “Aye, Daenerys Targaralaleeday,” she knows it's Targaryen, but she prefers to watch an indignant little crinkle appear between Daenerys’s eyebrows instead, “mother of dragons, breaker of chains, reader of minds.”

“Tamer of wildlings,” Daenerys adds, one fingertip tracing the bruise she sucked onto the pale skin between Ygritte’s breasts just a few hours ago.

“You’ve tamed nothing, southern girl.”

“I’m not a girl.” There’s nothing cute about the frown on her face now. She’s angry, not just annoyed. Ygritte has known the signs of a storm in the horizon since before she could talk, and they’re all right there in Daenerys’ eyes. “I’m a Khaleesi.”

Ygritte lets out a quiet chuckle. She’s never been afraid of storms.

“I don’t care.” In one swift movement Ygritte is on top of Daenerys, strong lean thighs straddling round hips and calloused hands planted on the bed on either side of Daenerys’s head.

“All those titles of yours,” she leans forward and kisses Daenerys, and there’s no holding back the smirk on her face when she hears Daenerys’s quiet sound of protest as she pulls away, “all those names. They mean nothing here.”

“I’m still your queen.” Daenerys tries to sound serious, but Ygritte can see how much she wants to kiss her written all over her face.

“I’ve got no queen.”

Daenerys holds her gaze for a moment, and Ygritte wonders what she’s thinking. Is she thinking about punishing Ygritte? About having her men make her kneel for their queen? About how many of them Ygritte would probably kill (or maim, at the very least) before they succeeded?

“But you’re still on my side.” It’s not a question, but Ygritte feels like Daenerys meant it as one.

“On your side of what?”

Daenerys looks surprised by the question. Like it should be obvious. But Ygritte has nothing to do with whatever lords and ladies get up to south of the Wall, and she’s not interested in changing that.

“Nothing.” Daenerys finally answers, after a few moments of thought. “Everything.”

Ygritte’s never had the patience for riddles.

“You’ve got to learn some real words, you know. With some weight to them.” Ygritte knows ladies down south aren’t supposed to do much. She wonders if they teach them to keep even their words light so they won’t bother the men.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys sounds genuinely curious. Ygritte’s seen that look in her eyes before, when she’s taught her how to tell where the North is, how to follow the stars or how to track your next meal. She knows Daenerys knows all kinds of things Ygritte can’t even imagine, but when it comes to useful things – things that matter – she knows nothing at all.

“I mean,” Ygritte says, moving one hand from its place on the bed to wrap around Daenerys’s wrist, “you say on your side of everything and that means nothing, don’t it? No such thing as everything. I can’t promise you everything any more than I can promise you the moon.”

“But you could,” Daenerys argues, but she doesn’t fight Ygritte when she pins a slender wrist to the bed above Daenerys’s head, “you could say it.”

Ygritte shifts on top of Daenerys, puts more of her weight on the hand she has around Daenerys’s left wrist to free the other so it can do the same to the her right one.

“Is that what the southern lords do to you ladies? Lie?”

“It’s not lying. It’s…” Daenerys thinks for a moment, and Ygritte takes the chance to admire just how pretty she looks, naked and soft and letting Ygritte have her way with her instead of playing the part of a khaleesi or a queen. “It’s like a wish. You know it’s impossible, of course. But if it were possible, you’d do it.”

Ygritte lets out a huff of laughter. “No weight to it, none of that. Seen empty water skins with more substance to them than all those empty words.”

Daenerys looks almost offended, and Ygritte wonders if maybe she grew up dreaming of a fair prince who’d make weightless promises to her while bending his knee.

“Go on, then,” Daenerys says, and that defiant, queenly tone of hers comes through in every word, “show me those words with weight to them.”

Ygritte smirks, unable to hide the fact that she’s been waiting for a chance to do just that, and starts by pressing a kiss to Daenerys’s lips. Just because there’s a weight to that, too.

“I promise,” she starts, knee nudging Daenerys’s soft thighs apart, “I’ll keep you well kissed. And well fucked."

Ygritte sees the first hint of an eye roll on Daenerys's face, but she shifts her weight and presses her thigh against Daenerys's cunt, and the blonde's eyes flutter closed instead.

"I promise I'd kill for you. And I'd die for you."

"I should--" Daenerys arches her back, rocking against Ygritte's muscular thigh, "I should knight you. Make you captain of my queensguard."

Ygritte kisses the pulse at the base of Daenerys's throat, licks a path up the side of her neck, catches her earlobe between her teeth and grins when she feels her struggle against the hold of Ygritte's hands around her wrists.

"I don't give a fuck about the queen," she whispers, low and hot against Daenerys's ear, "but I'd fight an army for you."

Danerys shudders against her and rocks harder, faster against her thigh. She's soft and slick and if Ygritte didn't have her hands otherwise occupied, she'd have at least two fingers inside her by now.

"What else?" Daenerys breathes it out, pale skin flushed pink and pebbled nipples dragging against Ygritte's skin every time she moves. "What else would you do for me?"

Ygritte lets out a quiet, husky chuckle against her neck. "I'd fight dragons for you, southern girl."

Daenerys is too far gone – too close to the edge – to argue Ygritte's wording, but she does manage to choke out a quiet, "impossible" between moans.

"Aye. Impossible to fight them and win," Ygritte shifts just enough to change the angle of her thigh against Daenerys's cunt, and the blonde arches her back and rides it even faster, "but I'd die trying."

Ygritte doesn't know if it's the words or the new angle that does it, but Daenerys comes with Ygritte's name on her tongue, shuddering against Ygritte's drenched thigh and then falling limply back on the mattress like a well-loved rag doll.

She always seems to need a few moments to herself after she comes, and Ygritte lets her have them, lying next to her and waiting for the shorter woman to come to her when she's ready.

It doesn't take long at all.

"Ygritte," Daenerys says, rolling onto her side and lazily draping an arm and leg over the other woman, "if I asked you to kneel instead of killing or dying for me. Would you?"

Ygritte lets the question sit in her head for a while. "Kneel for you?"

Daenerys nods against Ygritte's chest. "For your queen."

Ygritte smiles and presses a kiss to platinum hair. Daenerys knows next to nothing about things that matter. "I've got no queen," she reminds her, voice soft but firm.

Daenerys sighs, but she doesn't protest.

***

Ygritte doesn't think she'll ever get tired of watching Daenerys's dragons.

She watches them take off and fly around. Watches them land, heavy and graceful, and feels the thud of their massive bodies hitting the floor right inside her ribcage. Like when someone plays a drum right next to you.

Sometimes, she watches them hunt. She doesn't like that as much, just because there's no beast in the land who can put up a fair fight against them so it almost feels cheap. Like they haven't quite earned their meal.

And sometimes, like right now, she just watches them and lets them watch her.

Daenerys is a protective mother. Too protective, Ygritte thinks. So she'd never tell her she has a favorite dragon, because she's sure Daenerys would take offense on behalf of the other two. Especially because Ygritte's favorite is not the one Daenerys loves the most.

He's white – a warm white, like milk, not cold like snow – and gold. Mostly gold. He looks like he was forged instead of grown in an egg.

Ygritte crouches down, relaxes her stance, and watches Viserion come closer. He reminds her of a cat, somehow. When she tilts her head to the right, he does the same, nostrils flaring as his breath comes out in clouds of steam.

"I've got something for you," she says, triple checking that his brothers are distracted before reaching into her bag and pulling out one of the fish she caught earlier. Dragons can fish, she figures, but they don't know how to make holes in the ice to reach the water below. Maybe she'll teach them some time. Their mother sure won't.

Ygritte throws the fish up in the air and watches Viserion catch it between his teeth. He could've swallowed it whole, but he chews a couple times first, and she takes it as a compliment on her fishing skills.

"I'll teach you how to get more some time. Before you leave."

"You could come with us." Daenerys's voice doesn't quite startle her, but it comes as a surprise. "I'm sure he'd let you ride him South."

"Would you?" Ygritte is still looking at Viserion, and when she offers his hand he bumps it with his enormous snout. Like a massive, fire-breathing cat. "But I'd never ask. You're no horse."

She respects him too much to treat him like a horse or an ass or an ox.

"You could still come," Daenerys says once Ygritte stands up and turns around to face her, "we could both ride horses if that's what you'd prefer."

Ygritte shakes her head with a smile and walks towards the hut they've been calling a home for the last few weeks. At first Daenerys tried to pitch her silky, queenly tent, but facing one Northern night in it was enough to make her see the error of her ways.

"And what would I do in the South, Dany?" Ygritte much prefers the shorter name. Less of a mouthful. "Play the fiddle and sew?"

Dany lets out a quiet chuckle. "Ladies don't play the fiddle, if that's what you were going for."

"This lady would. If she were a lady."

"So you would. I'd have a fiddle made for you the minute we arrived."

Ygritte finishes feeding the fire, frees herself from her bow and quiver and her bag full of freshly caught fish, and even sheds the outer layer of furs she's wearing. Their hut is warm enough.

"I can't play the fiddle. You'd be wasting good wood."

Dany rolls her eyes. When Ygritte finally sits down and settles in near the fire, she immediately claims her place on the wildling's lap, thighs straddling Ygritte's legs. "I'd hire the best fiddle player to teach you." She kisses Ygritte's chapped lips. "If playing the fiddle is what you want, then I'll see to it that it happens."

"I don't want to play the fiddle." Dany's lips are soft and warm, like the rest of her. She's always warm.

"What is it that you want, then? Come with me and I'll give you anything you ask for." Dany kisses her again, and then a third time. "I'll give you fields full of game for you to hunt. I'll give you--" another kiss, deeper this time, just enough to make Ygritte let out a sound of protest when it ends, "whatever you want."

They've had this conversation before, but this time Ygritte wants to make sure Dany hears her. That she listens. So she hooks one finger under Dany's chin and tilts her face up until she's looking into Ygritte's eyes.

"Whatever I want is this."

This. The North and Dany and a hut that's always a little warmer than it should be because Dany is in it. Three dragons. Fresh fish for dinner. Freedom. And Dany.

She knows Dany's listening this time because her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Don't you love me?"

"Aye, I love you. I love you." Ygritte kisses her for good measure and lets Dany press herself even closer against her. "Not some khaleesi. Not the queen you'll be down South."

"That queen and I are one and the same. I am her, and she is me."

Ygritte sighs. "No."

She kisses Dany before she can protest. Before she can go on about birth rights and blood and gods know what else. She kisses Dany until she's quiet. Until she's soft and pliant against her. Until she wraps her legs around Ygritte's waist so she can carry her to bed. She kisses her as she lowers her onto the bed, and then she kisses her some more, calloused fingers making quick work of untying Dany's leather trousers and pushing them down her legs.

Ygritte doesn't want to waste time with the furs above Dany's waist, but when she pulls away from Dany's lips she sees the blonde herself has done the work for her, vest and shirt pulled open to give Ygritte full access to Dany's breasts.

"You're always so warm," Ygritte muses out loud, already making her way down Dany's body to kiss the swell of her right breast and flick her tongue against a pretty pink nipple.

"Fire and blood," Dany sighs, fingers tangling in unruly red hair, "but you're the one who's been kissed by fire."

Ygritte smiles against soft skin, sucks Dany's right nipple into her mouth and pinches the left between her fingers. When Dany's back arches off the bed, Ygritte lets the nipple in her mouth go and starts kissing a path down to Dany's bellybutton, and then to the soft curls between her legs.

"You're always so wet." Ygritte breathes in the scent of her, voice reverent like she guesses other people might sound when they bend the knee for their queen. But she's got no queen.

"Not always," Dany corrects softly, thighs spreading for Ygritte, "only for you."

Ygritte closes her eyes for a moment, lets the words sink into her chest like a glass of hot mead in a cold winter night. She kisses the inside of Dany's thigh, lets her lips linger there for a moment, hopes Dany understands how this is much more important than anything South of the Wall.

Once the moment passes – once Ygritte feels like she's breathing right once again – she turns her head and noses at soft silver-white hair, kisses Dany's swollen clit, and lets out a quiet moan at the first taste of her.

Ygritte knows many things worth knowing, but one of the most important things she knows is just how Dany likes to be fucked. And Ygritte knows that very well.

Soft at first, kisses and gentle licks and the pads of Ygritte's thumbs holding her folds open so she can worship every inch of her with her mouth. She waits until Dany's hips rock up against her mouth to suck on her clit and slide one finger deep inside her, and when Dany pulls on her hair Ygritte knows gentle is no longer what she needs.

She nips at sensitive skin, fucks Dany with two fingers and then three, feels Dany's thighs clamp around her head when she matches the thrusts of her fingers with her tongue against Dany's clit.

And then everything stills. Dany's whole body tenses, her cunt squeezes tightly around Ygritte's fingers, and she finally comes with a cry that sounds a lot like she's trying to say Ygritte's name.

She knows not to stop right away. She knows to be gentle, to help her ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over her until Dany softly pushes her away and Ygritte knows any more would be too much.

Ygritte crawls back up Dany's limp, sated body and kisses her deep and slow, letting her southern girl taste herself on Ygritte's tongue.

"Do you like the way you taste?"

Dany nods against Ygritte's lips, too spent to speak.

"That's not the taste of a queen," Ygritte says, and she sees a flash of something nearly dangerous in Dany's eyes, "that's the taste of a woman."

She kisses Dany again before she can argue.

"And a well fucked woman at that."

***

Ygritte doesn't help Dany pack up her things. She doesn't watch, either. She just lets it happen. She's a free woman. Dany isn't, but Ygritte won't add more chains to the ones she's been carrying around from birth.

Viserion lands right next to her, snout sparkling with frozen droplets of water. He's been fishing. Something aches in Ygritte's chest, like an arrowhead someone forgot to pull out.

"I've got to go." Dany's voice isn't as firm as she probably wanted it to be.

"You want to go," Ygritte corrects.

For a split second, Dany looks like she might cry. And then she looks like she might have Viserion burn Ygritte right where she stands.

"I am a queen. I'm their queen." Dany gestures towards the East, but Ygritte knows she meant to point South. Dany knows so few useful things. "They need me there."

Nobody needs a queen. That's what Ygritte wants to say. Nobody needs someone to kneel for. Someone to own them. Nobody.

"Well, I don't need you here--"

"I know."

"But I want you here."

Dany stares at her for a moment. The fire is gone from her eyes, and Ygritte would feel bad if she didn't know that's how you learn. You're thrown in ice water so you'll learn to float and save yourself. Nobody learns from people making things easy for them.

"Ygritte--"

"Run away with me."

Ygritte thinks the look Dany gives her is as close as a queen can get to pleading.

"Fuck being their queen," Ygritte continues, unwilling to bend to rules that mean nothing in the North, "stay and be my woman instead."

Dany frowns. She presses her lips together and sets her jaw, and then she talks about honor and duty and many other things that mean nothing to Ygritte. She's come to hate weightless, empty words.

"They don't care," Ygritte says, and she's not sure if Dany stops talking from the shock of being interrupted while talking about queenly shite, or because Ygritte raised her voice.

"They don't care," she says again, softer this time, hoping Dany will hear. "They don't care whose ass sits on the throne. Whose head's under the crown. They'll have them kneel for whoever wears it. If not you, then someone else. A Stark or a Mormont or whoever they can find. It doesn't matter. The head under the crown doesn't matter."

Dany looks like she's just been thrown in a river full of ice-cold water for the first time in her life. And Ygritte decides to help her remember how to breathe.

"The head between my thighs, though. That matters. If not you, then—well."

Dany shakes her head like she's silently begging her not to say it—silently begging her to let this be easy for her.

"Then no one else."

***

Daenerys doesn't stay North of the Wall.

And neither does Ygritte.

She rides Viserion exactly once, only because the alternative would have been a ship and she trusts the air more than the sea. Once he lands, heavy but graceful, she thanks him but decides her feet belong on firm ground.

The first thing Ygritte notices about Braavos is the warmth. She's only ever known winter, and she's never taken in a breath that didn't feel like ice in her lungs. She's never been outside and not seen her breath come out like puffs of smoke. She's never felt her skin warm up in the sun.

One of the first lessons she learns in Braavos is just how quickly the sun can burn her skin when it's not protected by furs.

She soon discovers she's the one who knows next to nothing in the Free City. She doesn't speak Braavosi or High Valyrian or any of the other tongues she hears around the city. She doesn't know how to haggle – she barely understands money – or how to navigate the maze of streets that all look the same to someone who's used to looking at trees instead.

But Ygritte's always been sharp. You don't survive up North if you're not quick on your feet, and she knows she'll learn sooner rather than later.

They live in a big house made of stone. Not made of rocks – made of stone, blocks of stone cut by a mason and built to last. It's got a red door in the front and a courtyard with a lemon tree at the back, and Ygritte doesn't think Dany will ever understand just how much of a luxury that is. Having their own lemon tree.

Braavos is loud and crowded and Ygritte doesn't quite belong, but Dany does. Not Daenerys Targaryen. Not a queen or a khaleesi. Dany. And Ygritte figures she'll end up belonging, too.

"The fish merchant said war's still raging in Westeros," Dany says one day as she walks out onto the courtyard.

Ygritte doesn't stop inspecting the small flowers that will become lemons with time. "So let it rage."

"Hundreds-- thousands of men will--"

"So let them die." Ygritte speaks slowly, purposefully, and finally looks at Dany. She knows she'll never stop feeling like she abandoned her people, no matter how many times Ygritte tells her the people of Westeros didn't even know she was alive. Ygritte was raised to survive, and she figures Dany was raised to serve.

To rule, Dany would say if Ygritte asked her. But Ygritte knows better.

Ygritte sees the struggle in Dany's eyes. She's fire and blood and that means something to her. So Ygritte walks closer, reaches for one of her hands, gives her something solid to anchor herself to. Something with a weight to it.

Dany lets out a sigh.

"Valar morghulis."

Ygritte nods, the pad of her thumb brushing Dany's soft knuckles. "Aye. But first, we live."

Dany kisses her like she's sealing a promise, soft but relentless, and when she's done Ygritte feels her lips tingle like she's put fresh lemon on them.

Still holding on to Dany's hand, she sinks down to her knees in front of her and wraps her fingers around the hem of Dany's dress to start pulling it up her legs.

"You finally bent the knee, my love."

Ygritte smiles against the soft skin of Dany's thigh and presses an open-mouthed kiss to it.

"For you," she says, feeling Dany's fingers in her hair as her lips start moving up, "not for a queen."

#daenerys x ygritte #how's that for a crackship #fanfic #got fic #got femslash #femslash #kinktober 2022 #kinktober bingo #my fic

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swampstew · 7 months

Text

Eustass Kid, G-48 ~ Milking Table

Summary: It's that time of the month. The time when Kid really really needs your help to get through the deep-seated primal urges he has. Lucky for him he has someone as amazing and caring as you.

Warnings: Spicy, modern monster au, Eustass Kid as Tarbh-uisge with reader - implied relationship. Kid strapped to a milking table, use of milking pump, breeding kink, monsterfucking if you squint. Special mention to @don-mellow for being the reason this folklore creature was the first thing that popped into my mind for this prompt. Subscribe to their Patreon! Word Count: 772

Tarbh-uisge: Generally regarded as a nocturnal water bull, it is more agreeable than its equine counterpart the water horse, while having similar amphibious and shapeshifting abilities. It is able to shapeshift into human form and live on land or in water. It can also be amiable and sometimes helpful. The bull might have had a sacred role in various Celtic cult rituals. The Tarbh-uisge was viewed a symbol of fertility and abundance

You had Kid strapped face down on the custom milking table, an impressive feat in itself considering his hulking mass and general…defiant of authority attitude. In a harness that bound his flesh arm behind his back and his ankles to the table, you massaged his back with heated oil to soothe his muscles, helping him relax. The two of you had been at it for a while, and he had needed a break.

His muttering that he didn’t need to be babied let you know he was ready for the next session. Gently wiping the excess oil off, you scratch his back hard enough to leave red lines – each graze of your fingernails draws a shaky grunt from him. The purple faded lines of the previous marks littered down his back and ass, and you would have to remember to take a photo of how delicious he looked.

You moved off his muscled back and peeked under the table, pleased to find his cock swollen once more. Bless his stamina. Reaching out, you ran your fingernails down his shaft to his balls, watching in delight as his cock bobbed from the contact, and precum already leaking out from his slit.

“You’re doing so well. After tonight, I’ll let you have some rest and relaxation. You’ve filled up quite a few buckets. Then after, I’m going to treat you so good. Let you be my pillow prince to thank you for your sacrifice today,” you cooed, kissing his cheek. His damp locks plastered on his hair barely hid the flush in his face.

With a warm touch you begin jerking him off. Whispering filthy things you’d do to spoil him when this was all over. How you’d ride him for days on end, how you’d feed him while fucking him, not letting him leave the bed so you could give him all your love.

He leaked into your hand and that helped you fist him faster as he wasn’t able to do anything except struggle in his restraints – unable to even rut properly through the table to build his pleasure. He was entirely reliant on you and your methods alone to milk his cock.

If he was unrestrained, there was a chance he could go crazy in his lust and do something stupid like mount and accidentally impregnate you. Every month he would go through a cycle of needing to breed – a time where he couldn’t keep his cock down if his life depended on it – and you were kind enough to find a creative solution for you both.

Kid’s panting became louder, huskier as the tip of his cock turned deep red. You watched as his balls drew tight, signaling he was near release. You ducked your body under the table and formed a ring with your fingers, holding the base of his cock with a firm grip as you pulled out the milking pump.

“FU-FUCK!” he grunted loudly. “Swear you get off on doing that,” he spat out, hitting his forehead against the leather padded table in frustration.

“I don’t not,” you giggle, connecting the tube to the pump to the last vial you had. With a fat lick of your tongue from his perineum, over his scrotum, and up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his head giving him an urgent suck before you popped off him. Giving his twitching cock a kiss, you slid the pump over his cock and began pumping him faster than before.

“SHIT! SHIT! I’M-I’M CUM—” the rest of his stutter was cut off by a pleasured, dull roar as his hips squeaked and rutted against the table. You watched the pump line fill with the thick, white liquid going down the drip line and into its vial. The sound of weary panting left Kid as the line kept dripping until the vial was filled to the brim.

“I’m done I’m dooonnee!!” he cried from overstimulation as you pulled the pump off.

“I know love, I know,” you topped the vial and put the equipment in the bucket. Noticing a few drops weeping from his softening dick, you quickly crawled over and enveloped your mouth on his tip to lick him dry.

8 tiles to go, 49 calls made so far.

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