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hellowoolf · 3 months

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electra heart

pairing: din jarin x prostitute fem!reader

summary: with the softness of your body you have bought your piece of luxury, clawed your way to opulence, and wait now on the lustful whims of the rich and powerful. what havoc is wreaked when the only client you've ever loved, your mandalorian, finds you in the golden smoke of a gala on canto bight?

warnings: mention of alcohol, prostitution, reader is literally a prostitute, reader goes by alias "edie", din calls her “edee”, angst, quick mention of killing (bounty hunting), porn with plot, SMUT, soft!dom din, unprotected piv, beskar humping (sue me), tiiiny bit of degradation if you squint your eyes and pat your head and rub your tummy, little bit of begging, fucking in a literal suit of armor, creampie (if i left out any, let me know <3)

word count: 4.7k

authors note: first din fic alert !!! hand on heart i meant to keep this light hearted. and that’s what counts…right ??!!!!

woolfie’s masterlist

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you had been small, once. a young thing born into the streets of tatooine, conjured by them, slipping dirty like a curse through the city with a beggar's cup. in the day, the sand heated to glass and fire, and you trailed in the shadowed coattails of men the passers by could think your father, but with nightfall came the slow, syrupy suck of warmth from land, and even pressed up against building corners and doorways you shivered in the starlight. and what a cruel thing it was to know—to be, even then, so certain of your own poorness. you stuck little fingers through the holes of your clothes to cork the heat of your skin, and reconciled, in the meanwhile, with your birth as a nomad with no place to journey.

oh, but you loved the ships. with festivals held on the plains came warships and single-seat fighters, great discs of silver settling the baking sand, and you circled the throngs of people to let the gleam of sunlit metal blind you, if only for a moment. with scrap metal and a child’s palms you laid your plans there in the tatooine sand, to seek out whatever precious lavishness was left out there for you. beads of sweat jeweling down your wrists you thought yes, you were fit for that sort of life.

it became clear to you, when you came of age, that your body was your only currency for purchasing such plans. kicking stones while you wound through the cityscape, you supposed the home you could make in a brothel, and the money, too, made for an even exchange, and besides, you’d absorbed worse than man. you tap a manicured nail down your glass and hum with the bellish chime. where had all those girls gone? where were they now? you wonder if they’ve caught wind of you from here, if your perfume has traveled that far. you hope so.

“my edie, how are you honey?”

kel talbot is even blonder than you remember him. with his chest to your back in the sprawling porcelain of his bathtub he’d admitted, along the skin of your shoulder, that it wasn’t real, the color. he dyed it when he went home to naboo, he said. still damp and soapy he’d tipped you an extra 5,000 credits, for your discretion and your loveliness.

“i’m well, kelly. it’s always so wonderful to see you,” you lilt back to him. and because you can’t help yourself, so prone to indulgence now, you add, “have you been off home? i haven’t seen much of you here.”

he’s lovely, really, and delighted that you would ask. “as a matter of fact, i have. my mother’s been remarried a sixth time, if you can believe it. a great big ceremony and all, and i really couldn’t miss it.”

you smooth your free hand down the lapel of his jacket, black silk gleaming between the pillars of your fingers as you drag them. you wouldn’t mind him, for the night. “i really miss you so much when you’re gone.”

he steps closer, flattered little smile, and you look up at him through your lashes. “don’t stroke my ego, edie, it’s unbecoming,” he whispers, so thoroughly pleased with your attention on him, and you tug on the bunch of his coat in your palm.

“do you want me to stroke something else for you, kelly?”

he lets out a shuddered breath across your face. heir to an agricultural fortune on naboo, he is all tradition, brought up on pomp and circumstance and a set of shoulders shaped for the head of a long dining table. your innuendos fall heavy on him, always. he doubles over with them, sinks into you to realign himself upright. edie, edie, someone called you edee once, it means jaws, teeth, he’d told you. when it came time to shed your first name, your real name, it’d come naturally. edie, edie. kel is ripe for biting now.

“i–i have somewhere to be, honey, i can’t.” you pout at him a little. he tips generously. “don’t look at me like that.”

you set him back by your hold on his suit and he brushes himself with his palms, dusting the fabric from whatever coital indecency you’ve smeared on him.

“i’ll let you know when i’m in town again, okay?” and he offers it like a favor, and you suppose he hopes it to be one, so you nod with a gentle sigh.

“go enjoy your night, kelly. i’ll be here if you change your mind,” you promise, and with a tender smile his platinum hair filters back through the ballroom.

if you’re honest, you don’t really know the purpose of this event to begin with. canto bight shines bloated with galas and gamblers, and you dance, ephemeral, through the lot of them in search of clientele. scanning the dancing gold and satin of this crowd, collected on the bottom floor of the hotel you work from, you find mostly elderly men, married and elderly. you certainly aren’t above servicing either, though you went out tonight for the delights of it more than anything else. draping yourself in the inordinately expensive wrappings gifted by your previous clients, arms and collarbones dripping over with fine jewelry and precious gems, you enjoy the ritual of it, now. you enjoy the rest of it, too, with the right sort of client. you drag a red gemstone, set in gold, to and fro along its chain, your first little opulence left with the credits on the windowsill. edee, edee. a passing, devastating thought: like the girls from that first whore house you hope he smells you, hope through the filter of his helmet he’s struck with the scent like a sharp ache that sweetens in the middle. and—

you should’ve missed it, really. an inconsequential glimmer in the face of all the light you’ve gulped down these past years, but still you seem to find it, the little silver spotlight convexing through the curve of your glass. it points right on you, the beam, and you tilt the glass back and forth to watch the light twitch along your sternum. your body tenses with the stretch of a memory, of you in the sand on your back with the sterling starships jumping into hyperspace above you. but surely there’s no ship here, you reason, and when you look up, he’s right there. they all wear the same getup, creed driven and plated, but you are certain it’s him. with a cock of his hip and a shoulder leaned up against the wall you are certain, so certain, and he is right fucking there. it’s all coming back to you now, his beskar in the rotting wood of your doorway, little words in mando’a, your name, the first one, in his mouth. your mandalorian.

gliding through the dancing bodies of the ballroom—they part for you, now—you shiver with the breeze of your dress, a great sweeping curtain of red silk. you don’t remember, really, when he stopped coming to see you, only that you were wholly and inappropriately devastated. you missed the stick of him between your thighs, the way he loved you. you were so sure he did, back then, and you find that still, as this diamond sea of people carves a path for you to him, you are still sure. you can feel your own wetness collecting at your seam; you cannot unlearn this want for him.

he doesn’t notice you until you’re inches from his side, and still he won’t turn his head. from his peripheral you are unrecognizable, you suspect.

“which one?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move the way he does as your voice echoes behind his visor. it’s a startled jump, a straightening, a tip of his helmet to the side. you think he’s frightened, at first, a heavy terror that collects through the tendons of his hands, but the fear leaves easy, sugars into wonderment. he says your name, arced in question and through the rasp of his modulator.

you shake your head, look out at the ballroom. “i don’t use that name anymore.”

“i–you…” he shakes his head, knocks something loose, “...what are you doing here?”

you snort. “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i have someone i’m looking for.” and it should be ominous—i have someone to kill here—but his voice is still soft, airy with the sight of you. you turn back to him and nod to the crowd.

“yes, i ask again, which one?”

“you know i can’t tell you that.” and he says it like a memory, like the sweet juice of nostalgia on his lips, he says it like i remember you.

you shrug. “i hoped maybe the rules had changed.”

“mm,” he hums, “century old creeds don’t seem to, i’m afraid.”

you giggle with the youth he brings you back to. it’s so easy, falling back here with him. the tilt of his helmet leans to his other shoulder, dark visor tipping down your dress, and your skin fizzles.

“what’s brought you here, then?”

you mirror the angle of his neck. you know, you know. he grunts around something thick in his throat, your name, the first one, you think. he remembers what you said.

“what do i call you? now?”

the delight that twists through you is a sacred one. “edie.”

this does him in. his head tips back against the wall behind him, steadying breath filtering out. “edee?”

“not quite. e-d-i-e.” he lifts, with what seems a great effort, his head back up to look at you. you continue, softer, “but almost.”

and because you know your mandalorian, you see in the shift of his boots on the ground that he’s as ecstatic as his metal plating will allow. his hands twitch, and you want them to touch you, need him to touch you.

“come dance with me, mando.”

he does his best to hesitate, really, but then you’re out among the swaying people, one gloved hand at your back and the other clasped between your fingers, closer now than you’ve been since he last came inside you some years ago in whorish darkness. you squeeze him thinking of it, the stick and the smell, and he presses you further against the gleam of his chest, yes, i remember, i remember. it’s only here, molded around him, that you feel how much bigger he is, the broad width of his shoulders cemented out past the lines of him you used to tend to.

“you look…sort of different.”

“is that so?”

maker, you love the sound of him like this, so close in, so insistent on whispering, so incapable of doing so. “mhm.”

“doesn’t hold a candle to the changes you’ve made, cyar’ika.”

“mm,” you hum, “you know, it’s funny, i feel much of the same.”

he bunches his hand a moment in the silk of your dress. “the glamor hasn’t pulled you under?”

your laugh reverberates against his chestplate. “oh no, i’m sure it has. i just mean i’ve always liked shiny things.”

he groans, quiet and tight. “and why’s that? you like your reflection in them?”

he unlatches you from his chest to spin you around before fastening you back to him, and your scoff whips an arched path around you. “please, the vain one between us has always been you, mando.”

he lowers his head, great secret on his lips. “i haven’t shown my face in decades, edee.”

you can hear his tongue on the word, and you know he hasn’t said your new name, similar as it may sound. the lapping scoop of mando’a washes you over again with the memories of him. and laughing, again you are laughing. you love this bit. “yes, i do remember that part. though i find it awfully excessive that you prance about the galaxy in this welded jewel of a thing.” you knock against the beskar with a knuckle.

“welded jewel. you’ve gotten metaphorical while i’ve been gone.”

“this crowd enjoys it.”

he glances over and around your shoulder. “and you enjoy them?...this crowd?”

you suck on your front teeth to think on it. “you know, most of them don’t ask for it. not all of it, anyway. it’s mainly a lot of talking, now.” and it’s true. even above the lust, this powerful lot is lonely, irrevocably lonely. he nods, and as your heart hammers and wails you tilt your head up to his helmet to whisper against his visor, “you never wanted to talk, did you mando?”

the band of his arm around your back constricts again, a gruff admission, “no, i didn’t.”

he never did take anyone else in that little brothel, it was only ever you. the other girls liked to watch him pass by through the hallway, luster of his armor glinting in the low light, but he walked a tight line to your door, knocked twice, soft as anything. even in that wooden box, a bed and a window and an empty dresser, you remember the metal of him grating at the joins as he tried to make you feel something. you remember, too, that so green, so newly wrung out as you were, your limbs went limp before his credits ran dry, but he defected to your will, watched your body and worshiped at its altar. when your spine loosened and your hips unwound, still with time paid for, he stepped back into the sanded stench of tatooine, hand-cupped pile of credits on the windowsill. yes, the windowsill and the i’ll come back for you and the creak of the floorboards, you remember it so well.

“how much do you charge these days?”

you’re tightening your thighs together as you sway with him. “don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not.”

a ribbon of air releases from your nose, be steady. “20,000 credits.”

and he doesn’t flinch, only lets the hand around your back slip along the gloss of your dress, drawing a line above your ass with his thumb, the line he won’t cross without purchase. “i’d pay it.”

you can’t help this now. “will you?”

whatever mark he’s come to kill tonight is slipping through his fingers, but you fill that space just fine. his helmet tilts, and you feel a leather paw come up to retrieve that little red necklace from the hollow of your collarbone. the pad of his glove passes over the gem once, twice, body tightening and buzzing in metal. “this is mine,” he chokes.

yes, it is. you nod. and he’s decided, it seems. with a modulated groan and let’s go in your ear, he’s shepherding you from the ballroom, hand tight at your waist as you find your way to the elevator. and what with the ceremony of your mandalorian, the tediousness of his armor coming off, you fill the elevator shaft with the smell of your drooling pussy and the air thickens with the buzzing glow of you both together again, but you do not move. the tickle of his eyes through tempered glass rubs behind your ears, still a killer, always a killer, you think, just as you are forever what you have always been. the two of you, frozen in blood and sex, the only warmth you’ve ever known. this reality pulls behind your tongue and you gag on it.

ding. the doors slide open.

you press a thumb to the screen on your doorknob and your mandalorian crowds up behind you, lets you feel the cool touch of his body, the heat that peeks out at the corners. with thick fingers squeezing at your waist and the hard curve of his helmet at your hairline, your knees buckle with the thought that you might have loved him, too, perhaps fatally, but as the lock clicks open and he pulls you inside you suppose it doesn’t matter much now.

you’ve worked this room for nearly a year. a window expands from one wall to the other, beams the morning light and warms the bed sheets, and in the drab of afternoon, twinkle of the city just barely cresting over the sunshine, you watch the people below. drunkards and lovers and princes, you scratch their heads with the cliff of your nail, nose against the glass and breath fogging there, drawing up their mythology and smudging it with the skin of your palm. now, though, with the constructed starlight of clubs and casinos shouldering its way through the night’s darkness, the room bathes in polluted light and the faint sound of wealthy indulgence. there is no windowsill for your mandalorian to balance his payment.

“come here, edee.”

he’s sat himself on the edge of the bed, hand running up and down the metal expanse of his thigh. you stalk your way to him, ruck the hem of your dress up passed your knees to straddle his leg, and slowly, so slowly, through honey and slick and years of parted wanting, he brings his hands to your sides. you splay your fingers on his helmet.

“been a long time, mandalorian.”

he hums in agreement, tips of his thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts over the silk of your dress before running down again, relearning the ends of you. “my cyar’ika,” he whispers.

your cunt clenches, sobs with his sounds and the pressure of his thigh. breath shuddered and indignant you drag your pussy along the plate of armor. throat tight with a whine you ask him, “how do you like it now, cyare?”

his body takes to the slice of mando’a in your mouth like water to sand, something dark and heavy, and his hips tilt up to you as you undulate your cunt along him again. the coil of you both is raveling taut and knotting at the edges, perhaps permanently now, twisting back into the shapes you used to make together. and it was always this way between you, this dancing walk to madness; with the head of his cock he fucked a shard of beskar into you, you think, that first time, and in every meeting since he’s rut his hips to claw the thing back out, but your body has absorbed the alloy of it.

“i want you to fuck me like you missed me.” a shuddered breath, a secret thought, and then: “did you miss me?”

and that question doesn’t come from the metal. no, with your palms warming his helmet you know he’s asking from the fleshy lines between the silver pieces. this is a bloody question. the drag of your cunt against his leg continues still, toes curling beneath you with the cold sting through the fabric of your panties, and perched here atop him you suppose your honesty costs you little in the face of all the rest you’ll give up.

“yes, i did.”

his hands collect your dress like water, silk spilling out between the fingers of his gloves, as he bares you to him, and his visor tips with the sight of you, a feat of topology he memorized so long ago. with a brush of red fabric against your ears you cling to him in only the little scrap of lace that licks along his leg with the wet kiss of your cunt.

“this pussy get wet for me like it used to?”

fuck.

“yes, yeah,” you breathe out, little bites of ecstasy weaving their way from your clit to the nape of your neck.

“oh, my edee, look at you,” and he grips a hand in your hair, pushing your eyeline down to watch the gleaming strip of want brushed and rewritten over on his armor. “you like drenching me like that? fuck cyar’ika i’ll leave this hotel like this and everyone will know i’ve fucked a fucking whore.” fuckfuckfuck. you remember the vein along the underside of his cock, want him to hurt you with it now.

“so fuck your whore, mando, you’ve paid for her,” you plead, but he drops his helmet to your forehead, the both of you still awe struck at the starlit gash of slick you’re dripping on him as your hips gyrate.

“you’re no more patient than you used to be,” he chuckles, but the wobbled rasp of his voice strips him all but naked to you. his hands grind you harder on his body and you wail, neck open as your head falls back. the pleasure sinks its teeth in you now, all hot bloodlust and bubbling open like seafoam.

“fuck, mando, i–i’m gonna come.”

“yeah, that’s it, right here, make that pussy gush for me and then i’ll fuck her open.”

ecstasy knocks through your arteries as your body pulls tight against him, and with desperate hands he grabs at you, around your asscheeks and between your shoulder blades, to feel you jerk with it. he’s groaning something deep and unforgivable watching you move, but already you’re looking for the weight of his cock.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you heave into his shoulder as you slump over, and he’s nodding silently with you, yes, i remember, i remember. the preamble of fingers and tongues is being leapt over, but neither of you seem to mind. he pulls the leather of his gloves off to maneuver you onto all fours on the bed, and after working his pants open with the bared warmth of his fingers the pads are back on you, running down your back and up your thighs. the heft of him pokes at you and you’re clenching with the feeling, the memory, again the memory. from between your open legs you drop your head to watch him pump his length, fingers tan and thick and a little tattoo between them.

his head catches at your opening and a whine spills from between your teeth.

“louder, cyare,” he grounds out. another inch in and you keen.

“fuck.”

his palms find purchase on your side and he anchors himself there, partway within you. you both whistle out whispered breaths listening to the sound of you joined together, him pulling out a centimeter before sinking it back in, fucking you with the head of his cock.

“oh, it’s just the fucking tip and i’m stretching you already, cyar’ika,” he moans.

“more,” you mewl, “i want more.” and really that’s always been your problem, you suppose.

his hips are speeding up now, wretched little humps into the tight clutch of your cunt, but he abstains from the whole of it. “fucking beg me for it, edee, i’ve waited this fucking long.”

into the sheets, bunched by your fingers and your jostling knees on the bed, you moan, “please, please, please, fuck me on your cock, cyare, i need it, please.”

the piece of himself, the metal and his creed’s tongue, that he rutted into you all those years ago comes roaring at him now, is cracked open in the air of your voice, and he stutters with it. he fucks you like retribution, hips slapping against your ass with a wet crackle, and you’re screaming, suddenly.

“that’s it, edee, that’s it.”

the walls of your cunt pulse velvet around him as he punches in and out of you, cock reaching up like he’s trying to touch your tongue with it, run through the length of you with his steel and grunting. your body blooms for him, petals open like it always did. when was the last time fucking him felt like your job? it’s all coming back to you now, crying at the foot of your bed, missing him dearly. you have always been a professional despite the intimacy of what you do, but you feel wholly unprofessional here.

“fuck, you’re so fucking tight, it’s like you’re sucking me back in,” and you can’t help your clenching now, “yes, edee, again for me, again.”

and you do, pulsing and clamping on his shaft, and he nearly wails with the feeling. the hum of his voice through the helmet protects him some, but maker you know him well, years worth of your mandalorian, and so you hear it all clearly, him melting behind the metal and fusing at the edges. you push away the thought that he’ll pay you for this.

“maker your pussy feels so fucking good, i’ve never stopped—ah—never stopped fucking thinking about it.”

the jut of his chestplate bites your skin as he pulls your hips up but you barely feel it. “no?”

“never, never,” he repeats, and his own babbling eggs him on, you think, as he thrusts impossibly faster. he fucks you like he needs it, has always needed it, and you’re reminded again that you loved him before, that you love him again, now, perhaps, but it’s all so hard to see clearly with the tight chain of pleasure running up your spine.

slick seeping from your hole around him you moan, “feel so f–fucking full of it, fuck.”

a frantic hand comes around to your front, pulls the red gem from your chest to lay along your back, and watching the glint of red and gold that he left you bounce on your skin makes him growl and choke. “fuck, fuck, i’m so close, cyar’ika.”

he bends to meet your back and drops the weight of his helmet on the wing of your shoulder and you might not survive the angle of his cock in you now. you’d clasp your hands in penitence if they didn’t hold the both of you up, because this luxury, him greeting your body like it’s his final gutted conquest, is the last you’ll ever beg for.

with both of you sputtering your souls out on the duvet he groans, “i miss your old name, edee, give it to me again.”

the begging makes you pulse, but you shake your head. your name is your first and only born inheritance, and when you grew old enough to realize it you’d had to shed the thing, or rather hide it, stashed away, untouched.

“please cyar’ika, just one more like this, just like this, your real name.”

your moans screech with the tragedy of him pleading with you this way, and bellow because you want to let him. yes, you love him now, and you wheeze, “i don’t know your real name, mandalorian.”

this knocks the wind from him and it blows out along the back of your neck but the piston of his cock in you continues, heightens further, and you’re both on the precipice of something devastating. he groans out breathless “din, din, it’s din,” and then, “maker please let me use it.”

as deep and jagged as the naming cuts you, you have never felt this hallowed a thing. him inside, and knowing what to call him, is unlike any bliss you’ve ever known. “din,” you wail.

he nods at your back. “yes, yes, din. let me use it.”

at last you’re nodding, crown of your head bobbing back on his body, and a torrential downpour of your name spits from his mouth, slides down his helmet and onto your spine. and the coming is unlike all the rest, a slow climb, a painful clawing that rips your flesh from the bone, but suddenly you’re both heaving with it, his warmth pumping through you and your gushing slick sliding out. for a moment you panic, worry for the windowsill, for the way it always ends. but your din. the panic catches on din and smokes away.

your limbs give out and you meet the mattress with your eyes closed, aching and a little empty, but mostly as satisfied as a desperate creature like yourself is capable. you’re reminded of the clank of his armor as he rights himself behind you. it’s so easy to forget it, what with how human he feels.

“din.”

the rattle of beskar stills. he returns your name, the real one again.

i love you, i loved you then, and you loved me. no. no, you think, it’s far too true to say. so instead: “will you come find me again?”

the bed dips as he sits on it and a gentle glove strokes through your hair. “always, cyar’ika. i’ll come back for you.”

and because you believe him, din, you do not lift your head to watch him place the credits and dissolve away. you’ll save the shine of him, you vow, for the next time he arrives for you. your mandalorian.

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#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #the mandolorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #hello woolf

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mynamesaplant · 4 months

Text

Yearning for Wood Floors

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Just a little short story about @critterbitter's hc of Elesa. This is not too long after her and her dad immigrated to Unova. Elesa is def not bitter about it, I promise 🤞

I'll probably post this to AO3 and I'll update this when I do.

Enjoy!~

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The floor was scuffed and dry, practically ancient judging by each crunch that crackled up Elesa’s spine with each step. The varnish looked more like those potato chips that were served in brightly colored bags at lunch. Yellowish, opaque flecks that made the room feel neglected at best and abandoned at worst.

Floors back in Sinnoh never looked like this.

Elesa’s frown deepened as she toed some of the loose chips at her feet, a spray of prehistoric resin sailed across the room. She stifled a sigh. It was kind of sad really. She remembered the wood floor at her cousin’s house, their mom always kept the floors spotless, and whatever cleaner she used made the house smell fresh and clean.

Things weren’t like this back in Sinnoh.

Aunt Johanna, like every other adult in Sinnoh, had everyone take their shoes off at the door. Elesa was used to padding around in her socks or bare feet, but Aunt Johanna bought her little Pachirisu slippers to wear around her house. That had to help keep the floors nice and clean from whatever was being trekked in from outside. It made sense. Meanwhile, Elesa watched the water puddle on the floor at her dad’s feet from his brogues. The rain had soaked into his laces.

That wouldn’t have happened in Sinnoh.

…

She missed the fuzzy Pachirisu slippers at her cousins’ house.

Elesa’s face scrunched up, her mouth thinning as she tried to suppress the flash of anger she felt toward her dad. He and the woman behind the desk were still talking – not that she could hear, she turned her aids off about ten minutes ago when the adults started getting into the paperwork. Even if her aids were on, it’s not like she could understand them. She didn’t understand Galarian.

Another stupid reason to bring her to Unova.

This office – what had her dad called it? – Unovan Disability Services, it seemed like a forgotten department in the government building. Elesa had pressed close to her father as they waded through the subways, up to pavement level, and through the dense crowds to this innocuous building by the harbor. The crowds were loud and made her feel claustrophobic.

There were so many people here compared to Sinnoh.

This woman was their assigned agent, her assigned agent, and she was here to help Elesa navigate this new environment while she learned Galarian. Elesa flicked her eyes up to the metal name plate. Her blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly in her attempt to read. The strokes and dots looked too limited next to the symbols for kanji she was familiar with.

“This is the agent, Talbot-san.”

What was written had to be her name. It had to be. What else could it be? Elesa might know what the letters said Talbot, but that didn’t mean she really grasped their significance. She offered Talbot-san a smile that didn’t really make in past her eyes, which prompted a sympathetic tut from the woman. Probably because she knew Elesa didn’t understand but might have wrongly assumed she was shy or nervous.

Elesa was mad. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to go home.

She didn’t understand why she couldn’t stay with her mother. Probably because her mother was busy with her work as a ranger. Headquarters deployed her all over the country and sometimes outside it to Fiore or Almia to help teach new rangers or to help with relief efforts after major disasters with displaced people and Pokémon. Elesa wouldn’t be allowed to stay at home alone or to go with her mother due to the nature of her work.

Aunt Johanna, Dawn, and Lucas came over to help them pack. Her dad didn’t even help at all really, Aunt Johanna did most of the work and scolded Elesa when she got frustrated with her dad. Her aunt had sighed and knelt down, lightly gripping her shoulders and giving her a sad smile.

Elesa knew what divorce was, but that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was understanding why.

“I know you’re upset, but please be patient with your father.”

She wouldn’t understand until later that her dad was heartbroken about his Staraptor. The death of his starter and the divorce with his wife broke him. He needed to start fresh, and Elesa was dragged along for the ride.

Something nudged into her shin, her dad’s work shoes, and she looked up at him. Leaning down, her dad asked Elesa what kind of Pokémon she wanted. That was why they were here after all, to get a starter Pokémon that would be able to assist Elesa on her journey when the time came.

That time couldn’t come soon enough for Elesa.

She had plans to find her way back to Sinnoh no matter what it took.

He kept listing ones she didn’t know. As much as she tried not to let it show, her face screwed up in frustration, because her dad never listened to her. She had a favorite type. His wife knew (her mother had gotten her a novelty pin from the Sunyshore gym giftshop – she treasured that pin). His sister-in-law knew. Why didn’t he?

Why did he drag her here?

She didn’t want to be in Unova.

She missed Sinnoh.

“でんきタイプ.”

Electric.

That’s all she wanted.

Her dad must have conveyed that to Talbot-san because she clapped with delight and brought up a few options for her to pick from. She swiveled her computer monitor toward them. The computer whirred hard enough to be felt through the floorboards, evidently working hard to only show names and no images.

Blitzle

Emolga

Joltik

Tynamo

Elesa just picked the first one, pointing with her finger before returning her gaze to the ground. It didn’t really matter. She always wanted her starter to be a Pachirisu anyway. She stared down at these messy floors, cracked and brittle, and Elesa had to stop the sudden tears that were threatening to drip from the corners of her eyes.

She missed Aunt Johanna. She missed her cousins. She missed Sinnoh.

She missed when her feet didn’t crunch down on hardwood floors like they were browned leaves in the autumn.

#pokemon #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #pokemon elesa

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rootsofdread · 4 months

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I haven't seen Blight ingame for so long i almost forgot how absolutely obsessed i am wth???????!???

K K K time for more requests. Blight, Wesker and Doctor with a scientist survivor (platonic or romantic) who tries to know something new about their research every chance they've got?? They pretty much approve any possible method killers may use both in real world and the entity's realm, so they r never creeped out, just starving for some fresh results

🦞 livelaughloveblight

Herman Carter / The Doctor:

Truth be told, Herman may enjoy running certain experiments on you to see the limits of your curiosity and drive for more information. If there ever could be someone more curious than you, it would, without a doubt, be him. You’re likely to find him watching you from afar if he’s not directly throwing you into some dire situation, just to see how the cogs in your brain turn. Yet, during his research, the strangest discovery he’s made is that you seem to approve of his methods. You never even seemed angry when he thought he’d see which teammate you’d choose to save from a hook first. Frustrated, maybe…but he knew you were cooking up something of your own. Trials are more like cat and mouse games between the two of you, both of you constantly running your own experiments on each other, ticking and plotting. He must admit: you’re the most interesting specimen he’s had since long before he was taken.

Talbot Grimes / The Blight:

Long has Talbot known what he did in his time was unethical, even back then when the lives of most were effectively considered disposable. Of course, he doesn’t regret what he did…a true scientist will always recognize that, sometimes, a breakthrough in your research can only be reached by doing some awful things. There aren’t many other scientists in the fog, so he appreciates having another one roaming around, even if it’s one he may not see eye to eye with. You’re the one survivor who he can catch eyes with from far away while he’s in the middle of conducting some twisted sort of experiment and not sense an air of judgement about you. Sometimes, he’s even compelled to allow you to tail him if you need to observe something he’s doing for your own work. Someone else who’s just as passionate about their work as he is…

Albert Wesker / The Mastermind:

Albert, truthfully, isn’t usually one for running silly experiments that don’t have some kind of worthwhile outcome. He built his entire life on science, and he knows when to not waste his time on something that won’t give him results that he can use; so, when he does run some sort of experiment on the puny survivors, it’s much more high-stakes. Life or death, either of you or your teammates. He knows, for this exact reason, he isn’t exactly popular among the survivors in particular. But over time, he’s noticed that you don’t really seem bothered by anything he does. If anything, in fact, you seem to encourage him. He slowly started trying to press your buttons to see where exactly you’d draw the line regarding unethical experimentation. He hasn’t found it yet, but he will…

#inbox #survivor reader #gender neutral reader #herman carter #talbot grimes #albert wesker #dbd imagines #dbd x reader #dbd x you #herman carter x reader #the doctor x reader #talbot grimes x reader #the blight x reader #albert wesker x reader #the mastermind x reader

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kupwrites · 1 year

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The Best Kind of Revenge

Brett Talbot x Dunbar!Twink!Femboy!Reader

TW: Top Brett, Bottom Reader, unprotected sex, dirty talk, locker room sex, wall sex, sorta size kink, puppy kink, degrading, and praising

Liam and Brett did not get along.

Sure they could be civil and work together to get rid of whatever supernatural threat popped up next.

But Brett still wanted revenge and he knew the best way to do so.

Liam’s brother.

He was tiny framed and adorable, always wearing feminine clothes.

Brett, even before the whole coach’s car and revenge thing, had eyes for Liam’s brother.

The two had flirted before, never for long though. Liam had clearly told Y/N to stay away from him.

That didn’t stop the femboy from casually starting conversations before games and even after games for a couple of moments. Or from running his hands gently up Brett’s arms or standing quite a bit close to Brett.

So when Brett had Y/N pressed between his body and the wall of the boys’ locker room, there wasn’t much surprise.

The two feverishly kissed, Brett tightly gripped Y/N’s hip and Y/N had his hands tangled in Brett’s hair.

Y/N’s boxers already been taken off and Brett’s free hand worked him open.

Y/N let out a soft moan. Brett pushed his tongue into the smaller boy’s mouth.

Y/N pulled away for a moment, “Gotta be qui- ah, game’s soon.”

“I know,” Brett began littering kisses against his neck. “I know.”

Y/N titled his head to the side, letting Brett have better access to his neck. Brett sucked a good hickey, it was going to be dark and obvious.

Perfect.

Brett pulled his fingers out and Y/N whined.

“Aww don’t worry puppy,” Brett chuckled. “You’ll be filled like whore soon.”

“Brett,” Y/N whined again. It was cute.

Brett hoisted Y/N up by the back of his thighs, Y/N tightly wrapped his legs around Brett’s torso.

Brett pushed his shorts and boxers down. He spit on his hand and stroked himself a couple of times before lining his cock up with Y/N’s entrance.

“Will you hur-” Y/N started as Brett pushed in, they both moaned. “Fuck!”

Brett gripped Y/N’s hips tightly, definitely leaving bruises, as he continued to push himself in.

“Please just fuck me already,” Y/N was demanding things now.

Brett did expect him to be a bit sassy, “Mmm, I could keep you like this, maybe wait for your brother to come in and see what a good little slut you are, what about that puppy?”

Y/N’s cock throbbed at Brett’s words and he was sure the werewolf knew how they effected him.

“You seem to enjoy that, you want your brother to see you spilt in half on my dick, you want your brother to see you being the perfect whore for me? Is that it, puppy?”

“Brett….”

Brett smirked at Y/N’s whiny tone. He tightened his grasp on Y/N’s adorably small frame and pulled out until only the head was in.

Brett slammed back into Y/N.

Y/n moaned and gripped onto Brett’s shoulders as Brett started pounding into him at a rapid pace.

“Fuck,” Brett groaned. “You’re so good for me, so good pup.”

Y/N only moaned and asked for more.

Brett was fucking addicting, slamming into Y/N and making his brain was turn to mush. He could barely form a single a sentence. Mostly singular words came from his mouth.

God if they didn’t do this again…

“Harder,” Y/N gasped.

Brett chuckled and changed his angle, slamming into Y/N’s prostate. Y/N cried out with pleasure.

“I can’t wait to do this again, puppy, fucking can’t wait when we have more time and I can take you apart,” Brett’s breath ghosting Y/N’s ear. “I’m going to make you the perfect toy for me, puppy, you’ll be so good.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Y/N muttered in response.

The sound of skin hitting skin bounced around the boys’ locker room and if anyone came close enough they could absolutely hear the two boys’ moans.

Brett held Y/N up with one arm and used the other to start stroking Y/N.

Fucking werewolf strength.

“Don’t- ah! Don’t stop!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Brett started kissing Y/N’s neck again as he fucked him.

The game was going to start any minute.

“Fuck, I’m so- I’m so close! Brett please!” Y/N started babbling.

“Come on, puppy,” Brett licked a strip up Y/N’s neck. “Show me how good of a slut you are.”

Only took a few more jerks and thrusts for Y/N cry out, orgasming hard.

“So good, puppy,” Y/N heard Brett say.

Brett came moments later, both riding out their highs for as long as possible.

With heavy breaths, Brett set Y/N down on his feet. Brett pulled his shorts back up and sank to his knees. He helped Y/N back in his boxers.

Brett used one hand to pull up the boxers and the other to push his cum back into Y/N.

Y/N gasped as the feeling.

“I’ll have to get a plug for you,” Brett stated, off handily. “Make sure my perfect toy can keep my cum for as possible.”

Y/N smirked, “Means there’s gonna be a next time?”

“Obviously.” Brett and Y/N kissed each other once again.

——

Brett arrived on the field a few minutes after the game started but, still, immediately got put in.

He had a face off with Liam. This was going amazingly.

“Scared that I’m gonna break you?” Liam taunted. “That why you’re late?”

“Nope,” Brett smirked. “I was just admiring your brother’s post orgasm face. It’s fucking hot.”

Liam growled, gripping his stick tightly. Brett laughed in his face.

He reacted the way Brett guess he would.

An absolute feral and pissed look on his face.

Despite not being able to hear the exchange on the field, Y/N knew he was now in deep shit with Liam.

——

Part 2 out now :)

#brett talbot #smut #teen wolf #brett talbot x male reader #gay smut #praising #degredation kink #liam dunbar #beacon hills #unprotected sex #cody saintgnue

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websterss · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘 - 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐓

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: You get hurt protecting Brett and Lori.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): Angst

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,341

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Brett Talbot x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The front doorbell had caught Deaton’s attention from the back. The jingle alerted him someone entered the clinic. He knew he had to be cautious.

“We’re closed!” Deaton called out. Though the hushed whispers of voices were enough to pique his sudden interest. He walked back to the front desk and stopped upon seeing Satomi, along with the sight of you barely holding onto Brett’s neck as he tried to keep you upright. All your shoes squeaked from the water. Lori was on your right, letting you lean some of your weight against her.

There was a loud heavy pour outside. It had been raining.

“Satomi. It’s nice to see you again.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances.” Satomi looked back at you. Black blood spilled past your lips.

Deaton opened the little gate door to let you all pass through towards the examination room. Deaton immediately cleared the center metal table and informed Brett to place you on top of it. You began to panic not wanting to be out of his hold. Your eyes grew big as you reached out for him.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m here.” Brett pushed you back down gently.

“Y/n I’m going to need you to relax okay? It will make it harder if you struggle.” Deaton looked down at you. “What was she poisoned with?”

“It’s Wolfsbane. She was hit with a bullet.” Brett said.

“Wolfsbane. I thought so.” Deaton grimaced. “Well I’ll need to get it out of her system before-“ You interrupted him as you let the silver bullet clatter onto the table. Deaton stared at the bullet speechless. Brett let his mouth hang open.

“I-I already…took care of it.” You said in labored breaths. Then you fainted. Your head fell back on the table with a tiny bang.

“Very well then…” Deaton gave a tight-lipped smile to the three of them, then turned his back to search for the thing he needed. He faced the group again and lit the blowtorch up.

“Woah woah woah. What are you gonna do with that?” Brett stood up straighter, as he eyed the flames burning fast.

“Well seeing as I’m left with no other choice.” Deaton edged the torch closer to you. “I have to burn it out of her.”

“Satomi?” Brett looked to her for reassurance.

“Deaton knows what he’s doing. It’ll be alright Brett.” She nodded.

Brett looked back to Deaton and then to you.

“You might wanna hold her down.”

Brett swallowed thickly before pressing his hands on your body. Satomi and Lori followed suit. The second the flame touched your skin. Your eyes sprung open. Glowing yellow, as the pain became too much. You pushed against the hands holding you down but they only kept pushing harder.

“Hold her!”

“We’re trying!” Brett yelled.

You roared out in agony as the ache grew and grew. It didn’t take long till your body gave out and you fell unconscious again.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Lori asked him.

“Her wounds appear to be healing now. Slowly, but healing.” All eyes drifted down to you. Your chest rose and fell with each inhale of breath you took.

“She pushed us out of the way.” Lori held her arm. She was distraught. You were suffering because of them. You had pushed them out of the way when the blast of a gun rang out. It hit you when it should’ve hit one of them. “It should’ve been one of us lying here.”

Brett placed a hand on her shoulder rubbing it back and forth for comfort. “She saved us. Half the pack got away but most of them weren’t so lucky. I told her to run, but she stayed back with me.” Brett recalled what had happened to you.

“What the hell are you doing? I told you to run!” Brett held you at arm's length.

“Well, you should’ve told me to do something else. When are you going to learn that I’m not going to listen to every word you say in this relationship.” You sputtered as the water got into your mouth. Your hair stuck to your face. You blinked rapidly, it was hard to see in the dark, but it grew more difficult with the heavy downpour. “I mean some of the shit you say is really stupid-” Brett cupped your face.

“Shut up.” Then leaned down to press his lips against yours. He pulled back slowly before giving you a once-over. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You let your eyes drift from his chest to his face, then to his shoulders. No signs of injury. “Where’s Lori?” You looked behind you to see her standing a few feet away. “Lori?” You inched closer, but Brett put his hand out to you.

“Lori you alright?” He asked her. He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Once he saw past her shoulder he realized why she stood so still. A red dot was aimed at her chest. Brett quickly pushed her behind him, blocking her view from it.

“Brett…” You stepped closer seeing two more red dots inch their way up their bodies from the ground. “Move.” You risked another step. “Brett, move!” That’s when the blast rang out. You had shoved your body into their sides causing a domino effect. The bullet had made its hit, but it didn’t meet its right target. You groaned feeling pain shoot up your system.

“Y/n!” Brett quickly helped you up. “Can you walk?” One shake of your head was enough to have him hoist you onto his back. Lori running in front of you two. “Lori go!”

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to watch one of your own get hurt every now and then. It came with life as a werewolf, the path some of you were born into. Satomi had restored what little hope you had when she found you. She saved your life. You owed her everything, and now there she stood brushing back the hairs on your face, watching your face contort in discomfort. You were in pain, and the black veins running up her arm were enough to show for it. You were one of her own. She took you in after you and your parents were on the run. You were given the chance to keep running, but it came with the cost of your parents stopping and fighting back. Satomi found you hiding in fear in a cave. She offered herself as a friend, a mentor. As an alpha. She made sure you weren’t alone.

It was rare to see Satomi show any other emotion. Her expression remained mostly stoic and reserved. Strength and anger is what most came across, but it was moments like these that Satomi let her guard down in front of her betas. She let a tear shed and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“We got her here in time, Satomi. She’s okay.” Brett spared his alpha a glance. “Besides you know how she is, she’ll be back to herself in no time, begging you to make your beef stew tomorrow.” Brett’s eyes crinkled at the thought. It brought a smile to Satomi’s face.

Satomi had let her head fall down. She spared your unconscious state a glance every now and then. She strained her ears enough to hear the slow rhythmic pattern of your heart beating. It was still there. It was enough to bring her some comfort.

“Her heart is slow.” Satomi frowned.

“But it’s still beating. That’s all that matters.” Brett put his hands out and placed it on top of hers.

“I don’t know if I can’t take losing any more of you.” Satomi looked up at Brett and Lori.

“You’re not. Besides, we got Scott’s help now. This Deadpool will be over before you know it.” Brett offered a bit of peace of mind to his alpha, but even she knew that things were never going to be truly over. Not with the life you all lived.

“Let’s hope so, my dear boy.”

#brett talbot #brett talbot x reader #brett talbot imagines #brett talbot imagine #brett talbot one shot #brett talbot x fem!reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #my gif #writings by juls

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vintagegeekculture · 10 months

Note

I started reading some of R E Howard’s books because of your blog! They’re lots of fun and I can see so many of the standard fantasy tropes forming. What are some of your favorite covers or illustrations of his work?

My favorite Conan might just be this very off model one, in the Gnome Press editions. At this point, Conan was as completely forgotten as his fellow Weird Tales character, Jules de Grandin, Occult Detective, who was the more popular character at the time. I love it because it's so off-model. Unfortunately, the Gnome Press editions went nowhere, and Conan would not be rediscovered until the paperback boom, where he was kept alive by fantasy superfans like L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter.

A friend of mine, and fellow pulp collector, asked me a really interesting question in a late night bull session: what would have happened if Robert E. Howard had lived?

As most pulp aficionados know, Howard was clinically depressed and dedicated his life to taking care of his elderly mother. When he discovered his mother was not going to live through the night, he committed suicide that very night.

We can never really know the answer, but by examining his trajectory and that of his pulp writer contemporaries, we can make a pretty educated guess.

I have some bad news for Sword and Sorcery fans: Howard had completely abandoned the Conan character for months following his death, and indeed, any kind of horror or fantasy fiction, primarily as his relationship with Weird Tales went south. For a while around his death, Howard entirely transitioned to being a Western writer, and in the general opinion of many Howard fans, his most mature and best work were not his sword and sorcery yarns, but the Westerns he wrote at the end of his life like "Vultures of Wahpeton" and "The Last Ride."

In addition, we have an example of what happened to a lot of other writers of Howard's generation, like Hugh B. Cave, another Weird Tales guy, who eventually stopped writing horror and action, and transitioned to being a Caribbean regional writer, or how Manly Wade Wellman wrote about his native Appalachia and North Carolina. Wade Wellman's old 30s characters like John Thunstone and caveman Hok the Mighty were vastly overshadowed by his regional creation of Silver John, the Appalachian balladeer.

It's very easy to imagine a scenario, then, where had Robert E. Howard lived, he became a Texas regional writer mainly known for his Westerns, where he produced his most mature work, and the fact he wrote horror and sword and sorcery is a barely remembered fact only known to the most thorough of academics, who might just chance on the name of a Harold Lamb, Talbot Mundy, and Edgar Rice Burroughs influenced set of yarns starring some guy named Conan.

#robert e. howard #pulp fiction #weird tales

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 2 years

Note

Can I request a Brett talbot imagine where him and the reader have been dating long term (4 years ongoing) and they are at a high school party where Lori is being left out so the reader and her sisters drag Lori to the dance floor to cheer her up, maybe ends in smut where brett shows her how amazing she is? If your comfortable with writing smut for them if not then I 100% understand 💗

You're Amazing

Pairing: Brett Talbot x Fem!Reader

Summary: Brett shows you just how amazing he thinks you are.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption (implied), smut, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I was totally okay writing smut but if you're ever unsure I have a post that tells you all the things I will and won't write. Hope you enjoy this fic! <3

Also, after I finished writing this, I realised you asked for the reader to have sisters and I forgot to include that in the story. So if you'd like, I'd be happy to rewrite this, just DM me and let me know, or send another ask.

You were unable to pull your gaze from the familiar face standing alone across the room, the bustling crowd of teens seeming to ignore her as she stood there awkwardly.

You'd come to this party with Brett, and you were currently standing in a corner, him lazily hanging off your shoulders as you held your beer.

"What're you staring at?" He asked, his head turning to face you so that you could feel his hot breath on your cheek.

You shrugged, letting out a heavy sigh as you continued to stare at the girl across the room. "Your sister, she's all on her own."

"I'll go talk to her." He immediately said as he started to move from where he was draped across your shoulders.

But before he could walk away, you reached up to grip his arm, stopping him. "No, no. I've got it."

He just flashed you a small smile as he leaned back against the wall, taking your beer from you before you ventured off into the crowd in pursuit of his sister.

When you'd managed to push through the crowd, you tapped her on the shoulder. "Lori?"

She gave you a nervous smile, her hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Oh, hey (y/n). What's up?"

"You wanna dance?"

"Oh, I dunno."

"Come on." You urged, flashing her a grin as you reached out to grip her hand in yours, slowly guiding her towards the dance floor.

She quickly obliged, following close behind you as you made your way over to the the space where mostly couples were glued together, lazily swinging their bodies back and forth.

You could tell that Lori was still a little doubtful so you turned to her, securing your other hand around hers as you urged her to start moving with you.

At first, your movements were awkward, uncoordinated as you both struggled to find your footing.

But soon Lori was smiling, bouncing along with you on the dance floor as the music blared in your ears.

"Having fun?" You asked, your hands still entwined with hers as you danced around.

"What?!" She yelled, leaning closer to you to hear you better.

"Are you having fun?!" You repeated, your voice straining a little as you shouted.

She nodded then, a wide grin expanding across her features. "Thanks for this! My brother really picked a good one huh!"

"Yup!" You smiled, slowing your movements down as the song started to come to an end.

All the couples that were pressed together were still clumsily swaying around when you let go of Lori's hands, inviting her back to come and stand with you and Brett.

Again, she followed you through the crowd and when you finally got back to your original corner, Brett was waiting for you.

"Hey." He smiled, handing you back your beer and then directing his attention towards his sister. "You okay?"

She nodded, giving him a small smile as she stood beside you. "Yeah I'm good. Your girlfriend's a keeper by the way."

"She's amazing isn't she?" He grinned, slinging an arm over your shoulders as he leaned down to press a light kiss to your temple.

"Shut up." You smiled, shrugging him off.

"What? I mean it." He said, pretending to be offended by your response.

You all probably only stood there together for a few more minutes before Lori spoke up. "You know, you two don't have to stay here with me."

"You sure?" Brett asked.

"Yeah, I'm getting kinda tired anyway. I might just go home."

"You want me to walk you out?" He asked her, standing up straighter now.

Lori just shook her head, offering him a small smile. "Thanks, but you know I can take care of myself."

"Alright, then I guess I'll see you later." He answered, giving her a small wave as she wandered off into the crowd, leaving you both alone now.

Brett leaned closer to you then, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You wanna go upstairs?"

"Sure." You smiled, threading your fingers with his as you followed him towards the stairs.

You both managed to find an unoccupied bedroom, and Brett quickly led you inside, locking the door behind him.

"You know I meant what I said back there." He started, a small smile on his face as he leaned against the door, watching you. "You're amazing."

"I only did what any other person would do." You excused, attempting to shrug the compliment off.

"Well thank you." He smiled, stepping closer to you. "For looking out for my sister."

"It's no problem." You answered, your breath catching in your throat when his hands found their way to your hips.

He leaned down to you then, his lips gently brushing against yours, and if he wasn't holding onto your hips right now you swore you probably would've collapsed right there.

"I love you." He said softly, pure adoration in his eyes as he stared down at you.

"I love you too." You smiled, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him toward you to reconnect your lips with his.

You felt him smiling against your lips as his arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

And as he guided you both towards the bed in the centre of the room, you both never broke away from each other, his arms still secured tightly around your waist.

You gasped when your legs hit the edge of the bed, earning a small grin from Brett before he lowered you down onto the mattress.

He carefully lifted your t-shirt over your head, a wide smile expanding across his features as he stared down at you.

"You're so beautiful." He marvelled, seemingly breathless as he took you in.

You immediately brought your hands up to cover your face, unable to stop the stupid grin forming on your lips.

But Brett was quick to pull your hands away, forcing you to look up at him. "Don't hide your face from me."

You smiled then as he ducked down to press a kiss just below your jawline, your breath hitching in your throat as he continued to drag his lips down your neck, towards your chest.

"You're amazing." He mumbled against your skin, his mouth trailing closer to your stomach. "I got so lucky with you."

"Shut up." You giggled, meeting his eyes when he slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, silently asking for permission.

You offered him a small nod in response, smiling down at him as he swiftly removed your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear now.

"I mean it ya know?" He spoke softly, his fingers carefully wrapping around your ankle. "I really do."

He gently lifted your leg off the mattress sightly, beginning to leave a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thigh, each gentle press of his soft lips sending chills up your spine.

And you watched as he dragged his lips all the way up to your clothed cunt, pausing to look up at you for a moment.

You offered him a small smile before he returned his attention to between your legs, slipping the thin material of your underwear down your thighs.

You shivered when he positioned his head between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your bare pussy.

And when you felt the first swipe of his tongue, you were unable to hold back the loud moan that fell from your lips.

Brett hummed against your flesh, his hands coming up to grip your thighs, keeping you in place as he swirled his tongue over your throbbing clit.

"Oh." You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of his mouth on you. "Jesus."

"God you're so beautiful." He mumbled against you, the vibrations of his voice sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"I love you Brett...so much." You panted, reaching up to desperately grip the sheets in your hands.

You were helpless beneath him, and you almost jumped off the bed when he thrust his tongue inside you, his grip tightening around your thighs to keep you still.

He was no longer muttering compliments againt you now, instead he was moaning along with you, his face still snug against your pussy as he continued to eat you out.

And it wasn't long until you were reaching your release, heat beginning to pool in your belly as he pushed his tongue into you harder.

"Oh my god!" You cried out when you finally came, pleasure wracking through your body as Brett continued to lap at your clit, groaning against you.

He pulled away then, smirking at you as he wiped his mouth, before crawling back up your body to meet you in a desperate kiss, his hands tangling in your hair.

And when he pulled back to look down at you, he had the biggest smile on his face. "You're amazing."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

A/N: Just gonna say, if any part of this is innacurate to his character it's because this is my first time writing for him (same with Lori too). But I really tried to make it as accurate as I could so I hope this is okay! Also, sorry this took so long aha😅

[Main Masterlist] [Brett Masterlist]

#brett talbot #brett talbot x reader #brett talbot oneshot #brett talbot imagine #brett talbot x fem!reader #brett talbot smut #brett talbot fluff #brett talbot fanfic #brett talbot fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf imagine #cody saintgnue

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bokutosmochi · 10 months

Text

NOW MY LIFE IS SWEET LIKE CINNAMON (LIKE A FUCKING DREAM I’M LIVING IN) ♡ ASHER TALBOT

asher x gn!babe

what’s it? fluff

allergen warnings? n/a

sugar level? 0.4k

parlor’s note? asher talbot loml

bon appetit!

"i'm on my way! i'm on my way!" in their fiancee's raspy voice is what woke babe up from their midday nap.

it was a familiar sound, one that spread feelings of happiness, and warmth, and comfort in their chest. however, a feeling it did not trigger was sleepiness, and besides, it was already two in the afternoon. if they went back to sleep now, then they may have a hard time falling asleep in the evening.

babe rose from the california king bed they shared with asher, grabbing an old band shirt their mate owned that's two sizes too big for them before padding over to the living room where the noises came from.

"look, i'm sorry, i'm sorry- i said i was on my way didn't i? gimmie like, thirty seconds and i'll be right there." asher rambled through his speaker. he's biting his lip in focus and he had a determined glint in his eye.

his teammates must really be giving him shit for being separated.

his arms were on his lap as he leaned forward, but he quickly relaxed when he saw his mate enter the room. all tension eased out of his body, and that goofy grin painted itself on his lips as they sat down on the space next to them.

"hey baabe! i missed you." he was getting closer to them, hoping to be on the receiving end of a kiss, but babe wanted to mess with him a little bit.

they put their index finger on his lips and gently pushed him back. "that's your own fault for leaving me all alone in our bed." they sighed a world weary sigh before continuing. "left me all alone to fend for myself and for what?" they looked up at him with glossy eyes making asher pout at them.

"aww, i'm sorry, babe. here, lemme make it up to you." he carefully cradled their face in his hands and pressed soft kisses all over.

babe giggled, the scruff of his five o'clock shadow tickled them, but they made no move to pull away. instead, they put their hands over asher's bigger ones and let him have his way. that was until they heard furious shouting over his headphones.

"ASHER WHERE ARE YA? I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA BE HERE IN THIRTY SECONDS?"

"asher if we end up dying i swear."

he just looks at you, looking unaffected by his teammates and completely affected by your presence and mouths out "worth it."

i get: reblog

you get: asher’s band tee

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dross-the-fish · 8 months

Text

Adam vs Erik

Some time ago an Anon asked if I could write out the scene where Erik attacked Adam. I finally took the time to get the first draft out. Sorry it took so long but here it is!

....

From a secluded alcove Erik watched the Frankenstein creature move around the armory with astonishing speed and agility. This “Adam” as they called him, was a hulking brute. The make of him was crude and whoever had put him together had been no artist. Of that Erik was quite certain. He watched as Adam’s shirt snagged and tore on the corner of the shield he was securing to a wall mount.

Adam hissed a low curse as he examined the fresh rip on his sleeve. He had very little good clothing, given that everything he owned had to be custom tailored to fit him and he tried his best to be careful taking care of his shirts and trousers. Difficult to do when he was frequently tasked with hard labor. With a grumble and a sigh, he removed the shirt and placed it carefully on a table to prevent further damage while he worked.

At the sight of Adam’s bared back Erik grimaced. It was a mess of scorched, toughened, tissue. Long fingers of Lichtenberg figure scars wrapped themselves down the length of Adam’s spine and wove between the jut of exposed vertebrae, bony white points contrasting against the mottled brown red tissue of his flesh. Muscles twitched and ribs expanded as Adam sucked in a lung full of air and exhaled with a wince. Reaching behind him, he gave his back a careful rub, as though it pained him. Erik made a mental note. It seemed this handmade Goliath had a vulnerable point. That was reassuring, perhaps he was mortal after all…

Erik didn’t entirely know how to feel about Adam. Though Adam had shown no overt animosity thus far Erik had recognized a potential for rage. He’d seen how quickly the creature could turn from civil to savage when provoked and in an ordinary man that was dangerous enough, but a creature from beyond the grave? It was a threat unlike any he’d ever encountered and it raised questions that he wanted answered.

Why had something like Adam even been created? What purpose was there in the reanimation of the dead? Erik was not a man who enjoyed being left out of the loop. He’d had the run of the Palais De Garnier for decades and there were no secrets there he hadn’t uncovered. Secrets belonged to Erik, he collected and kept them hidden away until they could serve him. Secrets were his shield and his sword and as he stood in the grand armory of Talbot manor it did not sit well with him that his supply was completely empty. Especially in regard to Adam.

He had asked Dr. Watson for more details of Adam’s story but the doctor had declined and insisted that it was up to Adam what he wanted to reveal about his past. Erik had yet to work up the nerve to ask Adam anything, much less request that he divulged potentially painful secrets, so he had contented himself with quietly shadowing the large man, trying to glean what he could through detached observation. The Phantom of the Opera had quite the talent for lurking unseen and he was confident that Adam had remained unaware of his presence.

Emboldened when Adam became distracted with sorting weapons on a rack, Erik ventured closer, keeping himself pressed against the wall and using suits of armor or furniture for cover. It was when he was no more than a few feet away, crouched behind a trophy case, he saw Adam tense.

“Who’s there? Is it you Hyde? Have you come skulking like some low creature intent to amuse yourself at my expense?” Adam swiveled and scanned the room, yellow eyes darting back and forth. Split black lips revealed ivory teeth clenched in a snarl.

“No, I think not, for Hyde is not so subtle as to remain unseen," he growled, "For certain it must be Erik. Will you reveal yourself and grant me the boon of being peaceable that we may afford an end to this unwarranted enmity between us?" he tilted his head, ears straining to listen for a reply. There was none. A flare of temper blossomed in Adam's chest.

"No? That is a shame, though it is no matter. I will but search and presently, I believe, I shall find you, thus I shall put an end to this intolerable creeping with my own hands.”

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck raised at the violence in Adam’s voice. He pressed himself closer to the wall as Adam began to search the room, holding his breath and willing his heart to stop thrumming in his narrow chest.

Quiet. quiet. Silent.

The creature moved closer. The air thickened. Skeletal hands groped inside a fine jacket for a length of rope. Not to use, no, not yet, simply a mere precaution. Erik bent, poised with the tension of a coiled spring.

Heavy footfalls closing in. Erik knew he was cornered. Any second now Adam would peer around the trophy case and spot him. His impulses screamed: strike first! Strike now! While you have the upper hand!

As Adam’s thick shadow blotted out the lamplight and stretched over the edge of the case the lasso shot out and tightened around his neck. Adam cried out in surprise, lurching back as the noose tightened. Erik leaned back, throwing all of his weight into pulling the cord. Adam roared and seized the rope in his hand, yanking Erik off of his feet and dangling him in the air. The noose slackened enough that Adam managed to rip it from around his neck and throw it violently to the side.

Erik had already let go of his end and was hurrying towards the door, intent on escape. Adam lunged after him with terrifying speed. Just as his outstretched hand was about to clutch for Erik’s jacket the Phantom turned and threw a handful of flashing powder. There was a loud crack, the hiss of smoke and a flash so bright that Adam reeled back, momentarily blinded and deafened. That moment of borrowed time was all Erik needed to disappear, darting into the hallway and making an acrobatic leaping down the staircase.

Coughing and shaking Adam blinked as his vision returned to him. He could feel the sensitive skin around his eyes stinging from the lingering burn. If Erik thought he was going to escape he was sorely mistaken. Adam vowed to find him by the end of the night if he had to tear the whole manor apart looking….

#crossover Au #The Frankenstein creature #The Phantom of the opera

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