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silkjade · 5 months

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WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME

⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀ cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ a/n: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.

“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.”

While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.

Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…

A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor?

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders.

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips.

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist.

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust.

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity.

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips.

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting.

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips.

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance.

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked.

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress.

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom.

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed.

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp.

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts.

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh.

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile.

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..”

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls.

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight.

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb.

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.”

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles.

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source.

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place.

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy.

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more?

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand.

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips.

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire.

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.”

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size.

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round.

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips.

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin.

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst.

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts.

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure.

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars.

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering…

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone.

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything.

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life.

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.”

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart.

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed.

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again.

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven.

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him.

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him.

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing.

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more.

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is.

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting.

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over.

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.”

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...”

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure.

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself.

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused.

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.”

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please.

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers.

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name.

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette.

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless.

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.”

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his.

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention. Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming.

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does.

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly.

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.”

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about.

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm.

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth.

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white.

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable.

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face.

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.”

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

a/n2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #neuvillette x you #genshin x you #tw monsterfucking

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theosbaby · 2 months

Text

sundress

theodore nott x fem!reader

masterlist

summary; you wear a new sundress to your date with theo, knowing that he loves them on you, and he cannot resist the temptation.

warnings; google translated italian, dom!theo, sub!reader, SMUT without a plot, public sex, praising, pet names, lots of kissing and groping, choking, neck grabbing, hair pulling, fingering, heavy dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink... overall, pure filth.

author's note; english isn't my first language, so you might find mistakes. "helping hand" has reached over a 1.000 notes, TYSM! i'm so happy! hope you enjoy this 🤍

you were trying to hold back your playful giggles as theo pushed you inside the three broomsticks bathroom, his large hand covering your mouth to muffle your cute little laugh so that the rest of customers didn't hear you both sneaking into the ladies restroom.

'what had brought you two there?' you might be wondering... well, that's actually a really short story.

as every saturday, theo and you were in hogsmeade, having a date. it was may, the weather was warm and the sun was shining in the sky, so you had decided to put on a new sundress that your mother had bought you for your birthday a few weeks ago —knowing that theo loved seeing you in that kind of clothing.

the dress was white, with a flared skirt and a corseted body which ended in a low and flattering neckline. it made your body look stunning and theo had almost gone crazy when he saw you earlier; the soft fabric hugging your curves, bringing out the light tan of your skin... he had been literally drooling over you the entire date, and now, he couldn't hold back anymore: he needed to fuck you.

and he couldn't wait until you both were back at hogwarts.

he kicked the bathroom door shut behind you both while peppering kisses along your slender neck, gently sucking and biting your skin to mark you all over; at the same time, his hands groped your body almost desperately.

"you look so fucking beautiful today," theo whispered in your ear.

he tugged at your earlobe between his lips before turning you around to push you against the sink and you hissed when your body hit the cold hard marble kind of roughly.

you chuckled, tilting your head to the side to kiss his cheek as you tangled your fingers in his light brown curls, his hands grasping at your slim waist.

"just today?" you whispered back teasingly, looking up at him with a smirk on your red painted lips.

he chuckled lowly, pressing himself against you as he slipped his hands underneath the hem of your dress to run his hands over the smooth skin of your legs slowly, pulling the fabric up just enough to expose a sliver of bare thigh.

"always beautiful, but today... fuck," he muttered, nuzzling his nose against yours; the smell of his cologne filled your nostrils, making you feel light-headed, "this bloody dress is driving me fucking crazy, cara mia."

"i knew you'd love it..." you couldn't help but giggle against his lips, giving gim a chaste peck before pulling back slightly. "i put in on just for you," you murmured, kissing his neck softly; your red lipstick left a faint stain on his flesh.

theodore smirked, his hands sliding up your thighs to cup your bare ass through the laced fabric of your panties.

"you're a fucking tease, do you know that?" he groaned before leaning in to claim your crimson lips in a scorching kiss.

your eyes fluttered shut, your body melting into his arms at the intimate contact, which made you gasp against his eager mouth. your lips brushed together in a mind-blowing dance while you ran your fingers through his soft hair absentmindedly.

theo broke the kiss just a moment later only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin as his fingers worked to lift your dress higher up, until it was pooling around your waist, his body still pinning you against the sink.

"i need you," he whispered in your ear, his voice thick with desire, "need to fuck you so badly, principessa."

you gasped once again when he pressed his hardening cock against your pelvis, grinding against you in slow motions. you grasped at the sink countertop, your head falling back as he placed wet kisses all the way down to your cleavage.

theo groaned at the sight of your perfect breasts almost spilling out of the neckline of your dress and his hand cupped one of them through the thin fabric, squeezing it tenderly.

"sei bellisima, amore mio," he muttered in italian, his lips pressing against yours hungrily once again. (you're beautiful, my love)

you whimpered into the kiss, feeling your wetness start to pool around in your panties as his thumb toyed with your perky nipple over your clothes until it hardened; your shuddered in his arms.

"theo, please," you stuttered into his lips, words coming out as broken sobs.

theo broke the kiss, his eyes darkening with lust as he looked down at you while his other hand slipped between your legs. his fingers traced along the damp fabric of your panties, feeling how wet you were for him.

"merlin... you're fucking soaked, principessa," he growled, his fingers teasingly brushing against your clit.

you moaned at his action, but quickly nipped at your plump bottom lip to try and hold back any sound that may escape your mouth, not wanting anyone outside the bathroom to hear you... though the thrill of getting caught was indeed turning you on.

theo withdrew his hand and kneeled in front of you, fingers gripping at the waistband of your panties to slid them down your legs while he peppered wet kisses all over your belly and hip bones, slowly moving down.

"we have to make this quick, bella," he whispered, placing one last kiss at your smooth mound as he looked up at you with those deep set eyes of his. "but i promise i'll eat your pretty little pussy later on, yeah?"

the smirk he gave you while he stood up made you weak on your knees. he pulled you into a kiss, hands groping at your thighs and ass cheeks avidly as he practically devoured your mouth —at that point, your red lipstick was smudged all over your faces. he grabbed your wrist to guide your hand towards his crotch and you palmed him delicately, feeling his hard dick twitch at your touch.

theo groaned against your lips, breath hitching in his throat. his hand released your wrist and slid between your legs once more, this time slipping two digits inside of you, gently stretching your tight hole.

"fuck... so wet for me," he whispered against your mouth, teeth tugging at your already swollen bottom lip. "you're fucking dripping onto my fingers, principessa."

his free hand wrapped around your neck, choking you lightly while he moved his digits in and out of you in scissor motions to prepare you for his cock. you gasped for air, letting out a needy cry as you worked to unfasten his belt with shaky hands.

"need your cock, theo... please," you breathed out, cheeks flushed.

theo's hand released your neck, his fingers withdrawing from your pussy to help you slide his pants and boxers down; his throbbing cock sprung free, standing tall against his flat stomach, and your mouth watered at the sight. after that, he grabbed your hips, turning your around and pushing you forward until you were bent over the countertop.

"keep your eyes on me, amore mio," he commanded, his voice rough.

he grasped your hair, tugging at it to pull your head back until your eyes met his on the mirror. his rough grip made you whine and you writhed when you felt the tip of his cock brushing along your slick folds, teasing you.

"theo, please," you whimpered desperately.

he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, slowly pushing inside while his free hand found purchase at your hip. he groaned loudly, the feeling of your tight heat welcoming him nearly overwhelming.

"so big, oh merlin," you whined at the stretch, letting out a little cry that echoed through the bathroom.

"oh fuck... I love being inside you," he murmured, his eyes piercing yours through the mirror. "che piccola figa così stretta... all fucking mine," he grunted, starting to pound into you. (such a tight little pussy)

you reached to cover your mouth with one of your hands, your palm muting the moans that inevitably left your lips when he began to fuck you against the sink roughly. your other hand gripped at his thigh, your nails digging into his flesh, and you couldn't help but close your eyes tightly, face contorted in pleasure.

he released your hair and his fingers curled around your throat instead, applying light pressure as he groaned; his digits dug into your skin, leaving bright red fingerprints on it.

"look at me while i fuck you," he ordered, forcing you to open your glazed eyes and look at him through the mirror.

his grip tightened on your throat as he slammed his hips against your ass, his cock buried balls deep inside your cunt and hitting all the right spots within you. the mirror reflected his flushed face, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and eyes locked onto yours as he took what he wanted from you, making a moaning mess out of you; thankfully, your hand covering your mouth muffled the sounds.

"damn it... so fucking tight," he moaned, picking up the pace of his thrusts, "pussy feels so good around my cock." he leaned down, his lips meeting your ear as he whispered his filth into it.

he left a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your neck while his cock made you see stars, his free hand finding its way between your shaky legs to rub your puffy clit, causing you to squirm.

"you love this, huh?" he taunted, smirking against your flesh, "you love it when i'm rough with you, don't you, principessa?"

his hand slid up from your neck to grab your hand and pull it away from your mouth, pinning it behind your back, so that you could answer him. though you struggled to do it; the way he was rocking his hips caused his cock to rub against your g-spot with every single thrust, making you feel like your insides were being torn apart in the best way possible.

"hmm, yeah," you cried out in response, "love it when you fuck me hard."

his lips captured yours again and your walls clenched around him as you moaned into his lips, the kiss muting the sounds of your pleasure. you felt the coil in your belly tightening and your clit pulsed underneath his fingertips, signaling your impending orgasm. he broke the kiss, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked down at you.

"you close, bella? he panted, slapping your ass hard enough to sting.

you nodded in response, blubbering incoherent words, unable to form any sentence as he ruined your cunt.

"that's it, baby... cum for me," he grunted, pushing deeper and harder, the sink creaking due to his harsh thrusts. "i want to see your pretty eyes roll back into your head when you cum on my cock."

his filthy words triggered your orgasm.

he watched with satisfaction as your eyes indeed rolled back, your back arching and nails digging into your skin as you covered your mouth once again, trying to silence the moans and cries that slipped from your lips.

"such a mess... so fucking beautiful," he praised.

he bit down softly on his lip before letting out a rough, guttural groan, the feeling of your cunt engulfing his cock too much for him too handle.

"i'm gonna cum inside you," he warned, "gonna breed this tight little pussy, amore."

you let out a whiny moan, your breathing coming out in sharp pants as your walls clamped around his cock in response to his dirty words.

"you want that, huh?" he mocked you, his hand grasping and pulling at your hair to push you back onto his chest. "want me to make you pregnant with my fucking child?"

"yeah," you whimpered pathetically, "want to carry your child, theodore nott."

"fuck," he cursed, letting out a long, low moan as he unloaded his cum inside you, the warm sticky liquid filling your pussy. "buona ragazza," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from collapsing. (good girl)

your legs were completely shaky, making it hard for you to stand up, so you supported yourself on the countertop as you felt him pulling out slowly, his cum dripping out of your abused cunt.

he placed sweet kisses over your back and shoulders as you recovered from your orgasm, whispering soothing things to you while he grabbed his wand to mutter a cleansing spell and get you both all cleaned up.

after composing yourselves, the both of you walked out of the bathroom quietly to not grab any undesired attention, unluckily, pansy parkinson was waiting out of the bathroom, arms crossed and smug grin tugging at her lips; you blushed.

"finally," she claimed, laughing, "you two had fun in there?"

"shut up, parkinson!" theo shouted, grabbing your hand and hurriedly guiding you outside of the three broomsticks.

'we sure as hell did, pansy', you thought as you both walked away.

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 28 days

Note

The face Bucky makes as he watches you get ready for girls night and he convinces you to stay home in the best possible way😏

It wouldn’t take much for Bucky to convince me to stay home😩🤭

In The Middle Of The Night

PAIRINGS: James "Bucky" Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

WARNINGS: nothing really, unless you count Bucly eyeing you up and down like an animal lol. Implied SMUT

WORD COUNT: 404 (This was short lol)

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

"Bucky, baby?" you call out as you walk out of your shared bedroom. The evening is gentle and chill; the flat screen TV plays some game from last night, and Bucky sits on the couch, shirtless, eyes focused on the competition in front of him. You walk into the living room and stand in front of your boyfriend. "Babe, can you zip me up?" You turn in your place and wait for him to follow your instructions.

Bucky snaps out of his focus from the television screen and moves his sight to the view in front of him. You. He sees the corset dress, the one that stops at your knees, the gift he bought for your birthday. It hugs all your curves in the right areas, accentuating your breasts and making them fuller. The thin straps sag against your shoulders, needing the support of your, still unzipped, dress.

Bucky’s heart skips a beat as he sees the curvature of your lower back. He clears his throat and stands up. "Of course, doll." You throw a smile over your shoulder before facing back towards the television. "Don’t wait up too late; Alicia’s going to drop me back. She’s the only one not drinking. She says it won't do her any good if she's hungover for her in-law's breakfast tomorrow." You yap away, unaware of Bucky’s hungry stare roaming your body.

You feel his fingertips being dragged along your naked skin, the area pebbling with goosebumps at how light his touch is. You slightly shiver and giggle. "Bucky," you chastise, snapping him out of his desire. "Right, sorry." He drags the zip up until the expanse of your back is no longer exposed. Then, he places his hands on your hips and turns you in your place.

"Do you have to go?" he murmurs, placing soft kisses on your neck. You giggle and try to push him away. "Yes, baby. It's been months since I've seen my girls," you laugh, but it slowly morphs into a moan as he nips the space below your ear.

He slides his calloused palms up your thighs and rubs at the hem of your underwear. "Come on, doll. Just 10 minutes, for me?" You snort at his suggestion. "Yeah? What’s going to happen during those 10 minutes, Barnes?" He picks you up effortlessly and starts walking to the bedroom. "Persuade you to spend the night screaming my name, doll."

💌💌💌

Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, babes!!!😩😩😩

This has been sitting on my mind for a while :)

I have some more ideas coming up in the future, lovelies!!! Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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multifandommilfs · 5 months

Text

Better than The Notebook

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Wc: 2570

Summary: the tension builds until it breaks

A/n: guess who finally got into the Criminal Minds fandom and got obsessed with Emily Prentiss?Unestablished relationships really aren't one of my strengths but I'm hoping to change that,enjoy! :))

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Gif by @penelope-garcia –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Are you okay with this?" Hotch queried from the entrance of the changing room. It was a club mission. All you had to do was walk in there, lure the Unsub out and book it before he could smash your head in. No pressure.

"Whatever it takes to catch this sicko." You swung open the locker and the sight immediately made you regret your words. It was a low-cut, high-hem dress. The last time you wore anything this revealing was never. Your unamusement was furthered when your eyes landed on the dramatic curve of the waistline. The whole thing was a stark contrast to your daily FBI wear. "Whoever chose this is such a misogynist. This is literally a corset in itself." You lament, pulling the dress out from the locker to share your misery. You knew he didn't pick your poison.

His lips flattened into a thin strip, a frown cutting between his brows, equally displeased with the ostentatious outfit. "It was Emily's pick. I'll get JJ to switch it out." He turned, heading for the door. Your heart leapt at the mention of her name. Did he say it right? You're holding what Emily likes in your hands. It would be a ruined chance if you didn't take it.

"Wait wait, Hotch, I think I'll keep it." His hand left the door handle as he pivoted to face you, expecting an elaboration.

"It's unnecessary to bother anyone." You winced at your lousy lie. The questioning look on his face was made apparent by his frown digging deeper.

"You're not bothering anyone." He reassured.

"Yeah I know but Emily has a great sense in fashion, there's a high probability that the Unsub would like it."

He sent you that sideways interrogative glare and quirked his brow at the way you pulled the dress into your midriff, like it suddenly meant a lot to you. Adding to the fact that your mind changed after he mentioned Emily, it didn't take a cupid to put two and two together.

The pinch between his brows released, mirth filling his irises. "Alright, but if-"

"-I'm uncomfortable I will switch the dress out. I swear!" The corners of his lips rose for just a second and you would've missed it if you had blinked.

"Oh and could you get JJ in here please? I have a feeling I'm going to need her help getting into this." You turned the outfit backward to expose the tucked-in zipper that ran too low from your shoulder blades. You weren't in the mood to sprain something.

Another nod and he was out the door. You stripped as quickly as possible, getting into the skin-tight dress with slight difficulty, hating the way you wanted to impress Emily by putting yourself through this torture.

The door to the room clicked open as you secured the dress on your body. You hadn't bothered to check who it was because it must've been JJ.

You knew you were wrong when you heard the diction you've learnt to memorise. "Oh I knew I picked the right dress! You look absolutely de-lish in this."

It wasn't JJ, it was Emily. The shriek that escaped you as you startled and stumbled didn't help your balance as you slammed sideways into the locker, the reverberation clanging throughout the room.

"Are you okay?" But she was laughing that free, untamed laughter that made you swoon and grin on the grimy floor, forgetting about the possible bruise.

"Where's JJ!" You tugged up the sleeves that fell off your shoulders, careful not to fray the fabric as Emily approached in quick strides, laughter still bubbling up the length of her throat.

"What? We're basically the same person." She stretched out a hand that you took without a second's break. You couldn't latch on to what she said when her palm pillowed yours with a warmth that made your heart race a little as she hauled you up, the muscles in her arm tensing.

You were lucky the locker behind you served as a reliable pillar for your knees were almost limp when her scent encased you whole, your eyes instinctively flitting close for a beat too long, snatching that whiff of her that caused your fingertips to jitter.

Your breathing shallowed out the moment you opened your eyes. And what you saw couldn't help quell the heat that blotched up your cheeks. She was just a breadth away from you, the curled ends of her hair tickling your cheek, but you could only focus on how the shadow cast from the lights above made it so her lips were deeper in red. It was utterly tempting.

You were closing the space, your gaze fixated, hypnotized. Your movement was so slow it was hardly perceptible, the murky hesitance within your irises morphing into something more intimate. Your lips parted as she damped hers, she was unable to move with the intensity and tenderness simultaneously existing in your gaze.

You were just a desperate breath away when she must've tightened her grip too much on your hand in turn for losing her ability to breathe. Just like that, the reverie shattered into splintering pieces. You backtracked, eyes wide, the fervour dissipating in a stunned blink. Her eyes that flicked up to yours averted themselves to the ground in a sadness you couldn't place once you released your grip on her hand, your hand falling limp to your side.

It took a ladened moment during which you swallowed a knot in your throat and her heart dropped so far below. Both of you contemplating whether to out the elephant in the room but at the same time too scared to address it because it was just too bold a move from amicability.

"Let me just- get something." You managed; she pulled her body away from yours like it was ladened. You rationalised it to be the jet lag, definitely not the hesitance of leaving you. That was your mind playing games.

Your feet were fast to the locker from where you pulled the dress, and once you were obscured from her view by the metal door, you released the breath that had you in a chokehold, your mind replaying the closeness again, again, again, your senses fetching her scent up, her laughter, the glee in her eyes when she laughed and the way she parted from you as if she'd been in a daze like you were.

"Hey, you okay?" You whipped around at her voice to see her eyeing your shoulder which took the brunt of your fall.

"Yea- yeah. Honestly I would be better if you didn't choose this dress." You were glad for the smile that split her lips at your sarcasm, ignorance lifting the tension immediately.

"You love my fashion taste." She squinted her eyes at you. A taut smile was your response, but the quietness brought out a strain in the atmosphere. It was awkward enough for you to readjust your stance, swallowing.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." You forced out, whirling back to the locker to search for the accessories you already knew weren't there. It was you buying time to escape her gaze. It held some kind of encompassing gaiety, some glee in them despite everything they'd seen in this brutal line of work. It was one of the things that took upon your heartstrings and you didn't need any more of that right now. Especially in this locker room, alone with her, after that closeness. She cleared her throat.

"Let me help you with your zip." Oh yeah, you had completely forgotten about that.

She approached from behind as you shuffled on their feet, trying to quell your heart racing in your chest. The fact that you were starting to sweat in the suffocating dress didn't help your case. You really needed to stay calm before-

Her fingers clasped around your waist and she caught the half-shudder that you tried to suppress, but what was hope now that you were already questioning your friendship?

The swoop of the zip signalled your completed outfit. Yet she lingered, her hand splayed on the lower part of your back, another ghosting over the hair on your neck.

You turned back this time, adamantly dismissing another shiver that ran up your spine. And she thought you might just pounce and grab her into a god-fearing kiss like the one in The Notebook. The rain would be her happy tears as long as you were the one holding her.

But instead your gaze glazed with a kind of regret that she ignored; the tension didn't need any more adding. So just like that, you stepped out of her grasp muttering a thanks and slid on your previously haphazardly placed heels.

______

In less than a moment you were striding into the raucous club with a façade of coolness and all confidence with your head angled high while Emily returned to the SUV outside. She wished the floor would give way with each step she took. Mind thinking about the next conversation between the two of you, or the lack of it and she felt a simmering fury that licked her heart, searing her bones. She wanted to linger in it for ruining a chance like that, to let it blaze away the hollow in her chest.

The team noticed her lack of flirtatious jokes, the internal ruckus that was just threatening to boil over every moment even though she kept a smile on her face. They certainly noticed how she seemed to sink into a reverie whenever you appeared on screen, toying with the Unsub. They concluded it to be the jealousy kicking in, spurring on suggestive glances among themselves.

_____

The mission was a knock-out success. He took your bait and almost smashed you with a brick before the team ambushed him.

Emily watched you at the corner of her eye, standing a suitable distance away from the writhing Unsub, arms around your midriff in that damn dress that hugged your figure. A gust of wind blew towards you, billowing your hair as the neon club lights decorated your complexion like everything in the world was pointing Emily to you in that ethereal glow. She ducked her eyes when you glanced over. She missed the way your gaze lingered on her until she slipped back into the SUV.

It was only then that you noticed Hotch beside you. He gave you a sorrowful look, but perhaps you misinterpreted it with your woeful heart because that man was supposedly incapable of any emotions aside from that frown.

________

What were the odds of the jet needing a monthly inspection the day you got into this push-and-pull dynamic with Emily? Because not only do you and your team have to take a commercial flight, but that said flight was crammed with vacationers, leaving limited space for the team and your duffel bags.

"Oh my god what are the chances of people flying to Virginia at 4 in the goddamn morning?" You grumble, but before Reid could even sneak in a statistic, you whipped over to him. "That was a rhetorical question staticReid." It garnered the team's sympathetic laughter as Reid pulled his lips in annoyance.

And when you were left with Emily in a two-row seat, you knew this wasn't only your bad luck at play. It was Morgan's turn to play matchmaker and the way he shimmied his brows suggestively made you want to shove two middle fingers in his face. He was lucky you were too emotionally exhausted to do that. Instead you rolled your eyes and slumped in your seat, body burning with an emotion you couldn't place.

Emily dozed before the flight took off, an easy task when darkness enclosed most of the plane, save for the dim lights that provided little visibility. You couldn't complain as it rescued you from any tension.

You could still feel the phantom tickle when the ends of her hair brushed your skin. You dug the hilt of your palms against your eyes in hopes of pushing down the memory. You should've just yanked her in then instead of taking the fool's way out.

It was thirty minutes into the flight, your eyelids were ladened, but the middle-aged man snoring behind you was a lull to sleep, and the toddler shrieking every two minutes in front of you was a hindrance to slumber.

The moment you let your lids shut, a heavy weight fell upon your shoulder and you slapped a hand over your mouth in time to stifle a yelp. The warmth that encompassed your body once you felt the fluff of Emily's hair against your neck where your collar ended made slumber slip away from your grip instantly. Her touch had been everything you craved ever since the locker room.

You were robbed of air when she snuggled further into you, perhaps for your exuding warmth because the little air conditioner that blew above you was freezing the consciousness off of you, but now you were more awake than ever with 3 hours left of the flight.

The tenderness of it all brought out a sudden intrusive urge in you to just push her hair from her face. And perhaps it was the afterglow from the over the top exhaustion that made your mind a fuzz for consequences, or your bleary gaze that seemed to affect your memory, but Courage peered up in your chest and made it impossible to wave away the impulse that pushed your arm out of your space and into hers.

With a gentle finger, you tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear, unveiling, too intimate. But you didn't allow yourself to think about it when the pad of your finger grazed the smooth of her cheek until you were a lump in your seat. Heart wild as a smile stretched across your lips involuntarily, you couldn't calm it down if you wanted.

Your gaze was soft as it traced her features, and you let your mind wander, her cheek smushed on your shoulder, tender, domestic, all but delusional. You smiled nevertheless, exhaustion clogging up your coherence.

And that smile must've been the key to your manifestation, to your yearning, because she roused awake, lifting her head off your shoulder, her hair tickling your collarbone. Through the drowsy haze of her eyes, she looked up at you past her lashes, and again, so, so close.

And you knew better than to forsake it this time. You surged over the armrest without warning, unbuckling the strain of the seatbelt with dexterity, and captured her lips softly, your fingers holding her chin before it slid to her jaw, tentatively.

When she kissed you back with equal ardour, hands flying to your cheek, body slumping towards you. The white that burst behind your lids was immediate, fervent, and made you cross the armrest in a blur, pulling yourself into her lap.

She tugged you impossibly closer to her, famished for more, deprived of too much. There was no amount of greed that would satiate her now that she'd tasted.

And when you parted, lungs heaving for air, you were all smiles and flushes on cheeks within the dark of the airplane, only a glow of yellow light pouring from the miniature bulb above the both of you.

It was far better than The Notebook.

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#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss fic #aaron hotchner #jennifer jereau #aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #bau x reader

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tziporarosen · 3 months

Text

Delicate Flames

Synopsis: In the desolate snowy mountains, a weary traveler, lost from her security after an accident in a snowstorm, stumbles upon a remote hut and barn. Desperate for warmth and assistance, she knocks on the door only to be confronted by Sevika, a rugged and wary blacksmith wielding a sharp blade. Despite initial tension, the traveler, named “Emilia”, pleads for help, concealing her royal identity. As they share a meal, “Emilia's” presence triggers a sense of familiarity in Sevika, who harbors resentment towards authority. As they converse, Sevika's suspicions grow, prompting “Emilia” to fabricate details about her origins. Despite their differences, “Emilia's” curiosity about Sevika's solitary lifestyle leads her to request joining her in the blacksmith's workshop. Their interaction intensifies as Sevika helps “Emilia” remove her corset, revealing dangerous discovery.

men and minors DNI

Sevikaxf!reader, !topSevikaxbottomf!reader, smut, reader loses her virginity, reader uses a fake name, sevika has a metal arm, AU, set in 19th century, praisekink, marking, spanking?, im new to this lol

The snow in between your toes was beginning to feel like fire burning through your thin shoes, stinging each cell of your skin as you walked, and walked… and walked, searching for any sign of life. For the first time in your life, you were grateful for the corset around your chest and waist, holding all your heat in, saving you from freezing to death. Reaching the top of the steep hill, you pant heavily to catch your breath as your chest heaves under the metal cage around you. Once you recollect your breath, you lift your head as tears warm your red cheeks in excitement. You let out a sob of relief as your eyes lock on the hut at the bottom of the hill accompanied with a large barn beside it, warm yellow light glistening through the windows. Ignoring the pain shooting through your entire core, you run as fast as you can, your energy somehow rejuvenated by the new found hope in front of you.

“Help! Is there anyone there?” you called out desperately as you banged your fists on the curved wooden door, each knock echoing in the empty fields around you.

“Who sent you?” a voice questions from behind you as something presses on your back, its sharpness digging right into your spine. Your heart in your gut, you shift slowly but quickly halt as she digs her blade into your back, causing you to put your arms up in surrender. “Move and at best you'll be paralyzed until the end of time, I imagine you can envision the worst case scenario” she warns. Her voice was gruff, yet so silky and stern that it made your fear conflicted on how to feel.

“Don’t hurt me, I'm lost, I just need to find my way home” you blurt out helplessly, hoping your tired and desperate voice will convince her of your innocence. You weren’t ready to die trying to survive, not when you've gotten this far. “I don't know where I am, who you are, or who could have sent me, but I promise you I just need help” you pleaded clearly, feigning a little confidence to not incriminate yourself with begging.

Your conviction seemed to work as she lowered her weapon slowly, allowing you to let out your first breath in what felt like an eternity. “What's your name?” she interrogated as you turned to face her slowly.

Your stomach was shouting at you to eat while churning at the question that was so simple yet so dangerous. You finally get the chance to see your avoided undoing, both of you frozen at the other's appearance. The tall woman stared down at you, taken aback by your features as you caught yourself admiring what towered over you. She wore a stained beige short-sleeve shirt with a leather apron draped over her muscular body, her arms on display under the t-shirt, its hems ripping around the v neck-line. It caught you off guard as you caught a glimpse of her right arm, metal claws replacing fingers, mechanical plates for a forearm, crafted so perfectly, it looked futuristic. Her brown skin was coated in ash and gray dust, burns and scratches poking through the dirt on her skin, her short hair was tucked in a half bun as little hairs rested on her forehead. Her hands were covered by worn out leather gloves as one held the magnificent sword, completely contradicting her attire and appearance. Your mind cogs for a name to give her as her lips curve lightly, waiting for you to give her an answer to her simple question.

“Emilia, my name is Emilia,” you blurt out in a stammer, smiling as you finish your sentence.

“Emilia, it's a pretty name.” she noted as she stepped forward, her eyes sharpening as she scanned you. “You look oddly familiar” she murmured as she looked down at your golden weaved corset, admiring the way it wrapped around your waist, allowing your now torn gown to lay so elegantly.

“You must be mistaken, I would have remembered you if we met before” you state gently, crossing your fingers and toes, hoping she will drop it and stop digging.

“No, I have a strange feeling that I've seen you before, in passing.” she persisted, her brows knitting together as she dug for a link to connect the feeling with a memory.

“Maybe in passing, but I don't know who you are, I promise” you double down as you pray internally, knowing if she realized you were the next in line to be queen, your life would be over in an instant, you'd never be found again. You always knew to be careful, especially when you were alone, being princess came with its cons as well, your life being at constant threat, and if a desperate person found you alone, they would be a fool to let you go without using your wealth as advantage.

She hummed in suspicion but quickly let it go as your stomach growled, desperate for its needs to be acknowledged. Pondering for a moment to figure out what to do with you, she finally gives in with a little chuckle. “Come in, your stomach will awaken the dead” she jested as she opened the door behind you with a swing of the golden handle.

“Thank you” you whisper out in exhilaration as you step inside the home. “I never got your name” you speak up softly as you admire the small home, little candles dancing on the table, the dark walls seemed to be made with brick and wood, almost as if she built it herself.

“Sevika,” she responded as her heavy boots treaded to the little kitchen in the corner, firewood aflame in a makeshift oven as she removed her gloves. A little smile crept up on your lips at the way her name slipped from her mouth, butterflies lingering in your abdomen, slowly traveling down in between your thighs. Her broad shoulders leaned forward as she cracked an egg over the metal plate before she pulled a loaf of bread from the tin, cutting a few slices with the large knife that rested beside her. “I hope you like eggs, because that's all I have” she mumbled, her back still turned to you as she grabbed an earthenware plate, quickly washing it before setting your plate.

“It's perfect, thank you. Besides I could eat a horse right now” you utter as she turns to you, her brows furrowed as she aims to comprehend what you're saying. Chuckling, you shake your head as she walks up to you, pulling a chair out for you to sit down.

“I don't get it” she stated flatly as she set the plate down, her attention trained on you as you sat down.

“It's a joke, you know? When you're so hungry you could eat anything, even a horse..?” you explain but let out a little giggle as her expression remained the same, completely confused by what you're saying. “Nevermind, you'll understand when you're in my position” you brush off as she shakes her head.

“Eat,” she urged as she walked back to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. Not in need to be told twice, you dig in, your mind forgetting the manners that have been sewn into you. “Slow down, you'll suffocate” she advised as she sat down in front of you, sliding the glass of ice cold water over to you with her silver hand.

“Thank you, you're a lifesaver” you mumble in between chews, slowing down as she gazes at you, her eyes never faltering as she tries to figure you out, complexed by your familiar aura.

“Where did you come from?” Sevika interrogates as she leans back in her chair.

“Oh, uh- from the village nearby” you explain as you raise your eyes to answer her.

“There isn't a village nearby” she remarked as she crossed her arms over her apron, her biceps bulging.

You chuckle nervously, no longer feeling the need to stuff your mouth with food, your throat now feeling as dry as the desert from the tension sitting in the chair near you, you gulp down the water before speaking up. “Sorry, I mean from a village a little further away, i'm not so sure, i've been walking all day and night” you explicate as she nods with a little hum. God, she's intimidating when she's quiet. “What about you? What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?” you question, hoping to fill the silence with something other than her staring you down, folding you to speak.

“I don't like being controlled, plus I don't like people'' Sevika answers with a little shrug of her shoulders.

“Controlled? By who?” you inquire, your curiosity peaked by her vague answers.

“By the royals, they're dictators, evil monsters even, don't you agree?” she posed as she tilted her head, almost as if she's testing you. You tilt your head back slightly at her admission, intrigued by her harsh judgment.

“I wouldn't say dictators, and definitely not evil monsters, they're just royals, they have to be in charge of their people, otherwise everything would crumble” you reason softly, slightly offended by her words.

“You know an awful lot, considering you come from a little village nearby” she elucidated, her tone implicative as she observed your features twitch ever so slightly.

You swallow down, hard, desperate for this interrogation to end, but she was a paranoid woman. “I- I know a lot because my father works in the kingdom” you excuse briskly.

“Ah, okay. That makes sense” she appraised as she shuffled forward in her seat. Grabbing her gloves that rested on her large leather belt hidden under her apron, she stands up, her full height seeming so much more intimidating now that you’re sitting. “I have to get back to work, you can sleep here until late morning and I’ll help you find your way back to your village” she asserted as she headed to the door at the side of the house, her footsteps halted by her name leaving your lips.

“Can I join you?” You asked gently with a curious smile, intrigued by what she does so early in the morning, plus you needed human interaction, anything to distract you from the horror you've just experienced with your guards.

Her brow was raised in amusement once she turned around, surprised you would actually be interested in what a woman like her does for a living. “Okay, but you have to be quiet, I can’t focus if you’re gonna sit there chit chatting” she warned hesitantly as she walked out, not waiting for you as she left the back door open. Quickly getting up, you followed her, shivering slightly as the cold air hit your face once again.

“What do you do?” You called out from behind her, snow tickling your face as she opened the large door to her barn, a blast of heat escaping into the cold early morning. You halt at the entrance, admiring the large room, a large fireplace at the center of the wall, warming your surroundings.

“Blacksmith” she simply says as she urges you to step forward before she closes the door behind you, leaving you two to heat your bodies in an instant.

“Must be good with your hands” you mumble as you admire all the tools laid out on cement. Your comment earns you a little chuckle as she sits down on her stool, raising the half crafted sword in her hands.

“You could say that” she responds, although more shamelessly in her gloat as she grins to herself.

“How do you survive with this heat? I'm already sweating” you comment in a slight pant, your skin glowing at the sudden change of temperature as you trace your fingers over the crafted sword. Your stomach drops at the engraved lion at the handle of the sword, knowing you have a dagger with the exact same design hidden in your dress.

Sevika tilts her head back, watching you from her periphery as she notices your hands on the sword. “I'm not wearing a 6 layer dress for one, and no touching” she warned sternly, her suspicion growing as your hand slowly let go of the sword.

“Sorry, it's just beautiful” you murmur, caught off guard by her harsh glare. You step away from the weapon as she stands up, dropping the metal that rested on her lap. Backing away slightly, she steps towards you as she reaches her arm out, wrapping it to the back of your waist to halt your retreat.

“Take it off, if you're so hot” she offered with a little smirk as you stood frozen, surprised by her change of tone, ulterior motives lingering underneath.

Heat rising to your face, you can't help but smile in embarrassment, and not only by her alluring tone. “I don't know how,” you whisper.

Her face screws in confusion as she tries to comprehend what you just said, “what?” She asked with a snicker.

You roll your eyes as you let out a harsh sigh, completely humiliated by having to admit to this very capable and confident woman, that you, a grown woman, can’t even undo her own dress because you’ve never had to. “I- uhm, I don’t actually know how to remove my dress” you admit in defeat.

Sevika bursts into a silent laugh as she rounds you, scanning the back of your dress. “You’re telling me you don’t know how to remove a dress?” She mocked.

“Well, I never needed to learn, I had people do it for me” you confess in a mumble, feeling completely useless in the situation. She was right to laugh, you’re so spoiled you don’t even have to acknowledge your privilege, yet right now it felt like a disadvantage.

“You must come from a very friendly village if you have people putting it on and taking it off every day” she remarks as she pulls the lace string. Your breath halts as Sevika loosens the corset, unable to breath despite your lungs' new found freedom.

Her words held so much power for a woman with no one beneath her, her eyes sharp with knowledge and experience. She made the hair on your back stand up in intimidation, yet she held such security. You felt safe, even though every part of your mind was telling you otherwise. “My parents have a comfortable life” you explain, though your words slipped through in a breathless whisper.

You could feel her gloved fingers trace your spine as she unraveled the corset before she pulled it forward, slowly unbuttoning the now loose dress. You were surprised by how easily she removed those tiny buttons, considering she’s got a glove on, and doesn’t strike you as the type to wear them, yet you could imagine she spent a lot of time removing them. Your dress falls off your shoulders, leaving you in your silk underdress, cleavage peeking through the neckline as she removes her glove. Her eyes fall to the handle of the dagger that slipped through the seam inside your dress, admiring her work now laying on the floor before quickly picking it up and placing it in the back of her trousers.

Her breath hitched as she stepped over to face you, admiring the way your chest rose and fell, your skin glowing ever so slightly against the warm flame heating the room. “Thank you” you stated softly as your eyes got caught in hers, deep gray eyes digging through your soul, controlling your heart rate, coercing you to admit all your sins and secrets.

You watch her breath go ragged for a moment as she raises her metal hand to your face before she tucks a lost strand of your hair behind your ear. You could see the hesitation in Sevika's eyes as she stepped forward, unsure if this tension she is feeling is mutual. Her fingers traveled down from your ear to your jaw before she places her thumb and pointing finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at her. “I've never seen someone as beautiful as you,” she uttered in admiration, taken aback by how your features complemented each other so flawlessly. Frozen in place, you felt your knees begging to give in at her comment, the certainty in her voice had you under her spell. Incapable of waiting any longer, Sevika connected her lips with yours, pausing for a moment to wage your reaction.

Your mind went to mush once you tasted the tobacco on her lips as you kissed her back, your heart now beating manually as she deepened the kiss. Her hand reaches the back of your neck, keeping you locked in as she explores your mouth, reveling in the way you taste. A little moan escapes as she bites down on your bottom lip, causing her to chuckle as she places her metal hand on the back of your slip dress, slowly lifting it up. The cold metal sends shivers up your thighs as she pulls it up before cupping your cheeks. Placing her other hand on your ass, Sevika taps it lightly to alert you before she lifts you up, supporting you by holding the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs around her waist. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you pull back to catch your breath as she begins to walk to the back of the barn.

She doesn't give you much time to process as she leans back in, kissing you once again as she removes one arm off of you to open the door in the back, keeping you in place with her other. You don't open your eyes until you feel a soft mattress hit your back, slowly leaning you down as she towered over you. Pulling her apron off, she leaned over you, resuming the kiss as her hands explored your waist and back until it reached your lower abdomen. Tightening the grip of your legs around her lower back, she slid your dress up to your waist as her thigh reached your core, pressing down on the pulse begging for some friction, anything.

“Please” you whisper out in between kisses, desperate for her to stop the teasing and just get to it.

“Patience sweet thing” she purred as she lowered her head to your neck, leaving painful marks along your pulse point down to your collarbone. You whined as her lips reached your chest, shifting slightly as she bit down on your boob, leaving a sting behind before she soothed the pain with her tongue.

You should probably tell her that you've never done this before, but you couldn't risk her stopping, not when she knew all the places to touch. You knew this was a bad idea, you'd be ruined if you lost your virginity to a commoner, let alone a foreign blacksmith, but right now you couldn't care less, you needed her. Your mind was someplace else as her tongue wrapped around your nipple as her flesh hand grabbed the other, exploring every part of your body at her disposal.

Your bottom lip found its way between your teeth, biting down as she pulled your panties down once she moved her leg, a little wave of cold air making you shiver. Sevika drew her fingers to your mouth, waiting for you to open them but you were too focused on the excitement of what was about to happen to notice.

“Open” she commanded as her finger touched your lips, hinting at what she was referring to. Submitting to her demand, you parted your lips as she inserted two fingers as far as she could, causing you to gag slightly as her fingers explored your mouth. “Be a good girl and suck them for me” she cooed as you nodded.

You wrapped your tongue around her fingers, sucking them until she was satisfied. Leaving your eyes watery as she removed them, her lips curling at your state, relishing in how pathetic you look under her. “Such a good girl,” Sevika praised as she lowered herself to your core, tracing her wet fingers over your folds.

Your shift forward at the sudden sensation that overtook you, her wet fingers drifting you to heaven as she drew them down to your entrance as nerves seeped in. Her brow raised at your reaction, quickly realizing why you are so shifty. “Don't worry, I'll be gentle” she assured softly, contradicting her commanding tone merely moments ago. You nod in gratitude, trusting that she'll do as she pledges before you close your eyes, your toes curling as she inserts one finger slowly, teasing your entrance to calm your nerves.

“To- too much” you whine once she manages to get her fingers in, her metal hand rubbing circles on your thighs as she shushes you, coercing you into pleasure that quickly replaces the pain.

“You're a big girl, you can take it, can’t you?” she taunted once she saw the pain subside, slowly pumping her fingers in and out as she traces slow kisses on your stomach. Biting the pathetic moans down, she slaps your thigh, “use your words pretty” Sevika ordered.

“Ah- Yes, I can take it” you respond in between moans, your head spiraling as she inserts her middle finger, her thumb circling your clit as your hips rise in overstimulation.

“Ah, ah, move and you'll be cumming all night” she warned slowly. Though her threat seemed tempting, you knew the use of it as a warning meant a sleepless night of begging her to let you sleep. Fighting your reflex, you laid still, allowing her thick fingers to fill you, a pit in your stomach quickly forming. Keeping her rhythm, Sevika rose to reach your neck, planting messy kisses all across your skin up to your ear.

“I figured out who you are,” she whispered as her fingers curled, each thrust blinding you into blissful ecstasy. Her words traveled in echoes as you moaned, oblivious to her revelation. Feeling the pit in your stomach threaten to lose control, your back arched as your hand grabbed the bedding beneath you, the sensations too much as it sent you over the edge. “You're my boss’s daughter, the King, the filth that took my arm”

making this a multichapter because ive imagined a whole plot lol

tagging you since you saw my comment lol

@fyeahnix

#arcane #sevika #wlw #writer #lesbian #sevika smut #sevika fanfic #sevika au #arcane fanfic #sevika x reader #sevika x you

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obey-moi · 3 months

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I heard from a few people that they think Barb’s bunny outfit doesn’t suit his style very well, (which I agreed), so I took it upon myself to make a couple of tweeks.

LEFT: Original Solmare production, unedited. In my opinion...

⦾ Barbatos looks a bit flat

⦾ The lack of colour harmony doesn’t sit well with me. The corset is a bit too blue, and it clashes a little. Might sound silly, but his main theme colours are Cyans, Teals, and Greens, along with accent warms and purples.

⦾ Legs are nice and slender, but mostly unappealing. Makes him look top-heavy and unbalanced.

RIGHT: My edit.

⦾ Made the torso of his shirt a bit more baggy and sinched his waist slightly to give more illusion of curve.

⦾ Recoloured his underbust to match his colouring a bit better.

⦾ Added a little more flare with ruffles peeking out the sides of the hem of his slacks (inspired by other outfits, mainly his “White” suit). Ruffles and “flowing” pieces are a part of his profile, so I added what this outfit was lacking.

⦾ Also gave those ruffles a similar “crystal” pattern to those of his rabbit ears.

⦾ Recolouring his shoes for a little POP.

Questions? Concerns? Additions? I give complete permission to edit on top of my edit, I’m still learning fashion for funsies lol.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me nightbringer #nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me! barbatos #edit

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jokeringcutio · 5 months

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Joker's New Girl - Joker x Reader (SMUT)

(Mention of past Reader x Grabber) Summary: Reader is dressing up nicely to match her boyfriend, Joker. He approves, they get a bit of intercourse going on, and J swears to take revenge on the ex who treated Reader badly.

Fandom(s): Joker/Marvel & Black Phone (2022) Pairings: Joker x Reader (Mention of past Reader x Grabber) Rated: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. Reader Curses. Reader got the hots for J, mention of past relationship/bad treatment(kidnapping)/reference to the insomnia fic with the Grabber)/Implied Reader being badass/ Implied Grabber is Murderer and J is unaware.

The hum of machinery filled the air, a constant background noise in the modern factory where you stood. Everything around you gleamed with cleanliness, not a speck of dust to be found. You felt both out of place and perfectly at home as you began to slip into your new costume.

It was colorful, designed to be both provocative and playful. The tight corset hugged your curves, its vibrant hues of red, green, and yellow contrasting sharply with the white lace that adorned it. Skintight thigh-high stockings followed, patterned with bright diamonds, each one shimmering as you moved. Over these, you donned a short, flouncy skirt that barely covered your hips, teasing glimpses of bare skin just above the provocative leggings beneath.

"I just want to look good for him," you murmured, examining your reflection in the polished metal surface nearby. The revealing cut of the costume, combined with the playful clownish design, felt both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

As if summoned by your words, the Joker appeared in the doorway, his green eyes taking in every detail of your appearance. You froze, heart pounding in your chest, as he drawled, "Well now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Your lips curled into a smile, warmth spreading through you at his approval. He sauntered over, green hair catching the light overhead, the red of his suit a stark reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seemingly playful demeanor.

"Really?" you breathed, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every detail of your new attire.

"Absolutely," he purred, closing the distance between you. His hands found your waist, fingertips dancing along the exposed skin just below the hem of the costume. You shivered at his touch, aching for more.

"So I did good?" you asked, seeking further validation from the man who had become your entire world. “We match now?”

His laughter bubbled up, sudden and unexpected, but you knew it wasn't genuine amusement – it was his unique way of expressing emotion, part of the Pseudobulbar affect he suffered from.

"Darlin', we already match in so many ways,” the last few words came out as a hoarse rasp, his voice dark and seductive. "But I like this. You fit right in my twisted little world."

You sighed in relief, a thrilling shiver running down your spine as his hands traced the lines of your costume, fingers lingering on the lace and satin. You hardly noticed how he started to undo the laces of your corset, loosening it up.

"Thank you," you whispered, words barely audible over the roar of the machinery around you. But he heard, somehow, and grinned that wicked grin of his, green eyes alight with fire.

"Anything for you, my love," he said, his voice low and seductive. His hands slid up your body, slipping beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. His touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that burned with an intensity you'd never known before.

You met his gaze, emerald eyes full of desire and madness. The moment hung heavy in the air, a smoldering ember threatening to ignite a raging inferno. Your heart thundered in your chest, your breath hitched as you looked up into Joker's piercing green eyes, full of desire and madness.

His hands lingered on your skin, the corset loose enough that it slid down to your hips. But he kept his hand still, cupping your breasts, thumbs upon your nipples. An agonizing pose.

Because you wanted more.

"Mister J," you purred, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. "I want you. Now."

His eyes widened for a split second before clouding with lust. "My pleasure, dear," he growled, his voice husky and low.

In an instant, he had you pressed up against the cold, metal wall of the factory, roughly palming your breasts until he drew a moan from your lips. You threw your head back, basking in the bliss of his touch while his nipples finally stroked and pinched past your skin. Your nipples tweaked and desire spread like a hot liquid inside your abdomen.

Joker’s lips curled like a grin against your skin, smearing red paint past the sensitive skin of your neck, covering your pulse in dabs of fake blood.

You felt his hands tugging at the remnants of your clothes. The sound of fabric rustling filled your ears, mingling with the distant hum of machinery and barely registered the chill against your exposed skin because he distracted you, his lips moving up your neck and cheek until they found yours. The kiss hard and demanding.

"More," you panted, consumed by the flames of your desire. Joker obliged, his hands exploring every inch of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He flipped your skirt, pulling your panties aside with an audible tear. You knew they had not survived the action, the lace ripped apart.

Oh well, you’d buy new ones. His fingers dipping into your awaiting wet cunt was more than enough to make up for the loss of your underwear. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his red coat while you gasped, begging him for more and ‘right there’, spurring him on. His fingers dug into your flesh, claiming you as his own.

"Mine," he growled into your ear, sending shivers down your spine because he sounded so possessive. You nodded, wordlessly urging him on, your fingers already doing a little dance between your bodies to uncover him from his confinement. His flesh pulsed hot and heavy underneath your fingers, the skin flushed and head an angry purple, dripping at the tip. The sight made your mouth water.

He was ready.

You tried to lean forward to take him into your mouth, but a lean hand stopped you by pressing against your bare chest, fingertips brushing deliberately past your nipples once again. You looked up at him, giving him a questioning look, only to meet his smoldering stare.

Wordlessly, he pushed you back up against the metal of the machinery – the metal no longer cold. He hitched your legs around his waist, pressing himself against you. Your world narrowed to the sensation of his cock as it slowly stretched your walls, him filling you – a perfect fit that left you gasping for air.

"Fuck," you cried out, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. You could feel the grin against your neck, felt his hips snap a little harder against your own.

He set a punishing pace, driving into you with a ferocity that made your vision blur. So deep, so good. You could hardly remember ever having been plowed this good before, feeling his cockhead deep inside, the strokes of throbbing flesh stretching your narrow walls and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

All that existed was the two of you, locked together in a dance of passion and primal need.

"J.. please..." you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you. He responded with a feral grin, his thrusts increasing in intensity until you were teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You were seeing stars, the feeling inside of you building up to something strong and eruptive. An orgasm waiting to happen, a really good one. You bit your lip but a moan still managed to escape, licking your suddenly dry lips afterwards while your hips tried to meet his. Your pussy pulsed around his hard cock while you fisted the fabric of his coat, hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. “I’m gonna come,” you managed to bring out, pussy pulsing wild around his cock, already in the process of milking him dry.

The only thing you were aware of was how his cock hit you deep inside. Each thrust another reminder of how everything felt so fucking good. You would orgasm soon.

As you crashed over the edge, you felt him follow, his own release claiming him with the same ferocity that had claimed you. Your body shook, little tremors racked through it as you came down from your bliss, hearing Joker’s laughter in your ear.

In the aftermath, you clung to each other, breathing heavily. Joker cradled your face in his hands, then pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

The cool air of the factory caressed your sweat-slicked skin as Joker slowed his movements, still buried deep inside you. You felt the tender brush of his lips against your forehead, a surprising contrast to the heated passion that had consumed you moments before.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern etching lines across his painted face.

"Better than okay," you murmured, running a hand through his now disheveled green hair. "That was... incredible."

He grinned at you, a genuine, warm smile that seemed almost out of place on the face of Gotham's most feared villain.

He helped you to your feet, steadying you as your legs threatened to buckle beneath you. His hands were gentle as he smoothed your skirt until it hid your core once more. He was taking his time to make sure you looked presentable, fastening buttons, helping you with the laces of your corset, and straightening seams until you looked presentable once more.

"Perfect," he declared, admiring his handiwork.

You smiled back at him, grateful for the care he had shown you in the aftermath of your intimate encounter. Joker may have been a monster to some, but to you, he was everything.

"Knowing I have just been inside of you is the icing on the cake," he grinned, his jealous streak showing through by his words and the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Let others gawk at you and know that I am the only one who can ever have you.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, his chest heaving as the remnants of your passionate encounter still lingered in the air. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and malice, were now clouded with jealousy.

"Mine," he said through gritted teeth as a memory rose to the front of both his mind as well as yours. “I’ll forever protect you from the likes of him,” and he didn’t need to say the man’s name for you to know who he meant. Your ex. Albert Shaw. The magician's name left a bitter taste in his mouth so he opted to never say it. "That cheap knockoff clown who dared to call himself your boyfriend."

You shuddered at the mention of your ex, Denver's Grabber. You hadn’t known it at the time when you had started dating him. But you found out when he had thrown you in his basement after you tried to break up with him.

A sadistic monster who preyed on innocence. But that was something Joker didn't need to know about – not yet, anyway. Or he would question how you escaped him.

And you were not ready to talk about that yet.

"I'll make him pay for what he did to you, love,” Joker’s words were harsh, his expression even harsher. “No one hurts my girl."

"Hey," you said softly, lifting your hand to gently stroke Joker's cheek. "At least you put me to bed with a bedtime story and don’t fuck me to sleep,” like that bastard had done.

The corners of Joker's painted lips twitched into a menacing grin, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "You're right, doll," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "You're mine now, free from that sorry excuse for a man. And I always protect what’s mine… fiercely. "

"Only yours," you agreed, feeling a thrill course through your veins at the possessive tone in his voice.

"Damn right," Joker murmured, his green eyes seeking yours. You felt you could get lost in their green depths, swirling around for all eternity in a sea of deep emotions.

“I love you, J,” the words came out as easily as breathing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling when he dipped his head forward, making it easier for you to capture his lips with your own.

The kiss was sweet and full of promise. You had found the love of your life; he stood right here, willing to take you along on this journey through life.

Together, you would face whatever darkness lay ahead, side by side and heart to heart. ~ ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

#Joker x reader #Reader x Joker #Joker x you #Grabber x you #Reader x grabber #Smut fic #clowns #Request fill

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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For a ask: can we see silver fox alpha Steve finally finding his omega. She just opened the new coffee shop that has all sorts of art around, maybe even one of his old pieces

It had been a long time coming, a long time since he had even remotely found an omega who’s scent had called to him like this particular female’s had. It was a clear and strong strike among a room full of females who had used enhancing chemicals to alter their scents.

A clear and focused scent, one among many that was concise and untainted. A single omega among the lot of them that had been untampered, had been the strike to his core as an alpha that made his entire body him with primordial and primal urges.

That one scent made the silver fox preen. The older alpha who had yet to be marked or mated, yet to experience the breeding heat and hear the cries of his own pups, had found his omega among the visitors to his art show.

Heiresses, daughters akin to spoiled princesses of the elite, single omegas looking to become sugar babies, they were all here.

And he focused on a single omega. Of all the omegas in the room who he could have become fixated on, the ones who had enhanced their scents and displayed their unmarked necks like calling cards for the richer alphas in the art show, you were not one of them.

“Give me a moment, Buck. I think I’ve finally caught something,” Steve had dismissed Bucky and his omega with a courteous smile and the direction to enjoy themselves before he stepped away to find the omega calling to him.

Steve had stepped away from Bucky and his omega then started the process of weaving in and out of the crowds to follow the trail that was left for him. In a game of cat and mouse, chased and chasing, Steve had stopped and gone a few times before he had gotten to the back of the studio and finally set his eyes upon the wily omega.

He stood back and watched her hold a phone to her ear as she spoke, studying the gentle way she had paced in a languid and wide circle between the pieces of artwork in the back of the studio. She was breathtaking, much younger than himself and in the few moment he watched her Steve could already decipher differences between this omega and the others hanging around.

Unlike the others, this omegas scent was much cleaner and clearer. There was no chemical hinderance that altered her scent to make it appears stronger or more appealing. It was natural and endearing, addicting to Steve in every possible way.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” He heard her voice, softly whispering into the phone. “I know you want me to do you a favour but…”

Steve observed you, he watched the way you had turned again, and drew his attention to the skirt of your dress. The soft material billowing about your lower thighs in a gather of tulle and silk, and the overlay detailed with flowers that had been carried up from the skirt to the bodice.

Your torso and the curve of your breasts were emphasized by the sheer boning channel’s of the corset built into the top, the swells of your breasts stirring another pique of hunger.

Steve’s mouth had watered when he caught another fresh bout of your scent. The layers and textures had hit him head on, the desire to sink his teeth into your neck made him draw his tongue against his bottom lip.

“…but these pieces are insane. And you told me the artist won’t sell these pieces without meeting the buyer and you’re not here-“

Steve’s lips had been upturned into a smirk, coy and a little cocky. He lift his fingers to his tie and straightened the sleek black silk before dropping his hands to the bottom hem of his suit jacket and tugging once, before he started walking toward you.

And as he started to close in on you he drew your attention and like a small rabbit caught in the eyes of a predator, you had jumped.

“Please, I’m begging you! He’s an amazing artist and I need need need his artwork for my boutique-“

“Jess I have to go.” You were wide-eyed and a little startled, your breath caught in your throat.

“Y/N please-“

“I have to go!” You squeaked like a caught bunny and ended the call, shoving your phone into your clutch.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, coniglietta.” His voice was husky and whether you meant to or not, you had quakes at the sound of his voice. (Little bunny)

“I wasn’t…I’m not-“ you squared your shoulders and drew in a slow, deep breath.

“You like these pieces?” Steve questioned you as he drew himself closer, slipping one hand into his pocket and keeping the other free.

“They’re beautiful,” you admired, turning your head to inexplicably and unintentionally exposing your bare neck to him, “my friend is looking to get one for her boutique but the artist doesn’t sell these kind of pieces without meeting the buyer.”

Steve felt a soft chuckle building in his throat, and had masked the sound by clearing his throat and stepping even closer to you. The movement had drawn your attention and you had flit your eyes toward him. You had looked him over just as he had looked you over, and in the exchange Steve had gotten a great boost in his confidence. You were looking at him, whether you acknowledged it or not, with great desire.

He was an alpha, and he was a Silverfox, but damn if he couldn’t have taken care of you better than any younger alpha.

“Steve Rogers,” he held his hand out to you and waited until your hand was resting in his before he lift the back of your hand to his lips and kissed your flesh softly, “I’m the artist.”

“Y/N-“ you had begun to tell Steve your name when you had faltered at what he had confessed.

“Which piece is she interested in?” He still held your hand in his, clutching tightly and almost protectively.

“Oh! Umm…” you bit your bottom lip and Steve was envious for the moment, wishing he could nibbled on your bottom lip too. “The nature piece.”

“Hmm…it is one of my favourites as well.” Steve brushed his thumb over your knuckles, and gently led you toward the piece in question.

“Normally I wouldn’t let go of them without meeting the buyer, but maybe we can make an exchange.” He hummed, casting his eyes over you.

“An exchange?” He heard your heart beat loudly.

“Mhmm.” Steve leaned in and brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. “I’ll let go of the piece for a night out with you.”

“The painting for a date?”

“One date, coniglietta. And the painting is yours, for free.”

#silverfox!Steve Rogers #alpha!silverfox!Steve Rogers #alpha!silverfox!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader

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my-soupy-brain · 10 months

Note

Going shopping for clothes with ted... trying on some lingerie and pulling him into the changing room. He can’t help but admire your figure. Puts his warm hands on your waist like, “darlin’, you look amazin’”

OOOOOF! This is a sexy situation. He wouldn't know what to do with himself, and that makes it even better. Let's gooooo!

WARNING: Light smut and teasing ahead...

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader (f)

---

You tugged Ted's arm into the department store to go shopping. Really, you didn't have to tug at all. Ted loved going shopping with you. He had an eye for your style, and always found something that you ended up bringing home.

But as you wandered into the intimates department, his cheeks blushed and he smiled brightly at you.

"So, ah, darlin', what are we doin' here?" he asked playfully, holding your hand as you wound your way through the racks.

"Shopping for something special," you tease, darting off to the more intricate and sexy lingerie.

Ted admires the soft fabrics and romantic lace around him, his brain flitting to images of what you might look like in one of these things. But equally attracted to you when you're in your sleep shorts and one of his Richmond t-shirts.

Your eyes brighten at a red satin number - a corset bodice covered in black lace, with garter belts and a push-up top. You wink at Ted as you pop into a fitting room.

"Where'd ya go, sugar?" Ted asks, his cheeks breaking into a big smile, knowing full well you're trying on that saucy little number.

"I'm in here, but I didn't realize this thing had a ribbon in the back, I may need your help, Teddy..." you tease. Ted blushes, looking around to see if anyone may see him in the fitting room. He knocks twice gently on the door before you open it. And my God, what a sight you are to him. "Barbecue sauce," he murmurs, mouth agape as he takes you in.

Your hair is down, a little fluffed out from taking off your clothes, and your body is the picture of sexiness and elegance... "Can you tie me up in back?" you ask, turning around, your butt rounded out under the hem.

Ted nods, his mouth agape, as he steps in and closes the door. His fingers fumble with the ribbon a bit before tying it into a bow, his big, warm hands settling on your hips as he leans into your ear.

"My God, darlin', you look amazing," he whispers, his lips kissing the soft skin below your ear. "Absolutely delicious."

You tilt your head to the side, giving him more room to worship your neck as his hands trail up and down the lace. You can feel how excited he is behind you. He works his way up your chest, feeling your breasts as they spill over the top. "So, Coach...is this a winner? What do you think?" you tease, stifling a moan by biting your bottom lip.

He spins you around and pushes you up against the wall of the fitting room lightly, his hands traveling in a frenzy to touch every detail of the lingerie, of your curves...

"Oh, I think it's a winner alright," he jokes, kissing your lips, sliding his tongue against yours. His greedy hands can't stop touching and grabbing, his length hard behind his khakis.

"God, Ted, this is so sexy," you murmur, his lips again trailing down your jaw, to your neck and collarbone. He groans in pleasure in response, "Mmm-hmmm...."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You both jump apart, eyes wide and laugh bubbling up in your chest.

"Hi there, I'm Judy! Do you need any help with anything? Additional styles or sizes you'd like to try?" the perky voice outside the door asks.

"N-no, I think I'm all set. Thank you, Judy!" you answer, your hand over Ted's mouth before he bursts out laughing.

"Alrighty, well holler if you need anything."

As you hear Judy's heels retreat you kiss Ted's lips again. "Let's wrap this puppy up and get it home," he says lowly against your ear. "I'm not done with you."

---

TA-DA! Hope you enjoyed it. I've thought about this scenario a lot. Because Ted would absolutely be flustered to be in there, and then turned on like a Christmas tree the moment you closed the door.

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted shopping for lingerie with you #and making out in fitting rooms?#YES PLEASE #i like to think ted says “barbecue sauce” when he's just in shock too #and this situation warrants it

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satans-knitwear · 1 year

Text

On or off?? 👀

My links

#White fishnet stockings #Fishnet Friday #My gif to you #Lace top stockings #Any tips or treats would be massively appreciated right now 💕💕#Underbust corset #Curved hem corset #Lace corset #bi girl #cheeky #wlw #White lace lingerie

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actualhumancryptid · 1 month

Text

Kate Winslet Pushes Her Characters, and Herself, to the Edge

(New York Times interview/photos with a big readmore and no screencaps because accessibility)

As a young star, she endured Hollywood’s brutal treatment of women. Now she’s putting her resilience and grit on full display.

By Susan Dominus

Published March 3, 2024 Updated March 8, 2024

Kate Winslet was standing in front of a microphone, breathing hard. Sometimes she did it fast; sometimes she slowed it down. Sometimes the breathing sounded anxious; other times, it was clearly the gasping of someone who was winded. Before beginning a new take, Winslet stood stock still, hands opening and closing at her sides; she looked like a gymnast about to bound into a floor routine. Every breath seemed high-stakes, even though she was well into a long day of recording in a dim, windowless studio in London.

Winslet was adding grace notes to scenes of herself in “The Regime,” a dark satire created by Will Tracy, a writer and producer on “Succession,” that began airing on Max in early March. Winslet plays Elena Vernham, a dictator ruling precariously over an imaginary Central European country, and she was in the studio rerecording (as is common practice) lines that needed improving, including snippets of Elena’s propaganda: “Even if the protests happening in Westgate were real, which they are not” and “He’s still out there, working with the global elite to destroy everything we’ve built.” Sometimes Winslet laughed out loud after delivering a line, and sometimes she fell completely silent, absorbed in watching a scene of herself with her new recording looped in. “God, she’s such an awful, awful cow,” she said at one point, sounding appalled but also a little awed.

The part of Elena, a despot on the verge of a nervous breakdown, is a departure for Winslet, who has chosen, over the course of her career, a wide range of characters who have in common an intrinsic power. Elena is erratic and grasping, with a facade of strength that covers up a sinkhole of oozing insecurity. Winslet gave a lot of thought to how Elena would sound: She chose a high, tight voice, the sound of someone disconnected from the feelings that reside deep in the body. Elena has the slightest of speech impediments, a strange move she makes with her mouth, a hand that flies to her cheek when she is under real stress — those tells are her answer to King Richard’s hump, the body politic deformed.

Onscreen, as Elena, Winslet is coifed and practically corseted into form-fitting skirt suits, with lacquered fake nails. The day she was recording, in early January, Winslet might have been any woman at the office: blond hair, a hint of roots starting to show, jeans of no particular timely style that she occasionally tugged up from the waist, a black V-neck sweater she occasionally pulled down at the hem. It’s only when you look directly at her, face to face, that you see the extraordinary — the dark blue eyes, the beauty marks (not one, but two), the elaborately curved mouth.

As Winslet recorded, Stephen Frears, one of the show’s two directors, guided Winslet with considerable understatement from his seat across the room: a half-nod here, a thumbs-up there. “Was that all right, Stephen?” Winslet called over after one take; she peered over in his direction, expectant, obedient, professional. Frears, who directed “The Queen” and “Dangerous Liaisons,” among others, was silent, with his eyes closed, his head back. Winslet and a few members of the production team waited for his approval. As the moment stretched on, it seemed that Frears was not deep in thought but deep in sleep. Winslet appeared to register a brief moment of surprise, then smiled and moved on — all right, no problem.

Winslet is not precious or easily rattled; on set, over the years, she has broken a toe, suffered hypothermia and fainted, but very little slows her down when she’s shooting. She’s not a fan of a lunch break. Her sturdiness works its way into her performances onscreen: Even in many a period drama, Winslet, for all her femininity, conveys the impression of someone who could hold her own in a street fight. On one occasion when she actually found herself in peril, during a house fire at Richard Branson’s home in the British Virgin Islands, Winslet, efficiently assisting the evacuation, picked up Branson’s nearly-90-year-old mother and carried her down several stairs. (Winslet is married to Branson’s nephew, Edward Abel Smith.)

Winslet’s practicality makes her eminently relatable, but it comes with a forceful energy. A friend commented to me that Winslet’s patent resilience makes watching her — even in a film about a shipwreck or the Holocaust — an experience in which the viewer’s stress level never interferes with an appreciation of the work. “I don’t worry about her,” she says. “She will turn up OK. Even if she has to eat acorns all winter.”

The day after her dubbing session in London, Winslet and I met near her home on the coast of England; she had decided we would visit a local beach. When I entered her car, I noticed on the floor of the back seat a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal that had clearly been there for some time, a sight that made my heart leap — I somehow felt immediately absolved of all my own car-food sins. “There’s just stuff rolling around the back of the car, clink, clink, all the time,” Winslet said. “Sometimes I look in the back, and I’ll see, like, three apples.” At least, she would console herself, the intention was that apples be eaten. The procurer of those apples would be her husband, who goes by Ned, and their would-be consumer the couple’s 10-year-old son, Bear. (Winslet has two other children: a 23-year-old daughter from her first marriage, to Jim Threapleton; and a 20-year-old son from her second marriage, to the director Sam Mendes.)

The sky was cloud-covered, the air wet and chilled. The temperature hovered around 38 degrees, so we loaded our arms with blankets and traipsed in the direction of a white weathered beach hut a short sprint away from the water. Winslet’s hut is just one of thousands along the shores of the United Kingdom — on many beaches, they go on for miles — some of which have been passed down within families for upward of a century. (This one once belonged to Ned’s grandmother.) Winslet pulled on a lock, and the door swung open to reveal a mostly empty, unheated room with a few beach chairs, a skim board hanging on the wall and a bench in back, which is where we would sit and talk for the next several hours, covered in blankets and eating pastries Winslet bought that morning. Winslet also had her bathing suit with her. “I might go in for a swim later,” she told me.

Winslet is a devotee of cold-water swimming, which she has enjoyed not just near her home but also in Alaska and Norway, where, she told me, the water was dotted with ice. Cold-water swimming is popular in Britain, but it seems especially well suited to Winslet, who prides herself on stamina: For the 2022 movie “Avatar: The Way of Water,” Winslet, after considerable training, managed to hold her breath underwater for an astonishing seven minutes and 15 seconds (some Navy Seals never break three minutes). On set, she has little interest in the creature comforts that some stars expect: During the filming of “Mare of Easttown,” an HBO limited series from 2021, Winslet’s only real ask of Mark Roybal, one of the show’s executive producers, was that he replace the extra-large trailer he had intended for her with one the same size as those of her colleagues. “I’ve seen her literally pulling cables, moving props,” Roybal says. “It’s crazy. She’s not far from who she was when she grew up. That’s who she is.”

Winslet was raised in Reading, an hour west of London, in a working-class neighborhood where, she has said, many of her friends were aspiring to be flight attendants and hairstylists. Unhappy at her local school, she enrolled at age 11 in a private performing-arts school, offsetting some of the cost with voice-over work and a role as a teenage sleuth on a television series. Her father, an aspiring but ultimately unsuccessful actor, worked for the postal service and sold Christmas trees; when Winslet’s performing-arts school ended for her at age 16, she took a job slicing deli meat until her former principal suggested that she audition for a part in a movie based on the true story of two young girls who colluded in murder. Why did the principal think of Winslet? “I looked like the girl,” she told me. Winslet was desperate to win the part. “I wrote letters to the character,” she said. “You chant. You pray.” It turned out that the resemblance was important to the director, Peter Jackson, who wanted an unknown in the role. “That’s the lucky-break moment,” Winslet said.

The movie, “Heavenly Creatures,” set her career in motion, but she was still a fledgling actor. When she was brought in to audition for a small part in the 1995 adaptation of Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility,” Winslet pretended she thought she was there to read for the more significant role of Marianne, younger sister to Elinor, played by Emma Thompson. Thompson, who also wrote the screenplay, ultimately championed Winslet’s casting. “It was immediately apparent to me that Kate would absolutely capture the quintessence of Marianne,” Thompson says. “She came in — 19 years old, I think — and had all the passion and the wide gaze of a youthful and optimistic spirit, a soul that believed the best in people. I rushed past her in the corridor, needing a pee, and she said as I came rushing back, ‘I know I can do this,’ and I think I might have said, ‘I know you can.’” The two women grew so close that Winslet kept, for many years, a souvenir of the last day of shooting — the box of an apple strudel that they feasted on for consolation as they tearfully prepared to part ways. (When Thompson turned 40, Winslet gave her the box for her birthday.)

In late 1995, Winslet was passed a long treatment for a film called “Titanic,” the printout of which she recently found in storage, discovering that she had written on the front page, “I love this.” The part of Rose in “Titanic” catapulted her into the realm of the 20th century’s great cinematic heroines. More endearing than Scarlett O’Hara, less thorny than Erin Brockovich, Rose is a Juliet-like figure in love with love who subverts the plot, surviving tragedy instead of succumbing to it. Since then, Winslet’s best performances are of imperfect women who persevere, who are flawed enough to do real damage but still evoke from the viewer deep, sometimes uncomfortable sympathy. In her role as Hanna, a former Nazi prison guard in “The Reader,” for which she won an Oscar, Winslet employs a forceful physicality that the viewer eventually understands as the unyielding rigidity of a woman who can’t make sense of complexity. She pulls off a more exuberant high-wire act in her portrayal of Clementine in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a character whose fervent soul spills all over the place. When she meets Joel, the halting figure played by Jim Carrey, Clementine is careering as fast as the train on which they’re talking; she veers dangerously close, emotionally, to going off the rails altogether, with just enough charm and smarts to pull herself to safety, to keep Joel, and viewers, more intrigued than alarmed.

Winslet seems to relish pushing her characters — and herself — to the edge. Todd Haynes, who directed Winslet in “Mildred Pierce,” an HBO limited series about a divorced mother during the Great Depression, recalled one scene she shot in an evening gown on a rainy, frigid night in Queens. After the first take, Winslet, drenched and chilled, screamed out, elated, “This is what we get to do with our lives!” Winslet’s response did not surprise Haynes, given the roles she’d chosen in the past. “I think the pain that she sometimes endures is part of the thrill and excitement that she fully embraces in her work,” he says. “Kate wants to be put in places she’s never been before and be fearless about it.”

Moments like that, Winslet said, do thrill her: “It is living at the absolute edges of the physical lengths to which one can go to feel the most exhilarated and alive,” she said. Women who take risks interest her. In an upcoming biopic, “Lee,” which Winslet produced, she embodies Lee Miller, a onetime model who emerged from a traumatized youth to become a significant World War II photographer. But Winslet also clearly sees the discomfort she experiences on set as an inevitable part of moviemaking, something she has chosen to embrace rather than bemoan. “Still never to this day would I say: ‘I’m cold. I have to stop,’” Winslet said.

I’m cold, I thought to myself. I have to stop. We’d been sitting in that unheated shack, the ocean waves growing louder as the tide rolled in, for almost three hours, as if Winslet, in this instance too, would never be the one to suggest a break. Every so often, labradoodles, cocker spaniels, retrievers, dachshunds and their owners trotted by the aperture of the shack’s open door. The number of people walking their dogs seemed to have picked up, even as the day got colder; Winslet theorized, without resentment, that maybe word had gotten out. Finally, we agreed it was time to go, but by then it was too late for Winslet, who had plans to visit a new godchild, to go swimming.

If only I’d brought a bathing suit, we could have both gone, I said as we left, meaning not a word of it. Winslet brightened at the thought: We’d go tomorrow, she assured me — she could lend me a bathing suit!

Some measure of Winslet’s fame is tied to her beauty, but she seems intent on deflating its importance, using her influence to convey the message that women have value beyond their looks. In “Mare of Easttown,” Winslet, who played Marianne (Mare) Sheehan, a small-town detective grieving a dead son, refused to let editors retouch so much as a wrinkle. A “global ambassador” for L’Oréal Paris, she appears in an ad in full hair and makeup, then pins up her blond strands and starts wiping her makeup off, all the while speaking to the viewer with the urgency and focus she would give to any climactic monologue. “To believe that you are worth it is something we can all help each other to do,” she says. “And perhaps as we all walk through the world, we can show up for each other without judgment.”

Winslet came of age in the era of waif-chic, which has made her all too expert in the subject of harsh objectification. After her role in “Titanic,” public scrutiny of her body was so chronic and exacting that it threatened to consume her. The British tabloids tracked her weight as if it were a matter of national security; Joan Rivers cracked wise about Winslet sinking the Titanic. In a 1998 Rolling Stone article, Winslet said that she was a heavyset teenager who “sensibly lost the weight doing Weight Watchers. End of story.” She now openly acknowledges that at one brief point in her life, she struggled with an eating disorder. “I never told anyone about it,” she said of that time. “Because guess what — people in the world around you go: ‘Hey, you look great! You lost weight!’” For that last bit, Winslet slipped into a pitch-perfect American accent — Los Angeles, maybe a film executive. “So even the compliment about looking good is connected to weight. And that is one thing I will not let people talk about. If they do, I pull them up straight away.” (For the sake of simplicity, I will direct the reader to assume that curses have been edited out of any Winslet quote on the subject of weight, celebrity or tabloids.)

In the hut, I had wondered aloud to Winslet about the impact of Ozempic on all this. “I actually don’t know what Ozempic is,” Winslet said. “All I know is that it’s some pill that people are taking or something like that.” I told her that Ozempic — which apparently has not yet saturated English culture as it has in the United States — was a very in-demand diabetes drug now commonly taken off-label for weight loss.

“But what is it?” Winslet said, her mouth full of pastry. I went on: It was a shot people took that dampened their interest in food. Winslet looked appalled — as if I’d just told her that millions of Americans were voluntarily injecting themselves with something that made them feel dead inside when they looked at a sunset. “Oh, my God,” she said. “This sounds terrible. Let’s eat some more things!” She made a show of eating more of her pastry, crumbs tumbling onto the blankets.

Together we watched a short video highlighting Winslet’s early career; at one moment, seeing red carpet shots of herself the year after she won the Oscar for “The Reader,” Winslet commented sharply, “Look how thin I was.” This was not Winslet yearning for that moment; it was Winslet feeling sadness for that former self, a young woman who was separating from her second husband and could barely eat from stress, watching her private life become the subject of entertainment-news headlines.

What Winslet accepted as the norm back then she now understands as small cruelties that she is relieved her younger counterparts no longer have to endure in quite the same way. Although a few actors of Winslet’s age have scoffed at what they perceive as the preciousness of intimacy coordinators, Winslet thought her entire experience as a young actor might have been different had they been available to her. “I would have benefited from an intimacy coordinator every single time I had to do a love scene or be partially naked or even a kissing scene,” she said. “It would have been nice to have had someone in my corner, because I always had to stand up for myself.” And often, she didn’t — she felt that whatever was being asked of her was simply part of the job. She has a litany of unspoken objections she wished she had felt empowered to make: “I don’t like that camera angle. I don’t want to stand here full-frontal nude. I don’t want this many people in the room. I want my dressing gown to be closer. Just little things like that. When you’re young, you’re so afraid of pissing people off or coming across as rude or pathetic because you might need those things. So learning to have a voice for oneself in those environments was very, very hard.”

On set, she rarely felt empowered to complain, even when the conditions were difficult. In a 1997 Los Angeles Times article, Winslet, still exhausted from the seven-month shoot of “Titanic,” described the experience as an “ordeal,” recalling two moments of filming in the water that sounded distressing in her telling (though she emphasized to me that she was never in danger). When I spoke to the film’s director, James Cameron, he said that although the set was extremely safe, he might have given Winslet more space to raise whatever subjective concerns about the work she was feeling at the time. “You have to sort of be given permission before the fact,” he said. “I can’t say, sitting here today, that I made that abundantly clear.” He described Winslet as “a force of nature,” adding that “when someone projects that kind of energy and that kind of power to the people around her, it’s difficult to see when they’re in trouble emotionally.”

Like many of her characters, Winslet considers herself a survivor: She survived two public divorces, and she survived the paparazzi, packs of men who chased her in cars or staked out her house. (When she was a new mother, she would put on a hat and sunglasses, hand her baby over a wall to the next-door neighbor, climb over the wall herself, then take the baby through the backyard gate and get on a city bus, where, she swears, no one ever recognized her.)

It’s clear that some of the strength Winslet projects — her nothing-stops-me attitude on set — is a defense she built up, by necessity, years ago. “I was already experiencing huge amounts of judgment, persecution, all this bullying,” she said. “People can call me fat. They can call me what they want. But they certainly cannot say that I complained and I behaved badly. Over my dead body.” To object, especially for young women, was to risk a ruined reputation. “I would not have known how to do that without people in power turning around and saying, ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, you know, her again, that complainer,’” Winslet said. “I would rather suffer in silence than ever let that happen to me, even still today.”

To Winslet, as a mother, it’s a particular horror that the public body-shaming once reserved for celebrities is now a trial that any young woman with a phone might go through. For British television, she recently made an improvised film, “I Am Ruth,” with her daughter, Mia Threapleton, about a mother trying to understand the unraveling of her teenager; behind the closed door of her bedroom, amid the privacy of the world of her phone, Threapleton’s character is enduring bullying on social media in response to revealing images she has posted of herself. With “I Am Ruth,” Winslet became an Everymom, opening her up to interactions of a different kind. “I’ll go to the grocery store, I’ll go anywhere, like walking down the street, and people will stop me,” she said. A parking attendant put her hand on Winslet’s arm and started to weep; Winslet knew intuitively it was about “I Am Ruth.”

In her roles, and in her own life, Winslet has moved, sure-footed, from the role of ingénue to the role of the fierce protector. Roybal described Winslet as an advocate for the crew on “Mare of Easttown,” someone who would personally call the executives if she felt there was some inequity on their part. While shooting “Mare,” Winslet sat in the trunk of a car where the then-19-year-old Angourie Rice would be filming a kissing scene, so Winslet — a safe, big-sister figure — could personally pass on notes from the director coming in through a radio.

By the time she filmed “Mare,” Winslet had decades worth of emotional experiences she could readily access. “In the beginning,” she said, “I would rummage around my emotional toolbox and pull out something that had actually happened to me. But that stopped working for me at a certain point. I don’t know why. As you get older, you live more life; you have more real experiences that you add to the emotional toolbox without realizing that you’re doing it. And so sometimes, as you get older, quite honestly, emotions are easier to access because they just simmer below the surface all the time — because there’s just so damn many of them.” Winslet’s scripts are heavily covered in notes laying out the emotional marks she would need to hit.

The hazard of watching Winslet as Mare is that her acting is so nuanced that you suddenly see others’ elsewhere as telegraphed semaphore (the bitter wife, her arms folded across her chest; the disappointed teacher, mouth tugged downward). In a scene from “Mare” in which Winslet tries to tell her grandson’s pediatrician about her travails with her son, Kevin, who died by suicide, she is reflecting not any one thing but instead the several conversations her character seems to be having simultaneously: one with the pediatrician, one with her past self, as she drifts in and out of being present, and another with her current self, as she struggles to control the frustration she feels at how little the doctor can grasp of this painful history. Watching Winslet, we don’t see a protective mother; we see our own mothering, the depth of our own complicated feelings about the mistakes we’ve made, the gap between all that we feel and all that can’t be easily said.

Winslet seemed uncomfortable talking about her process, not so much because she feared it would sound pretentious, but because it was personal. Long after “Mare” was finished shooting, Winslet wept in interviews when talking about the character’s loss of a son; she couldn’t stop reverting to those emotions she so carefully internalized, any more than she could clear out all the lines of dialogue that have lodged themselves in her consciousness, no matter how much she would like to forget them.

“I finally realized I needed a bit of therapy” to move on from playing Mare, she said. “You actually change something in your brain chemistry about how you think — you know, it’s very, very strange.” She would be at the store buying jeans and realize that she was buying the jeans that Mare would wear — awful-looking jeans, in fact. Her children would sidle up next to her at the house, on days after filming that had left her depleted. “Kevin’s not real,” they would whisper, as if letting her in on a secret. “And neither is Mare. It’s just pretend.” Being an actor, of course, entails coming all too close to the knowledge that for someone in the world, that suffering, that pain, is real. Winslet’s empathy — a protective instinct that extends to her characters — is part of what makes her performances so powerful.

The day after our talk in the hut, Winslet and I headed back to the beach in her car. On our way over, Ned, already waiting there with Bear, called to check in. “The sun is shining,” he told his wife. “It’s really special. But I think everybody got the memo. So — quite a few people.” Ned’s subtext was clear: She would not have a lot of privacy. “Great!” Winslet said, then laughed, not quite a nervous laugh but a sendup of one.

At the beach, Bear was kicking around a soccer ball with his dad. Chatty, funny, smiley, he told a story about the time his dog peed on his favorite soccer ball — he cocked his leg just so, a bit of brilliant and spontaneous mimicry, which I observed again when he put on the voice of his older brother, urging him on in a bit of daredevilry.

I changed quickly into a suit that Winslet lent me and put on a long fleece-lined coat made just for this winter-swimming business, and then there was no more avoiding it: I joined Winslet at the shore. We hesitated briefly, and suddenly a pack of young men were walking by. “Oh, there really are a lot of people,” she said, and for a moment I thought I saw a look of real distress on her face. I remembered she told me that she left New York in 2010, after living there for many happy years, in part because the paparazzi seemed to be picking up their focus on her: She noticed herself looking over her shoulder too often and decided it was time to get away.

Winslet quickly whipped her head around and trained her eyes back toward the ocean. It would clearly be better to move forward than stand paralyzed and exposed on the shore, so in we went. A step, then another — she jog-walked her way into the water, and I had no choice but to follow.

“You have to commit, Susan!” she called out. I managed to pull my focus away from the daggers of cold and look up in the direction of her voice. Fifteen feet away, she was submerged up to her chin. Her eyes were closed. She was far enough out from the shore to be unrecognizable to the public. The water hid her. She breathed in and out slowly, meditatively. A minute passed, then a few more. And then she was up, cursing, cursing the water, cursing the whole idea, laughing, heading toward shore.

#kate winslet #new york times #kate winslet interview #longpost #long reads #the regime #sorry not sorry nyt but you paywall everything #I haven't seen this around here but maybe I missed it #so anyway decided to liberate it for everyone

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prismatica-the-strange · 25 days

Text

Black Sheep | Dawn Treader | Smut

Warnings: 18+, smut, body worship, fingering, p in v, hot steamy human/faun sex

Word count: 1.18k

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Main Chapter link (I'll get to it eventually, this has been done for months)

"You never touch me," She whines, thumbs tracing the open collar of his shirt, "Why won't you touch me?"

Her eyes are big and full of pain and frustration, "Caspian, please touch me."

His head is spinning at her words, at the feel of her fingers pulling on his shirt.

"Tell me what you need."

"Need you, Caspian," She cries, hands tugging at his hair, "Your hands, your mouth, your..."

"Then you shall have it," He murmurs, lips working down her jaw, "Whatever you want will be yours, my love."

He slips his arms beneath her ass, lifting her just long enough to drop her onto the plush mattress, making her gasp.

He settles between her legs, hands bumping hers as they both scramble to push her skirts up.

She unbuckles her belt and tears her gown over her head.

His hands run down her corset, pinning her to the bed as he leans in and kisses her again.

"Off," She breathes and he hesitates, not sure what she means.

She gently pushes him back and sits up, reaching back to hurriedly unlace it. It doesn't help when his fingers move to grip her chin, tilting it up to press his lips to her neck.

"Caspian," She whines, "I can't- not with you doing that-"

"Turn around," He urges, helping her to do so.

He fumbles with the laces for a moment before finally getting them undone. He tosses it to the side and pulls her back against his chest, fingers ghosting up the trail of fur on her stomach to her breasts.

He nuzzles his face against her ear when he cups them and she moans. The feel of his hands squeezing her and his beard scratching her ear, light her insides on fire.

He peppers her neck and shoulders with kisses.

His hands move from her breasts to wander her abdomen before they tease the hem of her underthings.

"May I?" He breathes, fingers dipping just below the hemline, making her squirm.

"Please," She begs, "Please, my king."

He slowly reaches down, hand curling to slide his fingers through her wet folds.

Her hips buck against his hand when he grazes her clit. He circles it for a moment, teasing her until she's gasping for breath, then he slips his middle and ring fingers down into her heat.

"Ah! C-Caspian!" She cries when his fingers curl, hitting that sweet spot inside her she can't normally reach herself, "Right there, love!"

He continues to move them inside her, mouthing at her neck.

"M-more!" She whimpers. She starts pushing down her underwear and his hands make their way back up to her breasts.

When she's finally rid of them, she turns to straddle his thighs, tugging him by the hair to meet her lips.

"Why is this still on?" She pouts, pulling at his shirt, "Wanna feel you."

He indulges her, grinning proudly as he pulls his shirt over his head.

His eyes fall closed, a heady sigh on his lips as she lets her hands explore his chest.

"I love you," She whispers. She leans down, pressing kiss after kiss to his chest, his skin warm beneath her lips, "I love you... My King..."

A growl emanates from his chest and his hands, strong and determined, move her, lying her on her back, bare and willing before him.

He's seen her naked before, but this is the first time, in the mid-day sun streaming in from the widow, he's been able to truly appreciate it.

"You're gorgeous," He murmurs, like a prayer on his lips. His hands trace her curves, fingers running through and catching in her fur, "I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful in my life..."

He takes his time lavishing every inch of skin he can reach with kisses and burning touches, "I love you beautiful, wonderful, girl."

He reaches down, fingers rubbing her clit, making her back arch, "Caspian I- Oh fuck I'm gonna cum! Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait!"

She tears his hand away and he looks at her, terrified.

"Are you alright?" He asks, looking her over, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm alright love," She assures him, stroking his hair, "Wanted to feel you in me when I came undone."

His eyes go wide and he scrambles to get his pants off.

The yellow of her eyes is barely visible when she watches his cock bounce up against his lower abdomen. He's bigger than any man she's ever been with and her mouth goes dry.

He hisses when she reaches out and drags her fingers up his length.

"You have been blessed, my king," She mutters before looking up into his black eyes, "Or perhaps... I have."

He grins, all but tackling her back against the mattress in a kiss.

"Temptress."

"Darling you have no idea-!" She chokes on her words when he starts to push into her, her mouth falling open.

The stretch is delicious and he has to hold her hips down from fucking herself onto him.

"Slow, my love," He groans, forehead falling onto her shoulder as he bottoms out, "I won't last if you rush."

He's nestled perfectly inside her, her walls already fluttering around him.

"Caspian, darling, please! I need you to move," She pulls at his hair, urging him to do as she asks.

His strokes are slow but deep. So deep she swears she feels him pressing against her lungs, and she's instantly addicted.

"Oh Aslan help me- Caspian!" She mewls, her nails raking across his shoulders, "Faster, my love..."

He moans against her ear when his hips snap, pumping quicker into her cunt.

"L-love I-" He rasps against her neck. He lets her lift his head, kissing her desperately, "I'm s-so close!"

She takes the hand that's caressing her cheek and moves it down to where their bodies meet, her legs wrapping back around his waist.

She flutters violently around him when he feverishly rubs her clit, needing her to cum.

"C-Cas!" She screams when her climax crashes over her, her entire body emblazed in inferno. One hand is threaded in his hair and the other is bunched in the sheets, her hips arched to meet his.

He means to pull out, but her orgasm is so sudden he doesn't get the chance before he's pushed over the edge and he's spilling into her. His eyes squeeze shut, forehead pressed against her clavicle, as he fucks them through their highs, "Ah! Beretta! Love!"

She trembles beneath him when he collapses on top of her, breathless.

They're both sticky with sweat, but when he goes to move off her, she clings to him, "Stay..."

"Cas!"

Drinian and Reepicheep both pause mid conversation and share a look at the door to the royals' cabin then with each other.

"I was wondering when that tension was finally going to break," Reep snickers, tail flicking behind him.

Drinian chuckles in agreement before turning back to his conversation.

#king caspian x #caspian x #caspian smut #self ship smut #prisma self ships #black sheep #prisma writes

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84reedsy · 3 months

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The Mentorship, Part 3

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , eventual Scott Hall/FemOC

Part 3 of ? (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Word Count: 5021

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

------- Part 1 Part 2 -------

Tags: (If you're interested in being tagged, let me know!)

Training intensified over the last week. Brinkley wondered if Curt was getting back at her for her stunt in the kitchen. She knew she’d earned it, each night her tired and sore muscles reminded her that she had brought it on herself. Curt had been pushing her more though she was the one reaping the benefits. She’d told Curt she didn’t want to be super muscular, but she wanted to be strong. She could feel her strength improve drastically, but the only obvious increase in size was her ass. She wondered if he’d done that on purpose. Either way, she was happy with curves and strength.

She’d packed all of her things, preparing to go out on the road for the next 70 day stretch. She was excited to get back into the swing of things and to show off her new wrestling skills. She was relieved when her new ring outfit was delivered that morning; couldn’t have been much closer to zero hour.

The set came with four pieces; long tights, short shorts, a matching corset top, and a long sleeved zippered top. She could mix and match them as she pleased. They were smaller than her last set, but as she put them on, she was relieved that they fit. She paired the shorts and the long sleeve top, zipping it only halfway. She went to the gym, using the full length mirror to check all the angles.

Curt walked in with his duffel bag, his gear in the storage room off of the gym.

“Is that new?” Curt looked over the outfit, seeing that his heavy squat schedule had done its job.

“Yes, JUST got delivered. I didn’t think I’d have it for this trip.” She kept making micro adjustments, happy with the fit, but feeling a tug of self-consciousness. Curt set his bag down and walked over slowly, continuing to look her over.

“Looks good, did you get boots?” He looked down at her bare feet, “Or are you going to run around barefoot?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, “They are in my bag, didn’t feel like lacing them up just to take them back off again.” She watched in the mirror as Curt approached her, standing right behind her as she faced their reflections.

She smirked as he adjusted the outfit. He moved the zipper on her top down slightly.

“There, that’s better,” He smirked.

“Don’t think the FCC will be happy if they just come flying out of there,” she zipped it back up, she stifled a grin.

“I dunno, might help with ratings,” He pulled it back down, even lower this time, smacking her hand away as she tried to correct it again, “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ll show you how to lock that in place if we can find some paper clips somewhere. He winked at her via the reflection.

“Fine…I guess you know best,” She posed with her hands on her hips as Curt’s hands trailed along the bottom hem of the top. Grazing her skin, Brinkley tried not to visibly shudder. A small voice in her head was hoping that his hands wouldn’t stop wandering.

“I do.” He said succinctly, “And this is really good on you. It's hot, own it,” He advised her as he stepped away.

She was fairly sure that Curt wasn’t going to cross that line again; it was hard to not be disappointed when his hands didn’t touch more. She bit her tongue to keep from saying ‘thank you, daddy”.

“By the way, we’re picking up a guy on the way,” Curt said, stepping away from her and grabbing his bag.

“Oh? Is he gonna be with us the whole tour? Or just bumming a ride?” She fixed her hair up into a ponytail, still watching Curt. Even in a polo and jeans, he looked toned and muscular. She wondered if he had shaved his chest or not. She hoped not, something about that smattering of blonde hair over his broad, tanned chest was sexy to her. She snapped out of her trance only to turn her head away from him, having been caught staring.

“Probably ride with us through the first few cities, few weeks or so,” He liked catching her staring, it boosted his confidence.

When he still didn’t mention who, Brinkley couldn’t subdue her curiosity.

“Well who is it then?”

“Oh, Scott,” Curt said, disappearing into the storage room. Brinkley’s face fell, surely she misheard him.

“Scott? Norton?” She asked cautiously, following him.

“No, Scott Hall,” He answered cooly, knowing he was riling her up. He knew how she felt about him. She had admitted she thought he was attractive, but Curt knew she had a pretty heavy crush on him at the moment. He probably shouldn’t have used that knowledge against her, but this had been set in motion when she’d caught him off guard. Known as one of the biggest pranksters of all time, Curt couldn’t allow himself to be one-upped. He’d make sure she’d learn that lesson.

“Are you serious?” She knew she’d told Curt that she thought Scott was the best looking guy early on as they were getting to know each other, she didn’t think he’d use that against her.

“Oh c’mon, you still don’t have a thing for him, do you?” Curt teased, laughing at her aghast face.

“I mean…I….he’s….” She stammered, feeling her cheeks burn.

“Well I guess you do,” he was amused at her state, “Thought maybe I’d ruined the thought of other guys for ya,”

Now Brinkley really blushed, and she opened her mouth several times to snap back at him, but nothing came to her mind.

“No comeback?” He was satisfied to see that she was still smitten with the idea of Scott. His revenge would be that much sweeter. He needed to calm her down though or she’d never let her guard down enough, “Chill out, he’s just a guy. He doesn’t know you’re hot for him. It's just a free ride for him,” He finished packing his bag.

“God, I’m not hot for him, I just think he’s a good looking guy,” She sneered at him.

“Oh, and I’m not,” Curt mocked offense.

“I put your dick in my mouth, didn’t I,” She snapped back, the surprise now on his face. Curt had to chuckle at her smug response. He straightened his face quickly.

“You know better…radio silence, remember?” he playfully nudged her toward the door.

“You started it,” She mumbled.

“Get your ass dressed, we need to leave before we’re late,” resisting smacking it, he kicked her gently in the ass to spur her forward instead.

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

Curt was glad they'd picked up the rental car the night before. Leaving the house, they were immediately on the road. Brinkley chattered away mindlessly as she always did on road trips. He had threatened on other tours to duct tape her mouth shut. He always showed her the tape in his bag.

She never knew if he was legitimately threatening her or not, but she knew enough legends of his ribs not to test him too much. Patience wore thinner on the road than it did at home.

He knew today she was nervous because of their traveling companion. The closer they got to the airport, the more fidgety she became. He wondered if she'd be rolled up in a ball by the time they pulled up to the arrivals gate at the airport and waited in the line of cars.

“Couple of things before we're officially on the clock,” Curt drummed his hand on the steering wheel, “One ...I wouldn't mention anything but the training to anyone…even if you think they're your friends. Not just for my reputation, but your's. I only know of one or two people I would even think of telling and I've been in this for 20+ years now,” he looked over at her. She was focusing on him intently, nodding as he finished, “Two…this goes against my better judgment, but I know what life is like on the road and I will give you one…ONE…free pass to use,” he held up a single digit as he spoke firmly again.

“Free pass?” She questioned for clarity, her focus sometimes stolen as she looked for Scott ahead.

“Yeah…free pass,” he declined to elaborate. His vagueness gained her attention again, “only one, though.” He reiterated.

Brinkley licked her lip quickly before biting it once she realized what he meant.

“But you said…” She started.

“If you don’t want it, I can take it back,” he shrugged, the car inching forward.

“NO!” She blurted out, her hand on his arm, “I mean...don't take it back,” she mumbled, feeling again like curling into herself.

Curt felt smug now. He shouldn't need the carnal attention from her, but it definitely stroked his ego.

“Hell, who knows, you might spend this whole tour climbing up this guy's pole,” he teased as he put the car in park.

“CURT!” She gasped, jumping a little when her car door opened. She nearly dug her nails into the seat of the car.

Scott Hall stuck his head in the car, staring at her mere inches away. He was silent at first as if waiting for her to speak.

“Guess you got the rookie with no manners,” he spoke finally. Brinkley looked between them, before realizing she was the rookie.

“But…I was in the car first?” She said, not having been hazed the first time around. Curt laughed heartily and Scott scoffed.

“Wrong answer rook…” he stood up and held the door open.

Brinkley looked at Curt one more time, who shrugged.

“I would probably do what he says.” He suggested.

Brinkley huffed, but got out of the car, realizing how much more she had to look up at Scott. He was a very impressive and imposing man. He had several inches on Curt and had a darker aura about him.

“Make sure you get both bags in the trunk. Don't wanna be walking to the ring stark ass naked.”

Brinkley turned away from him quickly, grabbing the heavy bags. She struggled to the trunk with them as Scott slid into her seat.

“Did you train that girl at all?” Scott joked after fist bumping his long time friend, “pretty ballsy response,”

“She’s mouthy, and she's a little out of it today,” Curt made an excuse after popping the trunk.

“What did you already fuck her? Damn, I thought you said a couple weeks, ” Scott joked.

“Not today,” Curt smirked, “and yeah, that's still on,”

“She have any clue?” Scott jutted his thumb backwards, towards her.

“I don't think so, she was nervous enough just being in the same car with you.”

“What, am I that intimidating,” Scott felt smug now.

“I think she's just got the hots for ya,” Curt lowered his voice as she came around the car.

“Is that so,” Scott's tone was mischievous as she slid in the backseat, “Thanks, doll. Here's a tip” he drawled towards her, giving her a $20 bill and winked, “Plenty more where that came from.”

Curt covered his smile with his hand as he saw her shrink down into the seat a little.

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

The first city was only a few hours away in Wisconsin, and the next week was smattered around that state and then, Illinois, and Iowa. After that they would ditch the rental car for a few flights as they crisscrossed the country a bit.

Brinkley wondered if being in the car for this many hours with these two might actually cure her lustful thoughts. Surely, she'd tire of their company, wouldn't she? Or they would be annoyed by her if she couldn't stifle her talking. She knew that duct tape was in the glovebox.

“So was Hennig hard on ya?” Scott asked a short time after leaving the city.

“What??” Brinkley immediately realized she took his question the wrong way and tried to recover, “Oh, I mean Curt's a good teacher. Everything he did just made me better. I learned a ton.” She recovered quickly.

“You should see the cakes on her after squatting 250” Curt interjected.

She wanted to kick the back of his seat at first, but realized that this subject was likely fair game and common in the business, though it still made her feel a bit objectified.

“If I recall, they were pretty nice before,” Scott feigned thoughtfulness before looking over his shoulder at her, “When we stop you're gonna have to get out and do a little turn for me,”

Brinkley's laugh was airy and soft, she could barely resist wanting to hide. Curt knew the banter was killing her.

“Maybe just wait till we get to the arena. You can see it when everyone else does,” she countered.

“She got new ring wear,” Curt winked at her in the rearview mirror, “I think she got it just to show off her ass,”

Brinkley grinned out of embarrassment, shifting her focus to the quickly passing landscape outside of her window.

“...Maybe,” she replied, shrugging.

“Give me a preview beforehand and I'll tell you what I think,” Scott said.

Brinkley looked back at him, meeting his gaze.

“.....Maybe,” she repeated.

A couple of hours in, she succumbed to the sleepiness brought on by the hum of the road. She wasn’t sure if she was safe to do so. She didn't want to wake up missing an eyebrow like so many had, but she couldn’t fight it any longer. Her headphones blocked any other sound.

“So,” Scott spoke low, though he was pretty confident she couldn't hear them, “she said she's got a thing for me?” He glanced back at her.

“Yeah, she told me a while back. I think she just wanted to tell someone to get it off her chest. When I told her you were coming she nearly screamed.” Curt kept an eye on her in his visor mirror just in case.

“So…she really has no idea what you, “ Scott glanced back again and lowered his voice even more, “what you have planned?”

“Nope. And she's not gonna. She got me good at the house a couple of weeks ago. So this is payback.” Curt tried not to think too much of how good she looked on her knees in front of him.

“Classic Curt, can't be outdone,” Scott laughed.

“You wanna mess with her beforehand? If she starts jabbering on, there's duct tape in the glovebox.” Curt pointed towards it, “I always threaten to tape her mouth shut. You should get it and climb back there with her, she'll flip,”

“Just her mouth?” Scott joked, thinking of what he could do in the backseat with her restrained.

“Ha, yeah…this time at least,” Curt saw her stir a little as she rubbed her eyes. He made a subtle slashing motion across his throat that Scott picked up quickly.

“Where are we?” she mumbled, pulling her headphones from her ears and rubbing her eyes, “Are we there yet?” She yawned, looking out to see only countryside.

“Nah, couple more hours,” Curt checked his watch, “Should be rolling into Green Bay around 4. Gotta be at the arena by 6:30,”

“Uuuuugh, I thought we'd be closer,” she pouted with no specific complaint. She just wanted some space to herself for a few minutes. While she was awake she was darting between trying not to stare at Scott and avoiding catching Curt's gaze in the rearview mirror.

“How about a little cheese with that whine,” Scott snickered, lounged back in his seat.

“How about a little shut the fuck up?” she countered back, sticking her tongue out at him slightly.

Both men were silent at first, both looking over their shoulder at her and then at one another. Brinkley realized her impulsive response might have been out of turn. She wondered if she should apologize or just let it go. But she did notice Scott leaning forward and opening the glovebox.

“I'm sorry!” She said quickly as she saw the silver roll of tape in Scott's hand. But her apology did not seem to alter his plan as Curt pulled over the car, “No! No no no, I said I was sorry!” She skittered as far into the corner of the backseat as she could, her legs folded up in front of her. She felt it hard to breathe as Scott opened the door and his large frame climbed into the back seat and reached for her. She had nowhere to escape to and nowhere to hide.

“You're gonna be sorry,” Scott chuckled with a wicked disposition, “Rookie needs to learn to watch that smart mouth,”

He kneeled next to her, holding the tape roll firmly as she tried to kick it out of his hand. As her leg extended, he moved closer, blocking her leg from retracting. She clamped a hand over her mouth, still protesting. She squirmed trying to avoid his reach, but soon she found herself nearly straddled by him and his one free hand was large enough to grasp and pin both of her wrists above her head.

He easily overpowered her. He wondered if he should maybe give her mouth something else to keep it quiet. He could tell she was mortified, embarrassed, but most importantly she was flushed with want. The way she protested, Scott knew Curt was telling the truth about her attraction to him.

Using his teeth, he peeled a strip of tape and ripped it from the roll, tossing it to the floor.

“She's feisty,” Scott laughed, finding her harder to control than he'd initially thought.

“Don’t, I promise! I promise I'll be quiet,” she pleaded with him. Her breath was shallow and her entire body was tingling. She felt a shiver as she saw Scott's eyes fall from her face as he looked her over.

“What do you think, Hennig?” Scott asked, keeping her pinned.

“I don't know man, she's got a pretty smart mouth on her,” Curt shrugged, “How else is she gonna learn?”

Brinkley wanted to kick Curt, it wasn’t like she hadn't said things 10 times worse to him.

Scott leaned down and Brinkley was both excited and scared with how close he was.

“This is your one warning, doll,” his low tone was gruff, “Pull that again and it'll be more than just your mouth that's in trouble,”

Her eyes were wide and she could barely form a noise, but she nodded and managed to squeak out a meager, “I swear,”

He held her for a moment longer before retreating, taking his place in the front seat again. Curt pulled back on to the highway. In his rearview he didn't think he'd ever seen her as flustered as she was right now. She was in a haze, trying to comprehend what had just happened and if that was really her underneath Scott Hall in the back of the car. Her cheeks flushed a deep red when she pictured Scott doing more than pinning her and Curt watching them in the rear view mirror.

“Hot back there?” Curt asked, spurring her out of her stupor, noticing the red in her face. He smirked when she shook her head quickly.

“No, I’m fine,” she changed her view to the approaching city skyline in her window.

Curt and Scott again exchanged knowing glances.

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

Immediately at the arena, all three were randomly selected for drug testing. So Brinkley was quickly relieved of their company and for the first time in hours she felt as if she could breathe freely. She hadn’t realized how imposing being around both men had really been. For some reason, the women’s line was taking twice as long and by the time she had arrived at her assigned room she would share with Curt among many others, it was full and raucous laughter spilled from the doorway. She was getting used to it, but she felt awkward walking into a room of 40+ year old seasoned men as the new, green girl.

She felt like she might have been the topic of discussion as the voices hushed and eyes turned towards her as she tried to slink into the room unnoticed.

“So we’ve finally got the secret on how to keep you in line, Fresh Meat,” Kevin pointed at her. She found herself flustered again, but tried to remember Curt’s advice about taking the newbie taunting. She’d have to take it in stride.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” She quipped back, ignoring the stone in her gut.

“Nah, Scott gave us the skinny, we just gotta keep a roll of duct tape around and you’ll be our obedient little pet,” Kevin loved hazing the new girls. It might have been because of how much he liked seeing them squirm.

“As if you could,” She replied, “Kinda hard to tape my mouth shut when you’ve got one hand always in your hair and the other always…occupied,” She held her breath for a moment, before she was met with mocking “ooohs” directed at Kevin.

“Rook’s got a mouth,” Rick Steiner interjected, “I like the ones that know how to use that,”

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure out that part one day,” Brinkley said instinctively, she was relieved when it was met with a laughing response.

“If she gets out of line, just come find me,” Scott drawled next, “she knows I can pin her in a corner,” He slapped the roll of duct tape loudly on the table and Brinkley’s eyes went wide for a moment and she fumbled for a response.

“Well…if you’ll notice, it doesn't look like I have any duct tape on now, does it?” She popped a hand on one hip as her face wore the same level of snark as her tone.

Scott’s eyebrows popped up as he grabbed the tape and stood, his chair scraping back roughly against the concrete.

Her natural reflex was to scurry to safety as she darted towards the door. She knew testing Scott, he might just follow through. She did not want to spend the evening as a subdued captive of these men. Scott took a few steps, but she slipped just ahead of him.

Brinkley did not stop until she was out of sight of the door, realizing she was shaking.

“Get it together…” She admonished herself, trying to rid herself of that dark, playful look that crossed Scott’s face.

She walked to the ring with Curt tonight, holding his towel and pulling the straps of his singlet up and onto his shoulders in the ring.

“Every guy in here is hard as a rock looking at you in those shorts,” Curt mumbled as she fixed his gear in the middle of the ring.

Brinkley wore the same configuration of the outfit that she had shown Curt before. She smirked as he looked down at the zipper she’d left a little higher than his liking. She looked downward for a split second and back up.

“Well… not every guy, apparently” She murmured back.

“I got gear helping me out…trust me, you’re in every one of these fuckers fantasies right now,”

She rolled her eyes and left the ring, waiting by the apron until she was called in by Curt late in the match, distracting his opponent before laying a perfectly placed, but safe sidekick to the head as he came off the ropes. She slid out while Curt went for the pin, winning the match.

Even though it was minor, Brinkley was proud of the work, she would get more and more as the tour went on. But just a couple of months ago, she was nothing but eye candy, so she had at least improved herself a little.

“Did it look ok?” She asked Curt, comfortable enough to be insecure with him.

Curt stifled the urge to haze her more, he was still her mentor after all. It was his job to make her confident and she needed to be so around these guys. They’d smell her weakness and pounce.

“It looked perfect,” He assessed her, “Exactly as we practiced. The crowd seemed to pop a little for ya, might end up turning you face if you’ve not careful.” Curt laughed as she wrinkled her nose. He knew she wanted to be a heel, she wanted to be devious and snarky and mouthy.

“No thanks,” She responded predictably.

“Let’s get our stuff together, as soon as Scott’s done, we’re on the road.” Curt told her as they entered the now empty locker room.

She’d almost forgotten that she would indeed be stuck in the car with Scott for several days. If today was any indication, it would not be uneventful.

“We’ll drop you at the motel before we head out,” Curt followed up, chuckling when she pouted.

“What?! I have to stay in the room while you guys go out and party??” She hated being left out, even if it would be awkward for her to be the only girl in a room full of inebriated, lonely men.

“You really wanna hang out with a bunch of dudes getting hammered, talking about who shit in who’s bag?” He did not paint a pretty picture.

“Well…no…but it seems like you guys have fun sometimes,” She countered, less enthused.

“It’s not glamorous. This is just a dive bar we all know of. Its right next to the motel, so if you get scared, I can come check on you,” He winked at her as he buttoned his shirt.

“I’m not going to be scared…” She narrowed her eyes at home, “I just…kind of thought,” SHe hated stumbling over her words, but she struggled to spit them out, “First night on the road…end of my training period, might be fun to…celebrate?”

Curt could hardly believe his ears. He’d given her one pass and after only a few hours, she was chomping at the bit to cash it in. It turned him on and he wished he still had the concealment of his gear.

“The first night? You sure you don’t wanna wait until you're all worked up and desperate?” He left the top couple of buttons undone and rolled up his sleeves now, “Might wanna save it for a rainy day,”

She shrugged, but didn’t retract her request.

“Tonight’s probably not the best time…” he walked across the room to a mirror, smoothing his blonde hair back into a contained ponytail, he noted her disappointment in the reflection, “Well if you’re that worked up, just jump on Scott’s pole in the car,” He teased.

“What about me?” Scott said, coming in the room in only his wrestling trunks, his black hair a bit disheveled and his body glistening still with sweat and oil.

Curt could see that Brinkley was mortified, though her eyes were glued to Scott. She looked at Curt, pleading to not embarrass her more.

“Just wondering if you’d even finally finish up that match, I could use a drink or five,” Curt fibbed, exchanging a forgiving look with Brinkley. She sighed with relief, “Just gotta drop off the kid at the sitters.” He didn’t have to look at her to know she was staring daggers at him.

Maybe she was pouting for not getting her way, maybe she was miffed about his last dig, but Brinkley didn’t talk much on the ride to the next town. It was late, she might have been tired, but it was far more likely the former or perhaps Scott’s threat was taken to heart. She did smile when Scott complimented her on her performance.

Brinkley took the initiative to unload everyone’s bags from their trunks. Four other cars full of wrestlers showed at this motor inn. While they went in to pay for the night's rate, she moved the bags to the sidewalk. She caught her breath after heaving the last one, Kevin’s impossibly full bag. She wouldn’t complain, this was not an uncommon expectation for the new kid of the bunch.

She was met with appreciative reception as gaggle of men filed out of the office, along with confusing remarks.

“Tough break, rook, “ Rick Steiner and Eddie Guerrero said as they collected their bags and headed to a room. Kevin and Scott also looked at her with some degree of teasing sympathy.

“Your boy sucks and rock, paper, scissor,” Scott laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “I’d offer you a spot, but neither of us are sharing,” He winked at her and headed on, leaving Brinkley confused behind him. Curt finally emerged, looking irritated.

“Did I miss something?” she questioned, picking up her bag. After a moment, she groaned, picking up his bag as well after an admonishing look.

“Yeah, you missed us getting the short end of the stick,” He walked down the breezeway to the last room in the building as she followed. It made sense as she followed him into the room, the lone bed in the middle of the room was obvious, “You were one paper throw away from having to share this with Scott,” Brinkley didn’t blush too much, mostly out of relief that she wouldn’t have to share a queen bed with a possibly drunk Scott Hall.

“Oh…just the one?” She set the bags down, her shoulder begging for relief.

“Mmm hmm,” He answered, tossing the spare physical key attached to a plastic keychain on the dresser, “Don’t forget, best behavior,” he reminded her of his earlier denial. He smirked as she tried to huff subtly. It was surprising that she didn’t stomp her foot.

“I remember,” She said, picking her bag back up, she set it on the table, rifling through it for something to sleep in.

“Good girl,” Curt nearly crooned, heading towards the door, “We’ll probably be there till last call. Get some shut eye,” He winked before leaving.

Brinkley wanted to throw her clothes at the door, if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he was purposefully using his offer against her. She resisted the tantrum, instead taking the opportunity to shower thoroughly and take as much time as she wanted.

#wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fan fic #wrestling fic #Curt Hennig #Scott Hall #OC pairing #wrestling smut #the mentorship

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anielskaaniela · 4 months

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Learn How to Sew a Slip Dress with Flounce Sleeves and a Free PDF Pattern for Beginners!

Do you love slip dresses? They are one of the most versatile and chic garments that you can have in your wardrobe. In this video, I will show you how to sew a slip dress with flounce sleeves, a corset waist tie, and pockets. You will also get a free PDF pattern in 5 sizes to download and print.

A slip dress is a simple and elegant dress that can be worn in many ways. You can dress it up or down, depending on the occasion and the season. A flounce sleeve adds some drama and flair to the simple silhouette. A corset waist tie accentuates your curves and gives you a flattering fit. And pockets are always a bonus, right?

In this video, you will learn how to:

Print out the PDF pattern and cut out the pieces according to your size

Sew the front and back bodice pieces together at the shoulders

Sew the front and back skirt pieces together at the sides

Sew the bodice and the skirt together at the waist

Sew the flounce sleeves to the armholes

Sew the neckline facing to the neckline

Sew the corset waist tie to the waist seam

Sew the pockets to the skirt

Hem the dress and the sleeves

You will also learn how to hack the pattern to create different styles of slip dresses, such as:

A basic slip dress without pockets and ties

A slip dress without sleeves

A mini dress with a ruffle

You will also get some tips on how to choose the right fabric and size for your slip dress, and how to style it for different occasions and seasons.

To watch the video, click on the link below. Don’t forget to like, comment, and share if you enjoy it. And if you want to see more videos like this, subscribe to my YouTube channel and follow my Tumblr blog.

Watch the video here

Detailed post with sizing guide and free pattern here

Happy sewing! 😊

#slipdress #flouncesleeves #corsetwaisttie #pockets #freepdfpattern #sewingtutorial #sewingvideo

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cardierreh15 · 1 year

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Phoenix: Story of the Lost Fire Princess

Y’all are going to be getting a lot more Geralt content because our baby won’t be playing him anymore. I’m only trying to help keep dreams alive. Happy Halloween Everyone 🎃

**I do not give anyone the permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Sparring . (Innocent, no bloodshed)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Phoenix (Curvy African American Woman)

Description: Just a friendly sparring match 😈

Word Count: 2.0K

Chapter 5: The formidable Opponent.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!’ The repetitive sounds and the forced grunts caused Phoenix to toss and turn all morning. Thankfully, she had gotten plenty of sleep last night and it felt so good to be sleeping on something other than the ground for once. She sat up, groaning a little bit as she felt the sting in her hip. It had been sometime since the werewolf attack, but she was still human at the end of the day and if she wasn’t careful enough— it would never truly heal properly. So she carefully pulled herself from the bed and stretched out her body. Relaxing her muscles and bones so she could go about her did with little to no straining.

After she was done, she looked up at the chest that was by the door. There was a brush sitting on top of what had seem to be trousers and a blouse. She reached behind herself pulled at one of the corset strings and untied it. She then quickly got dressed. The button down blouse was a crème colored with flared, ruffled wrists. A tad bit tight at the waist to define her curves, and it had flared, ruffles at the hem. The trousers, were made of fine leather. Slightly scuffed from the previous wearer, but she was grateful for how comfortable they were. These gave her a nice contour to her thighs, hips and rump. Hmph, she’d have to come shop at Motel Kaer Morhen a lot more.

Phoenix walked out of her chambers, pulling her hair back into a sleek curly ponytail that fell down her back like waterfalls. Her boots clicked down the hall happily as she approached the gruff mumbling of Vesemir’s voice.

As she walked into the dining hall, she took notice how the men didn’t take notice of her this morning. That was kind of refreshing to say the least. They were talking amongst themselves, chuckling and sharing witty jokes. But Geralt was no where to be found. She walked over to Vesemir who was stirring something in the cauldron, ‘Good Morning Vesemir.’ Her voice slightly tired but still liberating and pleasing to the ears.

‘Good Morning, Phoenix. I trust you slept well!’ He didn’t turn to look at her, he just kept his eye on that food. ‘Yes. Someone told me before that if there are in rats around… it’s warm enough.’ She giggled and glanced down at the pot. ‘I slept fine, thank you. Where are Geralt and Ciri?’

To be frank, this was probably the first time in weeks that she hadn’t awakened to the sight of Geralt’s face. It was like her routine was disturbed! Finally, Vesemir turned to look at her, ‘They’re outside in the training yard. You should go with them? There’s no such thing as too much training. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to have you.’

Phoenix nodded and gave him a soft smile, ‘Sure. Thank You.’ She gave him a simple bow and walked towards the back doors, that opened to a world of mysterious contraptions and training tactics.

She stood there on top of the stairs as tiny snowflakes fell on top of her and instantly melted. She watched as Ciri stabbed and swung at that dummy over and over again. Well, that’s where the tapping and grunting came from. ‘What a relief.’ She thought. ‘Again, Ciri.’ Geralt called out, leaning against a destroyed statue with his arms folded across his chest. ‘Yah! Hugh! Urgh!’ She grunted out, swinging and stabbing harder, faster.

The woman glanced at Geralt for a brief moment then back at Ciri. She was starting to notice how frustrated Ciri had become, so she spoke up. ‘I think that’s enough!’ She raised her hand as she descended from the few stone steps. Geralt looked over his shoulder and Ciri turned around. She smiled at the sight of her new friend. And her eyes clearly thanked her for cutting a training session that was going nowhere. ‘I think the girl is tired of the doll. I think she will learn better if she had another moving part.’ She placed her hands on hips as she stood next to him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, looking down at her, ‘you’re suggesting her go against me?’

‘No. Of course not. Sure you have your patience, Witcher but you Witcher’s are—‘ she walked over to the wooden swords, ‘Sloppy.’ She teased with a smirk. Cirilla tried to hide her giggle from her father by looking away. But he’d caught it anyway.

‘Come Cirilla. Let’s see what the old man had taught you hmm?’ And she stepped forward.

Cirilla looked up at Geralt with pleading eyes, ‘May I?’

Geralt looked down at her and then back up at Phoenix. He didn’t say a word, instead he just jerked his over. And Ciri flashed the happiest grin anyone had ever seen, then she skipped over to Phoenix.

Phoenix took a second to look her over. She stood in a protective yet, striking stance, ready to attack or shield. ‘Hmm, good stance Ciri.’ She complimented and took a chance to swing the wooden sword. But Ciri was fast! She blocked the attack then parried it with a push back.

Stumbling back, ‘Oof!’ Phoenix caught her balance and raised a brow. ‘Not bad, Cirilla!’ Could she really say she was surprised? Geralt smirked in pride.

Phoenix stood up straight before she took her stance. ‘OK, I won’t be stopping this time. Try to fend me off ya?’ Ciri nodded, taking a deep breath, ‘OK.’ And she took her stance as well.

Phoenix swung at her side and she blocked it beautifully. This time, the girls didn’t stop. They pushed one another. Swinging harder and faster, trying to simply keep up with one another. But it wasn’t until Ciri found herself getting too comfortable. She took her eyes off of Phoenix for a mere two seconds and Phoenix was able to kick at her wrist to disarm her, and point the tip of the wooden sword at the side of her neck. The girls stared at one another, breathing heavily. ‘Never. Get too comfortable. Complacency can become a weakness. And your opposer won’t hesitate to gut you if you aren’t quick enough.’

Phoenix glanced over at Geralt. He had stared; intrigued about what he had just saw. But then, Ciri quickly smacked the sword out of her hand and pulled her dagger off her hip. She then rested the blade right beneath Phoenix’s chin. ‘Sorry, you were open and distracted.’

Phoenix stared at her for a little bit until a giggle had left her lips. Then Ciri had joined her, placing her dagger back into her holster. ‘Good Job, sweet heart,’ she placed her warm hands on Ciri’s cheeks, ‘I am proud of you.’ She then dropped her hands, ‘Go inside. Quench your thirst, you must be dying by now!’

‘I will,’ she sighed heavily, ‘Are you coming inside?’

‘Shortly darling, shortly.’ And she gave Ciri and slight bow before the girl turned away and walked back inside of the miniature castle.

Letting out a shudder of air, she looked over at Geralt who had finally pushed himself up from the wall and started to approach her. ‘You’ve got your hands full with that one. I thought the twins would give me more hell.’ She joked around and picked up both of the wooden swords.

‘Care to have a sparring match with me?’ He asked.

Phoenix paused for a second and then a smirk curled on her lips, ‘I thought you’d never ask, Witcher. Here—‘ ‘No,’ he glanced down at the wooden cravings and then back at her, ‘The real things. These are lighter, easier to move with. Let’s see how you work.’ He gently took them away from her and walked over to the training rack.

She raised a brow, ‘You’ve seen me work. Was it not real enough for you?’ She scuffed and rolled her eyes.

‘Of course it was Princess,’ he grabbed two regular swords and started to walk back over to her. ‘But you’ve never fought a Witcher.’ He smirked and handed her the handle. ‘We both have the same swords. No advantages, no enhancements. Just steel.’ He gently clinked his blade against hers before he stood across from her.

Phoenix lifted her chin, with her lips pressed together. ‘Fine.’

‘Don’t worry. I promise not to hurt you.’ It sounded reassuring yet, cunning and malicious.

Geralt swing first, leaving Phoenix no choice but to block the attack and strike back. He’d given her no choice now. It was like once they’ve started, they couldn’t stop! It was like dancing and it was fun— all until Phoenix decided to turn up the heat.

(Not Phoenix, just depictions of what happened lol)

Geralt had swung his sword at her chest, and not only had it been sliced open, the first few buttons had popped and be scattered across the snow. She looked down, quickly noticing the breeze at her chest, she looked down and then back up at him. ‘Ugh, you know— I liked this shirt!’ She frowned and allowed the heat to travel from her hand to the metal. The sword glowed bright as the sun. And her beautiful brown eyes had turned crimson.

Phoenix swung this time, play time was done and now they were fighting as if they were trying to kill one another. Step after step. Swing after swing. Every time Geralt’s sword hit hers sparks flew all around. And when he finally knocked her back some, he placed his hand over his own blade, using the Witcher sign, Igni, to ignite flames upon his sword as well.

‘Grrrrr!’ Phoenix growled.

‘Hmmm.’ Geralt hummed in anger.

They both ran towards one another, both of their hearts ramming in their chests. And when their swords finally made contact, they instantly shattered!

Now they were left with just destroyed swords.

Phoenix quickly tossed hers to the side, being that she was still in a heated mood, she leaped on top of him, tackling him right to the ground. ‘Ugh!’ Geralt grunted when he hit the ground, immediately dropping the broken sword.

She grabbed his wrists and pinned him there. ‘There! Was that enough for you?!’ Her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch up with her breath.

Geralt looked up at her for a moment before quickly pulling his wrists downward so hard that she had to let go in order to keep her face from eating the snow. He then flipped them over and grabbed her wrists. ‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed as her head hit the ground. And since he was much stronger than she was, there was no way she could get out of this. Her legs were spread so he hovered between them comfortably. His breathe through his nose, ‘Do you surrender.’

Phoenix glared up at him, her bright crimson eyes returning to their beautiful hazel state. ‘Never.’

He looked down at her, their warm breaths hitting one another. They got lost in one another’s eyes. Staring past those windows and searching each other’s souls. Damn, this feeling. Phoenix hadn’t felt this— open and vulnerable in a long time. Geralt leaned in, his lips gently parted and ready for her warmth. But then—

Bang, bang, bang!

Geralt and Phoenix looked up at the windows to see Lambert, Coën, and a few others cheering him on!

Geralt rolled his eyes and quickly pulled himself up to his feet and held his hand out so he could help her up. ‘You did great,’ he said softly as she stood to her feet and dusted off her now destroyed blouse. ‘You must control your emotions in fighting though. When you don’t show emotion, you leave them clueless. You’d be unpredictable.’

‘Right.’ She smirked and took a deep breath, ‘We should get back inside. Your brothers have lost their minds.’ She giggled and started towards the doors first. ‘You are the formidable swordsman, Witcher. I give you that.’

‘Hmph.’ Geralt huffed with a smirk as they walked inside together.

‘Still sloppy though.’ Phoenix shrugged.

‘Sloppy is in my nature.’ He chuckled.

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