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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 6 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

PLEASASSWEEPLEASE TOU DONT HUNRERFSTABDS

GLENN GLENN GLENN ITS GLENN VOTE GLENN VOTE FOR THE BOY

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

GLENN GLENNNNNN

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I haven't dedicated the last 2 months of my life drawing Glenn close for him to lose

Vote for Glenn Close or I will make you read the parody I did of the vaporeon copypasta

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

VOTE GLENN

Glenn fuckers fought tooth and nail to get us here from like 38% dawg we DESERVE THIS. GLENN IS THE SEXIEST MAN!!! HE WAS THE FIRST FICTIONAL CHARACTER I FOUND HOT AND HE’S GONNA CONTINUE TO SWEEP!!! Your hot goat woman sounds sexy don’t get me wrong but I’m forever fighting for the man that changed my brain chemistry. Proud of our fandom tbh. I don’t think y’all understand the sheer amount of effort I have put in to get my boy where he is today but this placement feels well earned. TO GLENN SWEEP!!

THE FUCK YOU MEAN GLENN CLOSE ISNT WINNING IM BOUT TO THROW HANDS FR

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

Yalll better vote glenn i swear to god

Vote Glenn or else the bird gets it🐦🛸

HOW IS MY DUDE NOT WINNING????

GLEN GELN NELG GLENNANN HE DESERVS ITTTT

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

A celebrity chef from another plane

#Round 3 #Glenn Close #Taako #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance

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tongue-like-a-razor · 10 months

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Brother's Best Friend - Part 7

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Yay we're finally back with our favorite BBF! This chapter was inspired by a photo of Glen at an amusement park that's been floating around recently. If anyone could convince me to step foot into a haunted house, it would be Jake.

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Haunted house attraction with mild (fake) gore, swearing, SLOW BURN YOU'VE BEEN WARNED DON'T COME FOR ME XD

WC: 3000+

“I don’t do haunted houses,” you say when Jake makes the suggestion for the fourth time that afternoon.

He and Bradley have just returned from the river log ride completely soaked and stupidly giddy. Jake raises his eyebrows at you. “You’ll go on the tallest roller coaster in the park but you’re afraid of a couple of zombie clowns?”

You cringe. “What the fuck are zombie clowns?”

Jake shrugs. “Whatever they are. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re really selling it,” you respond dryly. “But I think I’ll stick to the funnel cake.” You nod toward the stand a few yards away.

“You already skipped out on the log ride,” Bradley complains.

You eye his still-dripping shorts with a grimace. “It’s barely 60 degrees,” you say, tugging up on the zipper of your hoodie for emphasis.

Jake plants himself across from you at the bistro table and leans into it to get your attention. “You don’t actually want to sit here by yourself for another hour, do you?”

You shrug, glancing around. “I don’t mind, actually,” you say, your gaze drifting with the crowd as you pick out the best looking males. “I got asked out twice while you two were gone.”

Jake makes a disgruntled sort of face like he’s getting impatient. “Who asked you out?” he says with a hint of distaste as though he already disapproves. He glances around at the crowd of passersby suspiciously.

��Well, they’re gone now.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and looks back at you. “Come on, you’re not a wimp, Bradshaw.”

You shake your head. “That’s not going to work.”

“Let’s just go, Jake,” Bradley says. “We can’t force her.”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s being approached by random men. We can’t just leave her here.”

Bradley snorts. “Why not?”

Jake appears uncomfortable, but only for a moment. He shifts his weight in the chair and turns back to you. “I distinctly remember all three of us at Castle Frankenstein like ten years ago.”

“Mm-hm,” you reply. “And, since then, I don’t do haunted houses.”

Jake grimaces. “Why not?”

You give him a flat look. “You don’t remember?”

Jake furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“Oh yeah!” Bradley exclaims. “Good times.”

You stare at your brother crossly and then roll your eyes.

Jake glances between the two of you inquisitively. “All I remember is getting hot dogs right after,” he says.

You sigh. “You two assholes told me it wouldn’t be scary and then, after luring me in, you took off laughing! You left me behind to do the whole thing by myself.”

Bradley is chuckling smugly, but Jake looks mildly horrified. “Wow, we were shitheads,” he says with a cringe.

“Dude, we’re still shitheads,” Bradley points out.

Jake looks up at his friend with a wince and then rubs his forehead guiltily. “Y/N,” he says. “I promise you that, if you come, we’re not gonna ditch you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bradley says with a playful grin.

Jake gives him a stern look before glancing back at you. “I promise I won’t ditch you.”

You watch him skeptically, your arms folded over your chest.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks.

You purse your lips, trying not to be swayed by the slight squint of Jake’s eyes when he gives you a hopeful smile. You can’t help but daydream for a moment. You picture yourself being chased by zombie clowns with Jake by your side, holding your hand. And, if they’d get too close, maybe he would knock them out to keep you safe.

“Come on, sugar,” Jake says, interrupting your thoughts. He starts rising from him seat and holds out a hand for you. “We can use Bradley as a shield.”

You snort while Bradley shakes his head with a chuckle. “You can try,” he replies, starting for the haunted house.

You let out a sigh and take Jake’s hand, letting him drag you out of your chair. “I’m already regretting this decision,” you mutter.

Jake laughs. “This is gonna be fun!”

…

You gulp nervously as you step into the darkness. The moment the doors close behind you, your hand reaches out for one of the guys, making sure you're not alone. Somebody gives you a pat on the arm, silently reassuring as you advance. Suddenly, a loud bang to your right makes you jump, and you hear Jake's snicker right before he moves behind to lay a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Wicked,” you hear Bradley say as he travels slightly ahead of you. You follow your brother with Jake close behind, probably much closer than he would be in broad daylight, especially with Bradley just a few steps away.

“Remember,” Jake mutters from behind. “If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.”

You whimper. “Who won’t chase me?”

In the sparse, flashing lights, you see your brother take off down the hallway, setting off several animatronics as he goes. You slow your pace and Jake, who is still sopping wet, walks right into you. The sudden chill of his saturated clothes takes you by surprise and you yelp, springing away from him.

Jake leaps after you to grab your arm when you nearly trip over the cadaver that falls out of the wall and right into your path. “Having fun?” he asks facetiously as he helps you regain your balance, and you can sense the grin on his face without even seeing it.

“I hate you for making me do this,” you hiss.

Jake wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “You’re doin’ great, sweet cheeks.”

You wince at the cold seeping through your shirt and wriggle out of his grasp. “Seresin, you’re all wet!”

“Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.

Just then, a large gust of air hits you from the side and you scream, flinging yourself right back into Jake’s arms. Jake pulls you in immediately and spins you away, blocking the air current with his back. But your relief is short-lived because, out of nowhere, two clowns with melting faces come barreling toward you with their arms outstretched.

You scream and, despite the sudden weakness in your limbs, start sprinting down the dimly lit corridor, completely forgetting Jake's instructions.

Jake catches up to you quickly and when the clowns all but overtake you, he curls his arm around your waist and practically lifts you off the ground as he runs.

When you finally round the bend and lose the clowns, Jake slows down and releases you, letting you catch your breath as he places his hands on his hips and takes a look around. “That was awesome,” he says with a huge smile.

You’re still gasping for air when you look up at him with a scowl. “You’re a lunatic if you enjoyed that.”

He claps you on the back. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’re almost half-way through.”

“We’re not even half-way done?” you whine.

Jake chuckles. “Admit it, you’re having a blast,” he says.

You whimper quietly when he motions for you to follow him down another dark hallway. “I am never letting you talk me into this nonsense again,” you grumble, staying close behind him just in case another zombie clown pops out of the shadows.

But what you do not anticipate is the vibrating floor that makes you jerk backward, nor the fog that suddenly floods the corridor, nor the alarming screams that attack from all directions, making it impossible to communicate. You feel the floorboards shift underneath your feet and you hold out your arms to stabilize yourself. You stagger backward into a wall, and it rotates behind you, further disorienting you.

“Jake?” you cry, realizing that you’ve lost him in all the commotion. But your voice is drowned out by the continuous screaming still reverberating all around you.

In the flashes of light, you can see dozens of hands rattling a chain-link fence that looks like it won’t hold for very much longer. You try to push your way back through the wall – the way you came in – but it doesn't budge, meaning you’re stuck in this room until you find another way out.

“Jake!” you yell again, terror rooting you to the spot. The fence to your right finally rips open and gangly arms start stretching out toward you, making you jolt backward. You shriek, moving along the wall slowly because you’re too afraid to fall into another trap.

You reach the end of the chamber, which opens up to a tunnel, and whimper tragically. Going in will surely mean that you will have to complete the haunted maze without Jake, but the tunnel is probably the only way out of this room.

You only have a second to deliberate however, because at that moment, the fence behind you comes crashing down and a horde of zombies escapes. In the shadows, it looks like there might be more than half a dozen of them stumbling in your direction, tripping over one another to get to you.

If you don’t run, they won’t chase you. If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.

But the zombies are still coming, their hideous shrieks even more off-putting than their decaying faces.

You lunge into the tunnel and sprint faster and faster even as the passageway dips and winds and darkens. At a certain point, you are forced to stop running because it gets too dark to find your way without holding your hands out to feel the curve of the walls.

And then you hear his voice.

“Y/N!”

“Oh my god! Jake!” you screech.

“Y/N?” he yells back.

You start pushing on the solid wall before you because it sounds like he’s right on the other side. “Jake, where are you?” You can hear the zombies gaining on you further up the tunnel and you sob, “Jake, please get me out of here.”

Suddenly, a door creaks open to your right and you start, cowering from the blinking red light that filters into the pitch black passage. But then you see Jake’s broad-shouldered silhouette enter through the opening and, in your relief, you throw yourself right into him, burying your face into his chest as his arms close around your back. His grip tightens as you clutch onto the front of his soaked shirt, and you can feel his mouth over the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he mutters into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

But before you can sink into the feeling of having Jake Seresin’s strong arms supporting your trembling frame, you hear the sound of footsteps as the zombies come hurtling through the tunnel. Without a word, Jake pulls you sideways, tucking you and himself behind the open door. He brings a finger to his lips when he sees that you’re about to cry out, and you hold your breath, watching the flashing lights illuminate the exhilaration in his eyes.

You close your own eyes as the zombies near, deciding that no amount of attention from Jake is worth participating in this traumatizing experience. And you promise yourself that you will never be swayed by his stupid, irresistible smile again.

That’s when you feel his body brush up against yours. You open your eyes to see his face hovering over your own, watching you intently as the zombies race by your hiding spot. His mouth curls into a smirk when it becomes apparent that his plan has worked as expected. You try your best to concentrate on the direct threat of flesh-eating zombies and not on his leg that’s pressed into your thigh, or his hand that you suddenly notice is gripping your hip, but it isn’t easy prioritizing escape when his eyes are dancing with delight only about three inches from your face.

You want him to kiss you. You want him to kiss you so badly. Right here in the darkness, concealed behind a heavy, wooden door, surrounded by a dense mist and a musty smell, with the added ambience of distant screams in the background. But, of course, you aren’t going to voice this desire. Because that would be more terrifying than getting eaten alive by a bunch of zombie clowns. So, instead, you say, “Get me the fuck out of here, Seresin.”

Jake nods, stepping away from you slowly, almost reluctantly. He holds his arm out to direct you out of the tunnel through the splintered door. He leads you past the holographic apparitions that float eerily along the walls, through the hall of warped mirrors that make your eyes hurt and your head spin, and over the various trap doors in the final stretch of your journey.

But he stops when you get to a dark, narrow split between two concrete walls. “This is the exit,” he says with a grimace. “Sorry,” he adds.

You shake your head. “I’m not going in there.”

“There’s no other way out.”

You stare at him in horror. “I’m claustrophobic.”

Jake drags a hand over his face. “That’s not good,” he says.

You feel yourself start to panic so you lash out by slapping him on the shoulder. “How could you not know that?”

Jake shrugs. “I forgot, I guess.”

Your breathing accelerates as your heart pounds painfully against your ribcage. “I hate your guts, Seresin,” you mutter. “You’re going to pay for this.”

In response, Jake gives you a very broad, very happy smile, as though you didn’t just tell him that you despise him.

“What?” you say heatedly.

Jake continues grinning. “You’re mad.”

“Yeah, I’m mad! Why are you so happy about it?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.”

You glare at him. “You should fear my wrath.”

He bites his lip, watching you affectionately. “It’s definitely the scariest part of this whole place.”

“I’m angry!” you yell, although you feel a fit of laughter start to bubble up in your chest.

Jake tries to keep a straight face. “Okay, but, could you be angry in there?” He nods at the chasm leading toward the exit, his eyes scanning the area behind you. “Because the zombies are coming.”

He ushers you into the fissure between the walls, keeping his hand on your back as you make your way forward. The only thing that makes up for this stressful conclusion to an already harrowing adventure is that his fingers seem to slip further down your back the farther you walk, trailing past the waistline of your jeans and stopping in the vicinity of your back pocket.

“See?” he says cheerily as the gap between the walls begins to narrow. “It’s not that bad.”

You try to concentrate on the light touch of his fingers as he hooks a couple of them into the back pocket of your jeans rather than the cracking walls rising up on either side of your body that seem to be closing in on you the deeper you go.

“Just so you know, there’s going to be a vibrating floor tile somewhere up ahead,” Jake says quietly, very close to your ear. “It’s coming up.”

You look over your shoulder sharply. “No,” you respond curtly, as if you could will this particular contraption away.

Jake squeezes himself in between your chest and the wall, his fingers regrettably slipping out of your pocket. The space is so tight that, no matter how much you press you backs into the walls, your bodies are still touching. “You can do this,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You frown at him, annoyed and love-sick all at once. Why did he insist on you coming? Why did he bring you along knowing he’d have to babysit you the entire time? Unless he doesn’t mind being with you. Perhaps it’s what he was hoping for.

Jake’s eyes skim worriedly over your face. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You draw in a wavering breath, content to let him fret for another several seconds over your wellbeing. Finally, you respond, “If we survive this hellhole, I’m going to murder you.”

Jake chuckles, placing his hands on your shoulders. “If we survive this hellhole, I’m getting you two funnel cakes.”

You let out a resolute sigh and nod. “Make it three. I want one of each flavor.”

Jake grins. “You got it.”

You bring your hands up to push at his chest, squirming in the compact space against his shirt. “How are you still wet?” you say irritably. “We’ve been in here for hours.”

Jake makes a face. “It’s been like six minutes, actually.”

You groan. “And this is why I don’t do haunted houses.”

…

Finally – finally – you step out into the cool, breezy sunshine with Jake on your heels. Bradley waves at the two of you from across the walkway, coming over to greet you.

“Took you a while,” Bradley remarks.

You grimace at him. “It’s only been like six minutes,” you retort sourly.

Jake looks like he might be trying to suppress a laugh.

“As if you took off again,” you reprimand your brother.

Bradley shrugs. “The trick is to race through these things and not stop to smell the rotting flesh.”

You shudder. “I need to sit down; my legs feel like jelly.”

“Log ride?” Bradley says to Jake. “While this one recuperates?” He nods toward you with a grin.

Jake pinches at his still soaking shirt and then wrinkles his nose. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he says. “Promised your sister I’d get her funnel cake.”

“Three,” you remind him.

Jake graces you with an amused smirk. “I would love to see you try to get through three whole funnel cakes.”

As Bradley takes off in the direction of the log ride, you glance at Jake apprehensively. “You could go with him,” you say, cursing yourself for even suggesting it because all you want is to spend some time alone with Jake – not inside of a nuthouse.

Jake gives you a quick smile before starting for the funnel cake stand. “Don’t want to,” he responds.

You fall into step with him, wondering why he’d rather hang around you than his best friend. As he’s ordering the funnel cakes, you decide that you’re reading too much into things and he’s probably just hoping to dry off before going on the next ride, and that his decision to skip the log ride has nothing to do with you at all.

But then, as the two of you watch the mesmerizing creation of the world’s most delicious pastry through the glass window of the kitchen, Jake says this: “Heard you broke up with what’s-his-name.”

Your grip on the tray in your hands tightens but your eyes remain on the rapidly frying dough. It was a casual question, and Jake isn’t even looking at you, but his repeated interest in your dating life continues to give you hope where there probably isn’t any. He’s just making conversation. You shrug. “He was an asshole,” you say nonchalantly.

“Told you he would be,” Jake responds with an equally casual tone.

You bite your bottom lip aggressively, tired of the ambiguity behind his words. “That’s fine,” you retort. “I’ve got options.”

That’s when Jake turns to look at you with a troubled pair of eyes.

“Your words,” you remind him. “So, I took your advice.”

He narrows his eyes. “What advice would that be?”

“I told you someone asked out,” you say, setting the first of your funnel cakes down onto your tray.

“You said yes?” he gapes at you. “To a stranger?”

You watch him pensively for a moment. “You know, I think we’re going to need another tray,” you say, deciding to keep him in suspense for another minute.

Call it payback or something.

Read Part 8

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this installment of torturous pining. Don't forget to send in your ideas for these two in my ask box!

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mcondance · 3 months

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nite and day. fontaine.

for 👹, as they return to school tomorrow.

the back roads of the glen are quiet this time of night. nobody passes back here but the dope boys and the hos, and even then, ‘taine’s picked a spot for the two of you where you won’t be bothered.

snack wrappers sit on the middle console, hot chips and a half-empty bottle of strawberry lemonade, taine’s malt liquor and a half-smoked joint.

his ever-present music fills the car, soft vibrations have your body rattling softly from your place in his passenger’s seat. a passenger princess is what you are, always riding, never driving, spending his dime like it’s yours– and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

hazy-eyed and chest heavy with the weed swirling through your body, you cast your eyes over fontaine’s pretty ass face; the slope of his nose and curve of his lips are entrancing even in the low light. his dark eyes meet yours with a quickness like always.

“you starin’.” he says, smooth and deep, and yeah, you are.

“i am. that wrong?”

“nah.” he shakes his head, smoke curling out of his mouth. he smiles, laughs a little cause he still can’t believe he cuffed a girl like you, who’ll just stare at him for the fuck of it. passing you the joint, he watches you hit it, and you watch him watch with low eyes, leaned over the center console staring up at him like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. your eyes, he thinks. your fuckin’ eyes.

he’s stuck, watching you inhale and exhale, keeping his eyes on you through the smoke you blow.

“you playin’ with me.” he’s got that thing in his voice, that airy, dazed, fucked thing that has you shifting in your seat and cracking a smile, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head and not denying his accusation. he shifts too, places a hand on your face and brings you over to steal a kiss that you so easily give him.

one kiss is never just one with fontaine, though. deepens quickly, gets nasty and your heads are moving with it, fighting to hold your own as the other does the same. he grunts, moves as close as he can and licks over your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth when you let him in. your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him towards your kiss.

low smacks mix with the music pouring from his radio, little pleasured sounds and hungry groans take their place in the song like they belong there. and if you let fontaine tell it, they do.

“sound so damn pretty,” he mumbles against your lips and you smile against his, leaning back just a little to find his eyes again. he’s in the thick of it already, tipsy with infatuation and you’re getting to his head, like you always do. “what you wanna do?” he asks. he knows your answer already, leaning away from you so you can clamber over his console and settle in his lap while he’s still reaching down to move his seat back.

in his lap, his hands find your waist with ease, handle your body like second nature as you press your lips to his again, hands on either side of his face. you cup his face with the gentleness of a person in love, soft and caressing and he feels the sweetness leak off your hands and seep into his skin.

the way you feel is anything but sweet, though. he’s hard against your heat and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you were dripping through your shorts and panties. fontaine’s hands get bolder, sliding down your ass to grab at your pussy, grunting against your lips as he gets a handful of you. again he grabs, and you whine a little, moving up away from his hand at the sensitivity and unwelcome shyness that arises in you.

it doesn’t matter, though, cause you settle back down and he runs his hand down your slit through your clothes, still kissing and licking into each other’s mouths. sure of himself, his other hand takes the first one’s place, inside your clothes this time.

“taine. .” you sigh, melting into his touch.

“mhm.” he hums into your neck, kissing your skin once before he trains his eyes down between your legs.

your body knows his touch. moves against his fingers naturally, sliding your slickness over his hand as he teases your nerves, savoring the feel of you against him. your hands are over his shoulders now, a little leverage to grind your hips on him, breath heavy and desperate with the soft pleasure arising in you.

fontaine knows your tells better than you do. “you want it?” he asks, cause he can tell with the urgency in your motions that all that long ass foreplay shit is for the birds tonight.

you just nod dumbly, leaning back so he can free his dick and you stare with hungry eyes at him, body tingling with the recollection of how he feels shoved up in your guts.

shorts and panties to the side is how he does it, using your drip as lube with one, two, three swipes up and down your cunt. you shiver, eyes joining his on between your legs to find his hand wrapped around his dick.

still high off weed and each other, you connect, softly, and its good.

ready, wet and always ready, he opens you up and he groans at the feel of you enveloping him, at how you clench and kiss his dick with your walls. your sounds seem to complement each other, a whine leaks from your mouth as he sinks in farther, splitting you open like it’s his purpose. mouth slack, you huff out breaths, eyes fluttering as he catches against little electric spots all inside you.

there’s no static spot, no time in which you two don’t know what’s next. to the backdrop of smoke and fontaine’s smooth music, you fuck in fontaine’s driver’s seat. it’s smooth, the way you rise up and he pulls down and you meet in the middle, and then you’re in the thick of it and the pace is so sweet your mind blanks with it.

the car rocks, the shuffle of clothes and bodies and unabashed moans hit the air and spin and float like flowers through the wind.

hand braced on his chest, you rest your forehead against his, eyes taking in his eyes and his nose and his lips that are opening to feed you the words that you so readily eat up. low and deep, he speaks, his mind crafting the most depraved shit to say.

“you love this shit, don’t you? got me on you and you ain’ even have to try.” he’s lovestruck, would give you the world if you even looked at him like you wanted it. you nod, retching out a moan, dropping down on him harder and rougher. he feels that shit, smiles and places a kiss on your neck before his hands handle your waist again. he has your bounces turning to grinds, and he follows you, hands on your waist to move with you.

like this, it’s good. good like midnight drives and being close with your lover, good like spending his money and getting kissed like even god couldn’t separate you two.

the shit’s perfect, and you feel it, in your rocks against him, in how you move against each other so right.

smooth is how you fuck each other, rolling your hips against him, letting the atmosphere of it all bring you close to cumming. there’s no rush, no race or urgency to hit your peak, just slow grinds and soft words and fontaine’s hands around your waist, comforting and mind-fucking all at once. inside you, his dick kisses every part of you.

in the driver’s seat of fontaine’s pontiac, you feel as good as you think you could ever feel.

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #fontaine smut #they cloned tyrone smut #fontaine x black!reader #fontaine x you #good luck at school 👹!#hopefully you are still up and you like it <3 #cw weed #cw fudge #cw alcohol

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ddejavvu · 4 months

Note

mei it is i. the glen powell thirst has BEGUN (i am behind don’t yell at me) but IMAGINE hangman taking you on the change room bc he literally would not wait to get back to the dorms. your uniform does things to his brain

maddie ilysm i'm so happy we've been chatting again lately <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

It's Hangman's biceps that cage you against the cool metal behind you, his muscled shoulders keeping you pinned, but apparently you're the desperate one.

"Shut up," He grunts when you accuse him of desperation, "Shut up, Y/L/N, you just couldn't wait until we got somewhere better, could you?"

"You dragged me in here," You dig your nails into his back sharply, leaving crescents that will burn red for hours. His hips jolt at the sensation, and his cock hits deeper inside your cunt than either of you had planned. Your hips jump as a result, and a soft whine escapes your throat, "You were the one that-"

"Shut up. God you're so- so fucking needy, aren't you? Had to have me right up against the wall," He drawls, his words misshapen and slurred as he takes breaks to bite against the flesh of your neck, "That's another level of desperate, Y/N."

He talks fluent shit, rambling on and on about how you're simply desperate for him, how you need him so badly that you'd jumped him right by the showers. But each time he uses a word like needy his cock twitches inside of you, and you wonder if even he believes the hot air he's blowing.

You test your theory, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him impossibly closer, inhaling the overwhelming scent of sweat and sex, "Mhm, Jake, I- I need you."

The resulting whimper came from your throat, Jake swears, after he catches his breath enough post-orgasm to speak.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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bradshawssugarbaby · 4 months

Text

Cowboy Casanova - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: It's been a hot minute since I wrote anything spicy but since Glen had to go and make that comment while reading thirst tweets yesterday, here we are. It's not my best, and it's literally plotless smut, but c'est la vie.

pairing: Lt. Jake Seresin x fem!reader

warnings/content: minors dni below the cut / fingering, praise kink, swearing, daddy kink, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, y'all).

word count: 1.1k

“Come on then, cowboy. Show me what you’ve got,” you challenged, hands resting firmly on your hips as you eyed your tall, blonde-haired boyfriend up, trying to resist the urge to bite your lip as your gaze fell on his sharply toned body, his white long-sleeved henley hugging his muscular physique tightly, accentuating every curve of his arms in a way that was almost hypnotizing.

“Cowboy?” Jake retorted, laughing dryly as he raised the amber coloured glass bottle in his hand to his lips, taking a sip of the cold, frothy liquid inside, shaking his head in mock disbelief at your bold attitude, trying hard to deny any semblance of feeling towards you over it.

“You heard me. You sure as shit talk like one.”

“You makin’ fun of my accent, darlin’? I thought most women go wild for a good Southern boy.”

“Most women might. It takes more than an accent to win me over, gorgeous.”

He leaned in towards you, his tall frame towering in as he ducked his head down beside your ear. His voice was a low, seductive whisper as he spoke - he knew what he was doing, you were terrible at bluffing, and honestly, so was he, but that was part of what made this whole exchange so appealing.

“Oh believe me, I’m up for the challenge,” He purred as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly, yet in a way that made your skin feel hot to the touch.

He pressed his lips to the sensitive patch of skin directly in front of your ear, his warm breath taunting your nerves as you felt it brush over you. The smell of beer mixed with his intoxicating cologne, and you felt your head begin to spin as his lips made their way down the curve of your cheekbone, trailing their way to your neck before resting on the sweet spot where your neck and shoulder met. You felt your back press flat against the wall as Jake put his hands on your waist, gripping your body tightly as he held you in place, his knee resting in between your legs, keeping them spaced just far enough apart for him for his hand to find its way between your thighs, reaching up the short skirt you’d decided to wear that day. You felt Jake’s lips curl up into a smirk against your skin as he ran his fingertips along your slit, a cocksure chuckle escaping his lips as his fingers brushed your clit.

“So wet for me already, babygirl,” He hummed against your neck before nipping at your sensitive skin with his teeth, continuing to grin against you as he left soft bite marks on your skin.

“Only for you, daddy,” You murmured, knowing that calling Jake that was a surefire way to have him practically ripping your clothes off in seconds. It drove him wild whenever he heard it fall from your lips like a prayer, he could barely contain himself whenever you did, and you loved taking advantage of that fact.

Jake plunged two of his long, thick digits into your core as soon as the words came out of your mouth, barely giving you time to react to his touch. You threw your head to the side, letting out a loud whine as he pressed his fingers into you, pumping them at a taunting pace as you let out a series of lewd noises.

“Look at my pretty girl, all dripping wet for me,” Jake teased, his tone low and deep as he grinned at you, unable to stop himself from getting cocky about the effect he had on you.

He pulled his fingers out quickly, leaving you a whimpering mess at the loss of contact as he stuck them into his mouth, his wide tongue licking them clean before he undid his belt with his free hand. As he pulled his fingers out of his mouth, he quickly dropped his jeans to the ground, kicking his boxers off his legs with them. Jake pressed you against the wall once again, his hardened cock pushing into your thigh as he lifted you up to hold your legs around his waist, using the wall as leverage to balance you where he wanted. He used one hand to guide his tip along your soaking core, leaving you a babbling mess at just the touch of him. Without warning, he pushed himself into you, an obscene sounding grunt coming out of his mouth as he felt your body clench around him.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Taking Daddy’s cock so good for me, aren’t you? Want Daddy to fill you up, hmm?”

You attempted to respond, but your words could barely make their way into a coherent sentence as Jake continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming sharp and quick as he found his rhythm, thrusting as deep and hard into you as your bodies would allow. You managed to nod your head quickly in reply, but even getting your mind and body on the same page long enough for a simple head nod was next to impossible at this point. Jake prided himself in never half-assing anything, and that extended into his sex life. Not once in your relationship had he left you unsatisfied, or without craving, wanting, needing more.

“I’m so close,” You finally managed to sputter out, the only words that could come to you when Jake had you like this.

“Let it go, honey,” His words were more of a command than a phrase of encouragement as he said them, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice over it at this stage. You felt Jake beginning to lose control as your wet cunt clenched around him tightly, As Jake’s thrusts became sloppier, you felt him reach his climax, filling you with hot spurts of cum as he threw his head back, making his shouts of your name sound obscene as he was overrun with pleasure.

Panting heavily as he leaned against the wall, pinning you in place after helping you put your feet back on the floor, Jake’s sea-green eyes met yours with a lustful, yet loving gaze. He smirked as he gently pushed a strand of hair that fell from your ponytail behind your ear, leaning in to kiss you passionately, the heat of your bodies radiating between you, sweat dampening your brow.

“How ‘bout you and I take this to the bedroom so I can fuck you properly?” Jake smirked, raising one of his dark blonde eyebrows at you.

“You’re on, Cowboy, you’re on.”

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themultifandomgal · 5 months

Text

Jay Halstead- Work Husband Pt1

I walk into the break room to grab myself a coffee. Jay, my partner is already in there making two drinks

"Good morning" I greet him

"Morning" he hands me a cup after he pours the hot water in

"Thanks" I give him a smile

"Your very welcome. Actually I erm wanted to speak to you"

"What's up?" I ask frowning but before Jay can talk to me Adam pops his head in to the break room letting us know that Voight wanted to speak to us. He asks me and Jay to talk to a source to find out some information about our perp.

Jay and I get in the car, me behind the steering wheel. At first it's quiet. Then jay breaks the silence

"I think it's time we can be honest with each other. Wouldn't you agree?" This makes me feel a little nervous, but I try to hide it

"Depends"

"Ok I'm just going to say it"

"Go on then"

"You driving all the time? I'm not down with that"

"Tough. I drive"

"I've been on the job longer" I see Jay now looking at me through my peripheral vision. I glance at him before looking back at the road

"Well I've been in this unit longer"

"Ok honestly? I feel like a house husband" I chuckle at this then put on a straight face and glance at Jay

"I'd say sorry..." I stop the car and take my belt off and now give Jay my full attention "but I was told not to lie. Now let's go" I open up my door and both Jay and I start to walk to the shop when a guy whistles at me

"Shake it baby" I raise a brow at him then shake my head

"Jay" I nod my head towards the shop

"Watch yourself" Jay warns

"Yes sir officer sir" the guy says back to

"Does that ever catch girls attention?"

"Jay it's fine. Leave it" I open up the door to the shop "hi Chicago PD we would like to ask you a few questions" I say showing my badge

"Sure"

"A pay-as-you-go phone was purchased from your store in the last 24 hours" Jay starts as I take out the phone number from my pocket

"We're looking for who bought it"

"Yeah, a Juan Garcia. Yesterday. Paid cash"

"Any other information you can provide us?" I ask

"No, we're not responsible for background checks"

"True, but it is a fairly common name. You know, there's not a lot we can do with that" I give the store clerk a sweet smile

"You don't tell me how to do my job. I don't tell you how to do yours" the guy hands the number back to me as I continue to smile

"You're Glen Pearson, right? The owner of this place?"

"That's right"

"You know, it looks like there's a Glen Pearson with deceptive practice and fraud charge"

"Huh" I cross my arms looking at Jay

"Yeah for selling stolen merchandise

out of Gary, Indiana" Jay shows me a fake police report made to just scare the guy "That's a 25,000 dollar expeditable must-hold warrant"

"Hmm. What do you think Halstead? Height, weight match. Eye color, too"

"Yeah" he nods his head "hey I've got an idea. Why don't we throw some bracelets on him, we'll take him down to the station, run his prints, and then we can be sure" Jay gives me a little nudge

"I got a nanny cam up here. I can pull some footage. Get a picture of the guy who did it.

It's best I can do"

"Oh that's great" Jay and I both smile "oh and I'll have some gum"

We leave the store after getting a photo. I place a piece of gum in my mouth

"I knew that would work"

"Now we just gotta figure out who this idiot is" I pass the photo over to Jay as the same guy we passed earlier throws a bottle

"Why don't you bring that ass over to place sometime girl. I'll let you in"

"Hey" I say to Jay who looks pissed "it's fine. Let's go" Jay takes off his holster and badge, handing them over to me "ok. Yeah" I nod my head. Jay and the guy have a little tiff earning an eye roll from me "oh my hero" I give Jay his things back "and by the way I'm still driving" I run over to the drivers side of the car before driving us back to the precinct to talk over what we have found out.

#one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd #jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x yn #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine

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missathlete31 · 3 months

Text

This man 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

#glen powell #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #anyone but you #devotion #Hitman #those arms #those abs #those veins #the things this man does to me #oh glen you beautiful man #is it hot in here or is it just glen #it’s glen #love him #gym glen #top gun hangman

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twola · 9 months

Note

im just wondering if you could do a short story with arthur getting ‘jealous’ of you at a bar for flirting with other men? 👀 and he later makes you regret pissing him off? *wink wink*

Learning The Hard Way

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

In which Arthur needs to teach you a lesson.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz @verai-marcel @shootybangbang @cowboydisaster

CW: There’s a bit of back and forth in this one… that devolves into physicality. Obviously, I do not condone any type of domestic violence. So we’re gonna go with that this type of play is consensual.

Many thanks to my meowdy pardners - @verai-marcel, @shootybangbang, and @redwritr - for helping me shine this one shot until it gleams!

Your voice rings out in the night through the camp, where Lemoyne’s heavy humidity hangs low. “You ain’t my husband, you ain’t my daddy, you ain’t anyone to tell me how to do my job!”

“You listen here- ”

You burst out of the tent and stomp toward the lakeshore, away from the orange firelight glowing toward the center of camp. Fortunately, the night is loud enough, and your voice doesn’t jar the entire camp, drowned out by cicadas and the rumble of men drinking after dinner.

Not that you’re particularly concerned about making a scene. No, you couldn’t give a shit about that. Your temper flares and your boots slap against the muddy grown as you clench your fists, skirts swishing at the speed of your gait.

But even with your artificially elongated stride, the loud footsteps that follow you eventually catch up to you as you reach the wood line away from the glen.

You’re yanked back by your elbow and turned around to come face to face with an equally aggravated outlaw, wrinkles set deeply in his frown as his eyes narrow under the brim of his dark hat.

“I’ll damn well tell you when you’re bein’ stupid about a job. Coulda got yourself picked up by the law on that last stage,” he hisses, and you scowl in return as you yank back your arm from his grip, “Ain’t no way you’re doing this one.”

“No, Arthur. Just because we’re sleepin’ together doesn’t mean you can order me around like some little housewife.”

Arthur Morgan’s scowl deepens. “You ain’t comin’ on this job and that’s final.”

“Fuck you.” You seethe, turning on your heel before he grabs at your arm again, yanking you backward.

“Get your ass back in that tent, you little-”

He doesn’t see the whip-fast arc of your other hand before it connects with his cheek. It sends his hat flying to the ground and he immediately lets go of your arm, reeling from the blow.

“It’s over. I’ll get my things out of your tent and back to my own. You ain’t gonna treat me like I’m some prissy little thing. I don’t need this and I don’t need you.” You enunciate the last word with venom in your tone, spinning on your heel again to walk in the other direction, along the wood line, skirting the edge of the camp toward where the horses are hitched.

You needed some kind of outlet to quell the hotness of your blood after the fight, and stomping around camp wasn't doing it.

Hiking your skirts, you hurry toward your spry little gelding, dapple coated and one boy you know you could always count on. He neighs softly as you untie his rein frm the hitching post. You run your hand through his black mane.

“C’mon now boy. Let’s get outta camp to blow off some steam, sound good?”

As if he can understand you, he nudges against your shoulder with his nose and you laugh as you move to pull yourself up into his saddle. You tighten the strap on the holster mounted on his saddle, your repeater at the ready should you need it.

Without a look back, you guide him into the freshly-borne night, at a gallop before you even hit the main road.

But alas, breathless riding through Scarlett Meadows can quell your aggravation but so much. As the moon rises in the sky, you slow your gelding down upon the red-dirt path leading into Rhodes - the Parlour House in the distance is lit up, beckoning visitors with its warm glow.

A drink or two. That would certainly help you unwind.

Laughter and music waft into the warm night as you slide down from your horse, hitching him to the post right outside the main porch. You straighten your skirts before tucking back stray hairs along your temple as you step onto the porch and push your way through the door.

Indeed, the saloon is full of people tonight gaily drinking away their wages. You weave your way through the crowd to the bar, where you order yourself a whiskey from the bartender, tossing him a few coins when he slides the glass to you.

The drink goes down far too quickly to alleviate your frustration. Barely takes the edge off. It’s not the first time you and Arthur have gone at it - but you know, you know you were right. You were robbing stages before Arthur was your bedmate, before you joined the gang. He’s just going to have to learn to give you your space to do your work.

Hell, no one ever told him not to go on a job. Damn double standards.

Though… you can’t lie to yourself too much. There is a corner of your heart that is warmed by the fact he’s concerned for you - that he wants you safe. No one has wanted that for years.

No. You were an outlaw first. And damned if Arthur Morgan makes you some camp filly to warm his bed.

“Why, ma’am, you look like you could use another drink.”

You turn your head toward the man. His cheeks are flushed with drink and the starched collar of his shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. A silken waistcoat. Probably a Gray or a Braithwaite cousin. Pomaded dark hair and a clean-shaven face. All of the trappings of a feckless rich boy who had never seen a hard day’s work in his life.

Completely the opposite of Arthur.

You give a smile, leaning on your elbow, “Suppose I could…”

He nods to the bartender immediately, and a glass of whiskey appears in front of you at the bar.

You sip at it slowly as he steps closer, his elbows nearly touching yours. A subtle air of fancy cologne; of bergamot and southern jasmine, wafts off of him as he begins to engage you in conversation.

One drink turns into two. Turns into three.

The man’s arm wraps around your waist, landing on your hip, pulling you to near sit in his lap on the barstool. “Pretty little thing like you - we don’t get that much here out in Rhodes.”

You lean into him. Who knows where this could lead. Maybe you could have a little fun tonight. Maybe you could rob him after. Maybe he was just what you need to get a certain brooding outlaw out of your system.

“What do you say about headin’ upstairs for the night?” You whisper as you toy with the lapel of his waistcoat. The golden chain of his pocket watch glints under the lanterns. A sly smile creeps across your face.

He can barely contain himself, grinning from ear to ear, and leans in to nip at your jaw. You giggle in response. He helps you slide off of his lap and presses his lips to your ear, whispering things he wants to do to you all night as he squeezes your hip.

“Just you wait here, sweet thing - I’ll get us a room and we can continue on.”

You smile a roguish, knowing grin that betrays your intent as you return to the barstool. The bartender pushes another glass of whiskey in front of you, which you down quickly, sucking air between your teeth as it burns on the way down.

You tense up as you feel a body moving too close behind you, a man with a large frame leaning into the bar behind you, crowding you in.

The tang of tobacco and whiskey wafts into your nose before you’re yanked from your seat.

By the time you’ve regained your bearings and your footing as you’ve been dragged out the side door of the Parlour House, you recognize what’s going on.

Just like you recognize that black hat.

“Get off me, Arthur.” You yell but are fairly helpless to do anything but be dragged along the path to the empty stable.

The outlaw gruffly snorts in your direction, his large hand clamped on your upper arm. As you reach the stable, your shoulders slam against the wooden wall of the workroom he had cornered you into.

“Your goddamn mouth - I need to remind you who you belong to.” Arthur hisses, groping roughly at your breast with one hand. The other grasps at your skirts and starts hiking them upward. You’re forced face down on the workbench, Arthur’s hand across your back to hold you down, your bucking unable to move against his strength. You squawk indignantly as your bloomers are yanked down your thighs and puddle near your ankles.

“Sure as fuck, ain’t you-”

The loud smack of skin on skin cuts you off, and you yelp in painful surprise at the sting of his palm on the bare, pale skin of your behind.

“Wanna try again?”

Your ass throbs as he removes his large hand from your skin, but with his other placed down hard against the small of your back, you’re unable to move from where he has you pinned to the table.

“I said, sure as fuck ain’t you-agh!”

You cry out, louder, as he swings again, hitting you square across your rear with a searing smack.

“Honey, ain’t making me happy to do this, but you gotta learn your lesson, and seems like this is the only way to get through that thick head o’ yours.”

You hiss at him, glaring daggers.

Smack.

“Changed yer mind yet?”

“Fuck you.”

Smack.

After the fifth blow, tears start to leak from your eyes as you clench your fingers on the table. You aren’t going to be able to ride for a week at this rate - your ass is red and hot, but you also can’t deny the moisture accumulating just below, starting to trickle down your inner thigh. Goddamnit.

“You belong to that man you were battin’ your eyes at?” He seethes behind you, and you growl in response, unwilling to give him satisfaction.

Smack.

The eighth blow makes you cry out in pain, and Arthur falters. When he removes his hand from your rear, he slides his palm down to trail over your thigh for a moment. He pauses, pulling back up and rubbing his palm over your behind almost tenderly. But you know, you know, that he felt your slick as he swept his fingers across the backs of your thighs.

“Y’ready to stop all this nonsense?” Arthur drawls, softly, slowly, as if he were trying to calm a skittish horse. The circles he’s gently rubbing on your sore ass feel almost pleasant, and you don’t clench your fingers nearly as hard on the edge of the table. Your tears have stopped, leaving a drying trail down your cheeks.

You don’t respond - you can’t - because at that moment, he slips his hand down, down between your thighs to caress your glistening folds, and you gasp in surprised pleasure as he presses his knuckle against your clit. You widen your legs without thinking, giving him more access.

“Think you are…” he rasps, and gently moves his fingers against you, placing one arm on the table next to you to lean over your frame. His large frame smothers yours, clothed hips brushing against yours gently.

You whine and shiver beneath him. You know you’ve already lost.

“What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

“I-I… agh- I need-” You stumble over your words, your knees shaking as he pushes that finger within your cunt, suckling on your earlobe as he leans further over you. You can feel his thickening cock against the back of your thigh as he gently presses his hips forward against you in time with the strokes of his finger.

Arthur presses a second finger inside you and a needy cry escapes your throat, your hand shooting forward to grab his, forcing your fingers through his free hand. His breath is warm against your ear and he chuckles, curling his fingers as you moan. God, his hands are so big, his fingers filling you so much better than your own.

“F -fuck …” you stutter out, pressing your hips back against his hand, “A-Arthur… I need you.”

The outlaw extricates his hand from between your legs and you whine in dismay at the loss. Strong hands encircle your waist and lift you from where you are laid out on the table, and through no small feat, he turns you and winds his hands under your thighs, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms wound around his neck.

It’s then that you look at him, for maybe the first time all day, caught drowning in the pools of his blue eyes. You can barely feel him stepping forward, carrying you, his hands firm under your thighs, careful not to touch the inflamed skin of your rear.

Your back is pressed against the wooden wall of the barn, but he doesn’t crowd you in at all. He leans in, and uncontrollably, you do too. When your mouths meet, you give a little sigh, opening your lips and permitting him to enter, his tongue pressing against yours as a rumble bubbles up from his chest.

“Shouldn’ta yelled at you,” he breathes against your lips, and as much as you can, you shake your head at him.

“Shouldn’ta run off,” you whisper in between kisses, the wet sounds of lips meeting nearly drowning out your low reply.

“Shouldn’ta hit you.”

“You know I liked it.” You whisper with the hint of a smile ghosting across your lips.

“Little spitfire, you are.”

Arthur presses his hips forward into yours, and the long, full column of his cock in his pants presses against your bare folds, and you moan and throw your head back, gyrating your hips against him. He swears under his breath, one hand leaving your leg and furiously working the buttons of his fly as he retracts his hips just enough to work his pants open.

It's only a moment more before you feel the hot head of his cock press against your weeping opening, and he presses his lips to yours desperately as he juts his hips forward, greedily swallowing your moan as he quickly pushes himself inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers interlaced with honeyed locks, and his hand returns to your thigh as he starts to retract his hips and thrusts them upward in a slow rhythm, the wet noise of skin joining loud and stark in the night.

“ ‘M yours, Arthur.” You breathe as your eyes flutter with the slow, languorous rhythm he’s set. He leans in and takes your lips in a passionate kiss as he presses himself deeper within you.

“Was never a question,” he replies with a smirk, as he draws back enough that his forehead still leans against yours as he rolls his hips upward.

You frown slightly, but Arthur leans in for another kiss that steals your breath away. He’s a natural, of course, in the art of stealing. Your breath, your heart. Everything.

“You’re mine, Darlin’,” Arthur whispers against your lips, “You’re mine, ‘nd I’m yours.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #twolafic

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sometimes-i-write-good · 1 year

Text

Line of Sight

Top Gun: Maverick Jake “Hangman” Seresin x gn!WSOreader [no use of y/n]

1.8k | You’ve got to love how glasses can make even the hottest man then times hotter

====

Genre: fluff, crushing

CW: swearing

A/N: I saw a photo of Glen Powell in glasses and now that’s all I ever want to see. (Also, I wrote this on mobile again. So extra apologies if it looks weird or there’s more typos!!) || cross-posted on ao3

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“I don’t see why you can’t just get the surgery,” Jake said, settling further into the uncomfortable office chair. The kind that were made for ten minutes of sitting and not two hours. You clearly didn’t know that though because you’d spend the past two hours on your feet, pacing.

He hadn’t wanted to spend his weekend this way. With you dragging him to various doctors appointments. He actually had a full day of cardio and lifting planned out before beers at the bar tonight, but he couldn’t turn you down once you gave him those puppy dog eyes. They were his favorite feature of yours, your eyes. He could get lost in them… and had on many occasions.

And here you were, trying on dozens of pairs of lenses that would be a barrier between him and Heaven itself.

“Because, Bagman,” you said, tilting your chin down slightly to stare at him over your latest pick. “I’m scared of those lasers fucking my eyes up.”

He scoffed. You were as bad a Rooster some days. Perched on a ledge watching life pass you by. At least you managed to keep Jake on his toes. As quick in the air as you were with your comebacks.

“How ‘bout these.” You pushed the pair up on the bridge of your nose and struck a pose that Jake could only roll his eyes at. “Hot, right?”

“You’re scared of lasers fucking up your eyes, B, but you go and pick out a frame that fucks up your whole face like that?”

If Hangman were looking - and he wasn’t - he could have sworn your face fell a bit at his comment.

Jake waved his hands at the wall. “Try on another one,” he said, purposefully avoiding looking at the small pile you’d already stacked on the technicians desk.

Off you went to peruse the wall of frames with your hands on your hips. Jake wasn’t entirely sure why you were so determined to find the perfect pair. The Navy didn’t exactly allow many choices. But you had been insistent on showing Jake every pair and he, rightfully so, had shot down every single one.

Perhaps slightly harsher than he’d been meaning to come off. It was unfair to take out the frustration of not being able to look you in the eye as well on you. Then again, they were your eyes.

Your eyes. Bright and fierce and blinding. Like the sun.

“I don’t understand what you have against glasses,” you called out to Hangman over your shoulder.

“I don’t know what you have against lasers,” he countered. When you didn’t respond, Jake let a smug smirk settle on his lips. “You could get contacts.”

He watched you shudder as you plucked another pair off the never ending wall of Jake Seresin torture devices. “And touch my eyes? No thank you.”

Jake sighed. You were impossible to reason with. Consistently so considering you’d been this way since he’d met you in flight school. It was how you’d gotten your callsign: Brick.

Because talking to you some days was like talking to a wall.

For obvious reasons, you took immediate offense to the name, but it stuck. Not everyone had the luxury of choosing their own callsigns in this job. One way or another you were going to end up with a nickname you hated. That’s just how the military worked. At least your commanding officers gave you a choice. Brick, bull, or mule. All stubborn. All equally as terrible.

You sulked for a week after that. Easily Jake’s favorite version of you because you had sought him out no matter where he was and hovered until he’d made some smart ass comment that brought a beautiful smile through. He’d always been the one to break down that wall, but you’d, steadily, build it right back up.

“I could put them in for you, B?” He offered, pinching the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut hard. Jake was ready to craft you a new pair of eyes if it meant the pair of you could. Leave. This. Office.

“These,” you said, “these are the pair.”

“I don’t think…” but the words died on his lips as he lifted his head. Jake couldn’t do anything but stare. If you were to ask, he wouldn’t be able to tell you the date or year or his own name. All he would be able to do is tell you how stunning you looked.

You grinned, and it made him want to stand up and cross the office and take your face into his hands and kiss that stupid grin right off your face. Jake wouldn’t even mind if the frames of those glasses got in his way. They were ridiculously hot. “Yup.” You grinned wider at the heat working its way up his neck. “These are the ones.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, unable to come up with a good reason for you to abandon this pair. “That’s the pair.”

“You should try some on, Hangman.” You tapped at the side of your frames, still wearing that stupid smile. It was so carefree that he couldn’t help but return it. “Who knows, you might like them.”

His smile flatlined and he crossed his arms. Pouty, like you had been when you asked him to come with today. “I won’t like it. I don’t wear glasses.” You shook your head at him. “I don’t! They’re a sign that I’m anything less than perfect and we can’t have that.”

“We can’t have that,” you echoed, rolling your eyes. “C’mon. I won’t tell anyone about your slip into mediocrity for one day.”

“I want to leave, Brick.”

“Not until you try on a pair of glasses.”

“No.” You crossed your arms at him, mimicking his posture. “I’m serious.”

The sigh you let out almost does Jake in. He’s tempted to try on every pair of glasses. Just to please you, but this asshole mask has been fixed firmly in place for so many years. There’s no sense is removing it to make room for glasses.

“I’m serious, too.” He made a show of making himself as comfortable as possible in this impossibly uncomfortable chair.

“Jake.”

“Nope.”

“Seresin.”

“Not happening.”

“Hangman.”

“Brick.”

“Wall.” You point at yourself.

And that’s when Jake realizes there’s no winning this fight. Not with you digging your heels in like this.

“Fine,” he relented. “One pair. So they better be good.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Giving a stubborn person like you a task demanding perfection. “Oh not those, please.”

Your hand hovered over a pair of Ray-Bans that look suspiciously like a different WSO’s. “Why not? They look good on Bob.”

“Glasses do not make a person more attractive.” Jake prided himself for the slightest moment on not stuttering during that little white lie, though he couldn’t bring himself meet your eye. You were too good at picking out his fibs. “I am not wearing Bob’s glasses.”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “They make Bob look hot.”

“You think Bob - callsign ‘Bob’ - is hot?” Something hot shot through Jake. Same as when he was up in the air and Rooster catches Mav’s praise instead of him. “Since when?”

“Since he stared giving you ego checks.” You plucked a pair of glasses off the wall in a haphazard, random fashion and make your way over to Jake. “Here,” you say, “these are going to look good.” You bend over to put a pair of thick-framed black glasses on his face. Completely opposite of the pair Bob wore. He smelled the detergent you used on your clothes on laundry duty last night. He tried hard not to look like he leaned in closer as you move away to look at him.

“Well?” Jake asked, bringing a hand up to monkey with them. “How do I look.”

“I’d be able to tell if you’d sit still for once in your life,” you huffed. Then stomped over to readjust them and Jake let himself bask in the warmth of your nearness a little longer. “You’re as bad as Payback.”

“You’re doing an awful lot of comparin’ today, B.” Hangman laughed as you stuck your tongue out him. His careful eyes watched you walk backward to take him in again. “So, verdict?”

“They’re- uh, you… you look fine.” The stony facade of flirting and nothing more has cracked. Jake can see by the way you fiddled with your fingertips and the part in your lips as you held back a sigh.

He sat up with a laugh. “You’re swooning!” Jake pulled himself out of his chair and reached for a mirror. The reflection that stared back was handsome. A scholar more than a smartass. If he ever matured, this would be the perfect way to show it.

“Okay, Narcissus.” You snatched the mirror from his hands. It is returned to the table. Face down. “Enough staring at yourself.”

“I’m more Adonis than Narcissus, wouldn’t you say?” He laughed at the groan you let out. “What? I can’t help how hot I am in glasses.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m hot, but am I Bob hot?” He teased.

“Oh, shut up.” You plop down in the empty chair next to him, rubbing at your neck, and avoiding his eye.

“You’re turning red…” he said, lips quirking back into a devilish grin - “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Seresin!” - “Red as a brick!”

You rolled your eyes at his stupidity, and he was glad to still clearly see that glint of affection through your glasses. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It kills the joke if I have to explain it, B.” He nudged you softly with his elbow. “I should have expected it, being the smartest one in the room and all.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” He pulled down his glasses to look at you over the tops of the frames.

“Not remotely.”

“Not enough to buy me lunch?”

You let out a laugh. He wanted to freeze that moment in time to capture this flirtatious laugh of yours. “Definitely not that much.”

“I just spent an entire Saturday following from doctor to dentist to doctor-”

“Fine,” you cut him off, “I’ll buy lunch, Bagman.”

“Dick.”

“Hey!” You snap your head to the side to look at him and use one finger to push your glasses down so that you’re staring Jake straight in the eye. “It’s Brick to you, sir.”

“That completely defeats the purpose of having glasses, you know.”

You smiled. He wanted to drop his gaze down to your lips but knew the implications that would hold. So, instead, he held your gaze.

“I know, I just want to look at you.”

His heart stuttered at your words. The two of you stare for longer than either of you had dared to push past before turning to look your separate ways. Maybe coming with wasn’t such a bad decision.

====

Tag list:

@rosiahills22

#top gun maverick #hangman top gun #top gun imagine #top gun fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #rueben payback fitch

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slippinninque · 3 months

Note

how would Fontaine react to his girl’s’ pregnancy glow?

(So sorry this took so long, anon! I hope you like it!🥹💕)

Fontaine would be in awe, honestly. He'd wonder how it was possible for you to become even more gorgeous--but there you were. Being fine as hell as you hop-pulled into your jeans.

He would even swear that you smell different, too. Fontaine couldn't explain the smell, but expect to be cuddled close and enjoyed.

He would absolutely show you off. From his boys to strangers at the general store, Fontaine would walk with you and feel as if he won life's lottery.

When someone sees you and coo over your belly, Fontaine can be spotted grinning in 'yeah, that was me'.

Actually, fully expect to catch this man staring admiring you. Fontaine would embody "a moth to a flame" as he was even more helplessly drawn to you.

People often assume that he in wouldn't know shit, but he's thorough. Remembers every appointment and follow-up, he'd have his own questions ready to be asked alongside of your own. Yes, he reads the baby books.

Personally, he loved being asked about the pregnancy. "She's 'bout ___ weeks now. Little is hidin' in there, so we don't know just yet but my baby been eating a lot of spicy shit... y'all got them spicy pickles?"

Expect being given flowers and foot rubs. Even if you tell Fontaine nothing even aches yet, he insists that getting a head start wouldn't hurt.

You joke that the baby didn't even have all their toes yet but was already spoiled rotten.

When you two walk through the Glen, hand in hand, it's like seeing two suns walking. You wore your smile like a halo and Fontaine's grin was all golden rays.

----------

It's when you began to show, the roundness of your belly becoming more pronounced.

One evening, you were standing at the stove with one hand absentmindedly smoothing over your bump as you considered the chocolate-to-milk ratio for your hot chocolate.

Fontaine took in the new shape of you from where he sat at the small table across the room. He drank in your profile, your sweet face as plump and bewitching as the rest of you.

In the low light of the stove's over head light, Fontaine saw you as his entire world.

He knew you were scared. You were worried that you wouldn't be a good enough mother, or worse--you'll become like your own mother.

Fontaine was scared, too. He worried that the life would catch up to him, his darkness spreading to cover the growing stars of his life.

In this moment of seeing you and how you were braving this next chapter with him, he was resolute. He wouldn't let that happen.

Fontaine would do anything to ensure that you kept your brightness. Anything to keep the family you're giving him safe.

Unable to be away from you anymore, Fontaine rose and joined you at the stove. You aimed a meek little smile at him, somehow still unsure of your absolute beauty.

It didn't matter. He would remind you every moment, of every day if he had to. Fontaine kissed your lips, the tip of your nose, and beneath each eye. When you reached for him, he met your embrace and his eyes slipped close in bliss.

The two of you swayed together and soon he felt himself begin to glow as well.

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

Thank you for reading!!!!! I appreciate the time you spent here! Tell me what you think, I know it was a little short but I hope the sweetness makes up for it! ✨💕💜

Tag list: @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @sageispunk @mcondance @blowmymbackout @wide-nose-and-wonderful @mybonafidefeelings @hobiesmain @justabovewater20 @planetblaque @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93 @yeonjoom @sevikasblackgf

(lemme know if you would like to be tagged!)

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #anon asks #they cloned tyrone #fontaine #fontaine fluff #fontaine x fem! black!reader

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

Text

Highland Fling: The Battlements [Avenger!/Kilted! Loki x Fem. Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (8) Suddenly Loki’s ‘True Scotsman’ comment makes a lot more sense. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Kilted! Loki. Language. "Friends" w/ benefits. Hostility. Jealousy. (w/c 2.8k)

The floor swayed as you squirmed on the god's shoulder, his grip tight beneath your ass as he kicked open the centuries-old oak door with a single shattering crunch. “Loki-” you gasped as he set you down carelessly, a harsh wind whipping your hair. You stumbled, reaching out and grabbing the rugged stone of the battlements, slick and cold.

It was raining. But it was Scotland, so of course it was. He stepped back silently while you adjusted to your unexpected surroundings. Something was different, and it wasn’t just Loki’s outfit.

You scanned the view from the battlements, realising that the parked cars and paved roads from earlier were inexplicably gone. Wild trees grew sporadically around the castle, untamed heather and bogs stretching across the landscape to meet unspoilt mountainous glen. Flashes of steel lay strewn as far as the eye could see, dull in the rays of sinking dusk behind a blanket of clouds. Helmets and axes and swords and banners lay abandoned amongst the vegetation, a wave of foreboding making your stomach churn. The air was heavy with the scent of copper. The scent of death. “Loki…” you whispered fearfully, whipping round to meet his contemplating stare. “There has been a battle…” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He took three short steps towards you, punctuating each one with a single word. “Bloody. Short. Fierce.” “I...what is this?” you muttered, looking again across the impossible landscape and back to the kilted warrior in front of you. “A memory…” he growled, hot in your ear as his body pushed flush to yours.

The base of your back hit the stone, realising that instead of your fifties swing dress...it was now a dress of even greater vintage that you wore. Rough natural cotton hung loose around your body, a simple belt gathering in the waist. “A memory...” you repeated sceptically, frowning as Loki took a step back, letting you appraise him. His hair was longer now, rough waves hanging low and wild past his collarbone. Dark curls were gathered messily where they had dried, crusted with sweat and blood. Gone was the pristine kilt ensemble that hung so beautifully on his muscular body during the wedding; and in its place, a true highlander from the pages of history. Muted woollen tartan was slung around his hips, tears in the hem from wear and stains of mud and violence. Matching material was fastened in a sash around his shoulder, set with a jagged clan pin, a wide-buckled belt circling his waist pulled tight. A dark tunic hung undone, dulled silver buttons fastened beneath a thick utilitarian leather strap horizontal over his chest. Jesus fucking Christ you thought, feeling your breaths quicken as you lowered your eyes to take in the heavy boots caked with grime on his feet, cut off just below his bare knees. In his hand, he held a broadsword; fresh blood still smeared down its length. Your fingers grasped at the flat surface of the wall behind you, suddenly wondering how far it would be to jump. “Loki...I-”

He cast the sword aside with a clatter on the stone. One of his rough hands cupped your cheek, locking you in a devastating kiss as a growl rumbled in his throat. “You mocked me with your careless jibes, Agent...but you forget yourself.” he muttered, trailing his bloodied knuckles between your breasts. “You see only the god who lives in your inane fantasies and indulges your shallow needs. The one you think you can bend to your petty whims in your irritating naivety.” You gasped as his hand cupped between your legs, pressing up on your achingly wet core through the unfamiliar cloth. Nerves sizzled beneath his touch, adrenaline soaked pleasure eliciting a whimpering mewl from your lips. You bit down sharply, not wanting to give away just how arousing you were finding this whole ridiculous situation. “'Petty whims' is a bit rich coming from you...” you sneered, glancing over the side of the steep drop and back to his smouldering eyes. “I seriously doubt you were involved in anything as beneath you as a clan feud.” Loki hummed thoughtfully, watching your face as your eyelids fluttered shut beneath the movement of his palm. “Is that so?” he hummed. He rubbed his flattened fingers against your sex, the rough cotton of the dress tugging your delicate clit. “You know nothing, Agent.” he purred malevolently. “I am endless. I am a god. And I will ensure you do not forget whom it is who truly fucks you.” Loki’s parted lips caressed your earlobe, sucking roughly before giving it a sharp nip. His voice was course, staggering over every hushed word. “You could have a thousand lovers and each of their names would evaporate like smoke. Only I will remain.” “This is an illusion...Loki..like everything about you-” you stammered defiantly while bucking into his touch. Hard tendrils of hair grazed your cheek as he pressed you against the battlements with his kilted hips, malevolent rumbles simmering through his chest to yours. “Everything is an illusion” he groaned, stooping and gathering your dress in a fist before twisting it upward. “Everything but the pleasure that only I can give you.” Soft drops of rain hit your face as you turned it to the sky, dark clouds threatening overhead. Thunder rolled as you felt yourself grasp at his tunic, heavy metal buttons catching your fingertips as you tried to push it off his shoulders. “No need for that, lass” he gasped gruffly, hoisting you to sit on the wet wall of the castle. You wrapped your glistening forearms around his neck, seeing fat drops of rain slide down his cheekbones in slow motion. The dirt caking his face gave way, a line of fair skin revealed beneath each track as the raindrops hung on his jaw before falling below. He slid the fabric of your dress up your widened thighs, squeezing his hands around the soft flesh. “Are you afraid?” he goaded, feeling you tremble from the chill. You shook your head, fire in your eyes. He may be powerful, dramatic and fucking stubborn; you thought as your fingers pulled the thick fold of his kilt between your open thighs. But so am I. “Just cold.” you snapped, before pulling him by the sash into a ravenous kiss. The force sent you rocking backwards, leaning dangerously over the side of the battlements. Loki’s tongue jammed into your mouth, shallow pants slipping down the back of your throat. “Not for long.” he panted, pulling your lip between his teeth as sharp rain slapped against your skin.

Your fingers clawed at the thick wool of his kilt, delving beneath endless layers of folding fabric until you found what you craved. Loki let out a simmering moan as you wrapped the digits around his cock, furiously hard and hot in your grip. “See what you do to me, infuriating woman.” Loki grunted, pressing himself further between your legs. The fronts of his thighs were flush against the wet stone, his enormous cock dabbing your entrance. Loki tightened his grip on your hips, balancing you on the narrow parapet. The scratch of his kilt tingled your skin as you wrapped your legs around his waist, willing him to fill you already. “Does your other lover fuck you thus?” Loki purred, rubbing the wide tip teasingly between your folds. His hair had begun to soak through, sodden coils of darkness sticking to his sharp cheekbones. The heavy tunic he wore was damp, a heavy musk filling your nostrils as Loki edged himself inside with a low groan. Your eyes rolled back, arching against the feeling of Loki’s manhood squeezing past every inch of your manufactured resistance. “Does he make you feel like I do? Does he know how to fuck you like I do...” he goaded, before bottoming out with a guttural grunt. “Yes.” you moaned, the pleasure doubled as you relished the god’s confused growl of disapproval. He rutted harshly against your core, his primal possessiveness threatening to consume you both as your fingers grasped at the folds of tartan gathered over his thighs. “Liar.” he muttered through heavy breaths, pulling your hips forward deeper onto his throbbing cock. “You’d k-know...dickhead.” you gasped, as one of Loki’s hands left your waist and gripped the raised column of stone to your side. He propelled himself upward, punctured moans of pleasure rolling alongside the thunder in the distance as Loki made reality shift beneath the wave of his hips. A thick crunch sounded as a chunk of the pillar crumbled in his grip, the whites of his knuckles visible through the brownish crust of blood clinging to them. Crushed debris fell as his fingers loosened, staring at you with a violent lust. “I stood with this clan while they took back their rightful lands...this c-castle, their kingdom…” he grunted, throwing his head back. Rain fell relentlessly over you both, glistening on his brow scrunched to the sky. You yanked the tartan sash around his shoulder, pulling him into another messy kiss to shut him the hell up. He tore back defiantly, the pierce of his glare making you clench. “I slaughtered by their side. Stirred their passions for the injustice of their plight. Vengeance, Agent...is not a task I take lightly. Nor one I would embellish.” he growled, pumping his thighs upward to your tight heat. “And neither is pleasure.” “Oh g-god, L-Loki…” you moaned, bursting with the infectious gravitas of his words. He growled darkly, beginning to come undone as he sought balance against the pillar he’d almost destroyed.

“F-fuck you’re unbearably p-perfect, aren’t you...” he sneered, sinking his fingertips into one of your thighs wrapped around his hips. “Made for my cock, Agent. M-made to take my uhhh...faen...might.” You wound your fingers in his soaking hair, tugging it back the way you’d grown to know he liked. Nice and tight.

He hissed, baring his teeth. “Maybe you’re made to pleasure me, Laufeyson.” you panted, seeing his eyebrows slant as he danced on the edge of exploding deep inside your wet heat. “Or maybe not...I’m still waiting for you to go d-down on me, m-maybe you’re not as gifted as you...uhhh..think.” The rough wool of his kilt chafed your inner thighs as he quickened the pace, your fingers digging into his scalp. “How dare you.” he spat through gritted teeth, drool gathering at the corners of his mouth as he fought release. “That act requires a certain level of...oh, fuckme. That’s it. That’s.it...-level of trust. Do you t-trust me now, Agent?” Your head fell back, feeling yourself hover dangerously over the side of the battlement held only by Loki’s hand around your waist. He lowered you further. The drop must have been more than fifty feet, but you didn’t care. A primal orgasm was bubbling like a tide, walls beginning to spasm around the thick cock pulsing maddeningly inside your traitorous cunt. “Loki..” you panted, a whimper getting lost on a particularly strong gust of wind as rain whipped your cheeks. “Do you trust me?” he repeated loudly, hair plastered across his glistening forehead. “I don’t know!” you cried, as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

Suddenly his hand was gone from your waist, placed on the column at his other side. Loki’s arms were spread like he was sitting on a throne, kilt drawn askew as he continued to fuck you mercilessly over the side of the castle in the midst of the howling storm. You tightened your legs around his waist as he edged you backwards, nudging your lower back closer to the wall’s limit. You felt too fucking good to be afraid. The curve of your ass scraped against the wet stone as Loki’s fingertips sank into the slippery flesh of your thighs. If he wanted to, he could flip me right off this wall and I couldn’t stop him, you thought with a surge of adrenaline; another devastating wave of pleasure rolling through your body. It was an out of body experience, and you were suddenly aware your hands travelling up your dripping neck, pressing against your temples before stretching over your head into the darkening gloom. “Agent.” Loki panted, a tinge of alarm in his voice as your hips juddered against him; willing him to go faster. A harsh wind blew, wet needles buffeting against the delicate skin of your outstretched arms. One hand gripped the other wrist as you slid back on forth on his cock, guided by the god holding your thighs as your head fell back. Limp. I guess I do trust him, go figure; you thought, before everything went blurry. Blood thundered in your ears as you came with a strangled yell against the wind, clamping desperately as your pelvis pressed down on the angle between you. “Fuck. Agent.” Loki growled, before falling apart with a thunderous roar. You craned upward to catch a glimpse of him, silhouetted against the turret. His hair was a black slick, beads of rain coating his lashes which rolled down his jaw. From this angle, he was a god; positioned between your spread thighs while he milked every drop of himself into your willing pussy.

The tartan sash had slipped down his shoulder, the thick leather strap diagonal on his chest straining against the pressure of his obscenely powerful climax. Veins in his neck stood taut, that bladed jaw pointed upward as he moaned your name towards the moon, shrouded by malevolent cloud. He fell forward. A final shudder accidentally jolting your ass over the edge of the battlement with a wobble. “Loki!” you gasped, hands flying to grab onto him just as his own snapped to your waist. Your fingers wound in the thick kilt fabric covering his thighs, now thoroughly sodden. “Apologies.” he murmured weakly as you scooted towards him.

“So much for trusting you.” you huffed, releasing a hand from his kilt to peel the soaking dress down your thighs. “Not so fast…” he hummed, halting the movement. “Loki it’s freezing.” you said half-heartedly, curiosity making your stomach flip. The kilted god silently sank to his knees, pushing your trembling legs wider apart. “Hold on to the pillars…” he murmured, nodding to the high portions of battlement on either side of you. You raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Just do it.” he snapped, rolling his eyes before latching his mouth on the inside of your knee. You did what he asked. Loki’s tongue was deliciously warm against the chill. It moved in massaging waves, every torturous inch accompanied with a graze of his teeth as he worked up the leg. You squirmed, feeling his hot seed beginning to weep from your entrance. From previous experience, you knew there would be a lot of it. You gasped as his tongue found your pussy with one soft, wide lick from the base of the stone to below your clit. A muffled groan of satisfaction sounded from between your thighs, the scoop of his muscle dipping inside your messy heat. Collecting himself. Loki withdrew, licking his lips with a coy smile. “It’s quite the delicacy, Agent. You really should try it.” Of course he loves the taste of his own cum. You tilted your head, trailing a thumb against the corner of his mouth as it twitched.

“You missed a bit.” you murmured, before bringing it to your lips. Loki watched in fascination as you sucked it clean, making sure the hollow of your cheekbones planted the image you wanted it to in his mind. You were sure you saw him flinch. Loki’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “It’s alright.” you shrugged, watching his lip curl in a knowing smirk. It was fucking delicious, and he knew it. Like liquid ambrosia. With a hint of...vanilla? You made a mental note to procure a full serving. Without breaking eye-contact, he lowered again. You gripped the stone pillars on either side for dear life, eyelids fluttering shut as he licked another wide stripe through your folds. His lips fastened around your clit, sucking gently as his soft moans vibrated against your slit.

Loki’s tongue swirled in every way you didn’t know you needed, each skilful bob of his head making your eyes roll back. His tongue flattened, lapping with more finesse than you thought possible.

Hell, he actually is amazing at this. Shit, you thought regretfully before a loud whine of his name filled the air. You rocked into him, the urge to push his angular face further into your desperate pussy almost overwhelming. Sighs of pleasure wafted over his head as you tangled your hand in his soaking hair, lost in the feeling of him buried between your open thighs. “God...Loki...y-yes...more, don’t st-” And suddenly, it was gone.

Your head snapped up, brow furrowed. “That’s enough for now.” Loki said abruptly, the kilt sticking to the outline of his thighs as he stood and extended his hand.

“I told you...I never lie about vengeance. Or pleasure.” The skin around his mouth was sticky with your wetness, taunting evidence of his upper-hand. "Especially when it comes to my...gifts, as you so kindly noted." The audacity of this motherfuc-, you thought as you hopped down from the battlements, ignoring his offer. The sodden dress clung to your curves, hair plastered in thick tendrils to your skin as you gave Loki your steeliest glare. “Next time, darling.” Loki quipped mockingly, unable to contain his mirth at your annoyance. “Who says there’s going to be a next time?” you muttered under your breath. Loki moved his hands together, a pale glow beginning to radiate from them as the illusion began to break. “There’s always a next time, Agent.” he chuckled, as a blinding light began to bubble between his palms. “Trust me.”

To be continued in Crossed Swords Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection