#partially mute reader
Note
hi, are you still taking requests? if yes then i would like to request top! wanda x sub!reader where r was caught touching herself with their recent purchase wand vibrator and wanda decided to let r cums but r has to count 50 to 0. and after every time r cums the count will shorten by 10 but the wand will be increasing up a notch. and at the end wanda decided to finish it by fucking r senseless. please and thank you. 🥺
count for me | w. maximoff
pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader
summary: wanda comes home and finds her favorite girl playing with that new vibrator she had recently purchased.
content warnings: minors dni. smut; dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader, pwp, use of toys (vibrator), overstimulation, strap-on sex (r receiving), kinda pervy wanda, rough sex, multiple orgasms, dumbification kinda, praising
wc: 1.9k
She could hear you. The moment she walked through the front door of your shared home. She could hear the way you whimper, whine, and try to muffle your moans—a soft buzzing sound breaking the silence that filled the entire house. The air seemed to be holding its breath as she walked slowly down the hall. The sounds of your pleasure had already started making her dizzy, almost as if she were getting drunk off of it. It had been too quiet when she first arrived home, and you were unusually nowhere to be seen, but the hushed silence faded away when she got closer to her bedroom door. With each step she took, the prettiest moans that fell from your lips got louder and louder, bouncing against the walls and into her ears. When she got close enough, Wanda's measured steps ceased, and a subtle tension filled the air.
The door stood just a crack open, revealing a slender slit of the space inside the room. A soft beam of light filtered through, casting a delicate glow that painted the room in muted hues. Wanda's gaze lingered on the partially open door, and in that suspended moment, curiosity mingled with a gentle sense of trepidation. She took a peak. She couldn’t help it.
The lamp was on. You were there. Laying on the bed you shared with her, writhing, trembling, and quivering with your hand holding that new vibrator Wanda had recently bought for you underneath your panties as you whimpered into the pillow. You looked so pretty. Her sweet girl, moaning her name quietly as you tried so desperately to chase the high of pleasure you were struggling to get. The sight of you made Wanda weak in her knees to the point where she almost just gave out and kneeled down. She composed herself remarkably, and took a deep breath before pushing the door open even more and stepping inside.
You couldn’t see her; your eyes closed shut as you continued to pleasure yourself. And before you could react, you felt a pair of lips press against your neck. You jumped slightly in surprise as Wanda held you down against the mattress.
“Started without me, sweetheart?” She whispered into your neck. You moved slightly, pressing your lips together as you tried to pull the vibrator away from your clit, but Wanda grabbed your wrist and pushed it even harder against your bundle of nerves. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt, baby. Keep going for me.”
“W-Wanda—”
“Tell me, baby. How many times did you come before I came in?” She asked as she left wet, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck all the way up to your jaw.
You shuddered at the feeling, your blush only darkening on your cheeks, “O-Once.”
“Is that the truth?”
You nod your head rapidly, eagerly trying to convince her that it is with just your face and doe eyes looking up at her.
“Hmm…” Wanda hummed into your ear. “How about you start counting for me, detka? Fifty to zero. You can do it.”
So you started. Fifty to zero, like she said. You could feel the way Wanda smirked against your chest, nuzzling her face against your breasts, immediately noticing the way your hardened nipples pushed themselves against the fabric of your thin shirt. A hand wraps itself around the wand vibrator, her hand tracing over the buttons softly. You were on forty-five, continuing to count as best as you could as Wanda guided the vibrator against your clit.
“Come for me, baby?” She said as you whimpered into her hair.
And you couldn’t help but obey, the sound of her voice ringing in your ears. You shuddered as you came, letting go of the wand to wrap your arms loosely around Wanda’s frame as she hovered over you.
“Again. Start on thirty five, sweetheart.”
And you tried, “T-Thirty—Ah!”
With a click of a button, Wanda turned the vibrator’s intensity up and pressed it even harder against you. You shook underneath her with your mouth open, unable to say anything. She smiled against your cheek before moving to press her lips against yours, shoving her tongue into your mouth as you moaned against her.
She pulled away after a moment of kissing you and smirked, “Count, baby.”
You counted. And counted and counted. All while it kept buzzing. It was faster now. Much, much faster. The wand, your pleasure on the rise, Wanda hovering over you as she watched you. Starting from thirty-five, you made it all the way to twenty-one before you fell apart and came underneath her all over again. Wanda groaned when you cried her name out, coming for the third time tonight. Eventually, your eyes teared up as she continued to hold the vibrator against your cunt without giving you a chance to catch your breath.
Then, she turned it up all the way to its maximum speed.
You squealed and desperately tried to push her hand away as you cried her name out like a prayer. “W-Wanda! Wanda, I-I can’t–”
“Yes, you can. You’re my big girl, aren’t you?” She said, holding you still as you quivered and tried to close your legs shut, practically trapping her hand in between your legs. “Count again, baby. From ten.”
You sobbed against her shoulder. It was too much pleasure. You couldn’t think. You almost couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stop shaking. And Wanda just smiled at you, kept telling you how good you were doing. So, you kept counting. For her. You tried, at least. With your best effort, you made it to zero, but you came all over again, your slick gushing on the vibrator and Wanda’s hand. She pulled the wand away from your puffy pussy, turning it off, then throwing it to the other side of the bed, and you sighed in relief. A smirk graced her lips as you looked up at her, green eyes staring down at you with pride. God, you were perfect. Her pretty baby. You tried to catch your breath in the meantime before Wanda leaned down to capture your lips with hers, her hands softly smoothing over your legs.
Wanda pulled away to catch her breath. She looked at you with hungry eyes, carefully inspecting all of your features. Stray pieces of hair matted to your forehead as sweat dribbled down your temples. The way your chest rose and fell quickly. The way your hands gripped onto her own shirt. Your legs still quivering. A tiny smile lingering on your lips as you looked at her. Fuck, was all she could think.
Before you could say anything, Wanda pulled back and stepped away.
“Wanda?” You breathed, too tired to move from your spot on the bed.
Under the dim lighting of the lamp on your side table, Wanda suddenly came into your view after hiding in the shadows but immediately leaned down to kiss you once more. She swallowed your whimpers and your quiet moans before flipping you onto your stomach in a swift movement. The kisses she littered against your neck and back were soft as she held you down with her hands pushing you slightly against the mattress.
“Stay still for me, detka.” She whispered from behind you, her whole front pressing against your back.
The first thing you felt were her fingers playing with the hem of your panties, moving them to the side, exposing your already glistening pussy to her. She is too impatient to undress you properly. For a moment, you thought you heard her chuckle, but you could barely think already. She palms your ass a few times before you feel the tip of something hard and big against your cunt. Wanda didn’t give you a second to even ask, slipping her strap into you with ease. Your moan fills the room, louder than all of the whimpers you were letting out just a moment before.
“W-Wanda–”
“Can’t get enough of you, (Y/n),” she groaned, as she slowly thrust her strap into you.
And with the sound of your muffled moans against the pillow and the sight of your hands gripping the sheets, Wanda’s pace didn’t remain gentle for too long. She quickly sped up her thrusts, using your hips to balance herself. Nothing but sweet words of praise left her mouth as she fucked her strap in and out of you.
“Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, look at you. So pretty getting all fucked out by me, huh?”
Among all the mindless praise Wanda whispered into your ear, she straightened her back to admire you beneath her, getting high off of the way you cried her name out as she continued to fuck you. Her hand pulls the flesh of your ass cheek slightly over, watching the way her strap sank into your gushing hole, her length glistening each time she pulled out. Wanda can’t help but roll her eyes to the back of her head as she listens to the way your pussy squelches each time she bottoms out. You always looked so pretty to her, even more so when you’re taking her cock like the good girl you are. And with her name rolling off your tongue like you couldn’t even think about anything else, fuck, you were perfect.
When Wanda thrusts into you one last time, you clench hard, gushing all over her strap. She can feel the way your cum coats her lower half, and she stops for a moment, just to feel the warm, clear liquid running down her tummy and her thighs, feeling as the cold air hits them, leaving her wet and sticky. It wasn’t the first time she made you squirt, but each time she does, she always takes a second. To admire you. Her dumb baby trembling underneath her. How proud of you she was.
“Fucking hell, (Y/n)…”
Wanda leans over, pressing her front against your back as you feel the way her breasts squished against you. You can feel her hair brushing up against your neck and shoulders as she left gentle and soothing kisses against your skin and shoulders. Her hands palmed your hips softly, almost as if she was trying to calm your trembling legs.
Honestly, you didn’t really have the energy to say anything else but her name, “Wanda…”
“I’m here, baby,” you heard her say. “Did so good for me, you know?”
Wanda listened to you hum in satisfaction. She pulls out of you very slowly and carefully before flipping you onto your back. You felt her kiss your lips briefly before she disappeared again to discard her strap and grab a rag to clean you up.
This part was one of Wanda’s favorites. The gradual descent from the high she had you chase over and over and over. The warmth of her palm adorns the side of your face, her thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as your eyelids began to feel heavier with each second that passed. You try to keep your eyes open, just to see your lover staring down at you, still with those dark and lustful eyes. But they were also warm. And sincere.
Wanda rolls her lips onto themselves as if she were trying to bite back a smile. She tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before leaning down to place the most gentle kiss she could ever give you, muttering those three little words softly against your lips.
— navigation!
#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff fanfiction#marvel x reader#marvel#avengers x reader#wanda x reader#elizabeth olsen#elizabeth olsen x reader#the scarlet witch#mcu x reader
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Scent Kink - Featuring Alastor x GN! Reader
A/N: HEAVILY inspired (and partially written for) @hazelfoureyes... UNO VERSE, DEER! I hope this is alright, as I feel you do him SOOO much more justice. Your thirsts have made me cave in. I will need to go to confessional after this one.
Includes: scent kink (Alastor has it for reader), GN! Reader, some implications, mentions of violence/carnal desires, and of course, some m*sturbation. Yippee~
Honest to Satan, it took him by surprise. Rarely was Alastor motivated by anything "innate" or "carnal" (past his violent urges against ne'er-do-wells). That is... until you came into the picture.
Alastor's always had a great nose: all the better to spot bad meat with! ...But now? Now he can't help the way he drifts and looks your way. Now, he has to hide the perk in his ears and the subtle nostril twitches and flails. Now, he often stands closer to you when engaged in group activities. Hell, the seat to his right will always be reserved for you. Anything to get closer and catch just a momentary, minute whiff to take in your scent...
When you arrive back to the hotel, he's at the door, helping to take your coat. It's always on the coat rack by the door when you need it most... but when you weren't paying attention? Alastor had it all to himself.
There had even been times where Niffty was doing laundry, and he had half the mind to volunteer to help... it'd much less suspicious of him to handle your things this way, right? But alas, that was maybe a touch obvious... and Alastor is not known for his charity.
When you're fresh from a shower and coming down for dinner, he always seemed out-of-sorts. Little did you know that the Radio Demon was sad that your natural scent was muted by flowery, excessive fragrance. No, he much preferred seeing you worked up, disheveled, maybe even a bit... unkempt? A normally tidy, avoidant, do-NOT-touch-me man was reduced to this? It unnerved him to no end; his blood was boiling.
He had his normal mask, that damned smile, working overtime. Anything to distact you from his eye twitching. Anything so you wouldn't notice how he shifted his weight next to you. He would curse himself, his back straightening and even arching when you leaned over him on the couch, straining to grab the TV remote. He made grand, almost cartoonishly bold gestures now... just so you would miss how much he needed to adjust himself around you. How much his eyes would dialate when you were close to him, for any reason...
But the more he tried to hide it... the more craved it; the more he needed the real deal.
---
You were adjusting yourself after a recent scuffle, loan sharks having come looking for Mimzy again... You winced, clutching your side from a harsh blow you received. You would definitely need some help taking care of that...
You could barely make it two steps before Alastor has you by the wrist, pulling your arm taunt. You panic, wriggling and squirming as Alastor's eyes roamed over you. You had a delectable little nick on your cheek, weeping blood. Alastor leans down, breath ghosting your cheek as you shuddered. You felt a jolt of electricity race up your spine as he spoke:
"Dear, you should really be more careful...," a thumb grazes your flushed flesh, before his taloned digit is licked clean. You found yourself struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as a toothy, sultry grin is sent your way.
"You're getting sloppy...~"
You can't help but notice how obsessively attentive he was. How he managed to pull you inside, and forced you to sit on his bed. He asked you to strip down to the basics, and tended to your wounds, no matter how little. You could hear every time that Alastor's breath shook and hitched, absolutely enthralled by you. You were in his sights, in his hands, and you invaded his sense of smell.... he was so close, yet he felt miles away...
The only way he didn't have you was with his tongue, lapping at your sweet, sweet sweat... Maybe, he would consider licking a little lower... did you taste as good as you smelled?
He would inhale deeply as he spied fresh blood or helped remove old clothing/bandages. This routine of yours would continue, even as your wounds became more manageable.
One would assume he was concentrating when he held his breath... but NO. He was memorizing this. He would remember this map-out of your musk and body like the back of his hand... He felt like a mut in heat with how hungrily he regarded you.
You had missed the way that Alastor's eyes gleamed when he offered to wash your dirty, bloodied clothing for you. Embarrassed but appreciative, you took him up on his offer. As he gave you one of his blouses as a temporary cover up, sending you on your way... Alastor locked the door, practically salivating.
Never had he been brought to his knees so quickly, doubled over and panting. Never had he practically torn his pants off, seams frayed and barely hanging on.
He frantically fisted his cock, pumping hard and fast as his precum glided down his warm, agitated tip. The desperate mewls and blissful sighes that escaped with every pant was almost musical, bouncing off the walls of his room in a grotesque cacophany. The staticy filter cloaking his voice had vanished, leaving him nothing but a bare, hungry, frenzied sinner.
As he balled up your shirt, inhaling sharply, he fumbled through curses and praises... You. You. You. This was your fault.
And even as his mind demanded more, his body sought its release, making a mess of his hand and the carpet. He grimaced at the warm fluids, realizing he'd have to deal with that sooner, rather than later. Alastor would fall back onto his haunches, shirt still gripped tightly in his left hand. Shakily, he held it up to his face again, nuzzling into it as he took in more of your musk. His own had started to cling to the shirt, his sweat and drool starting to dampen your smell.
You were driving him to madness. To his dismay, he realized that this would not be enough... not anymore.
He let his hands fall lazily in front of him, cock still throbbing absentmindedly.
First, a quick wash and preening. Then... he'd be looking for you to answer for his desires.
#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor fanfic#alastor x reader#alastor x y/n#radio demon#radio demon hazbin hotel#alastor the radio demon#scent kink#ahaha *runs away*#anywaaaays hope you enjoy! YEET
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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐓.𝟐
following your erotically fantastical encounter with the mother of the kids you babysit, the aftermath is more of a rollercoaster than you could have ever precedented.
🌸 pairing: milf!pregnant!wanda x dom!babysitter!reader
🌸 cont: smut (18+), mommy kink (wanda), lactation kink, body worship, praise kink, power bottom sex-deprived milf 🤝beefy college service top footballer
🌸 word count: 2042
🌸 note: THIS IS SO LONG-AWAITED im sorry..... also i know im supposed to be writing for kinktober but milf!pregnant!wanda was invading every corner of my mind so here ya go. not proof-read!
part one || main masterlist
“Come on, Y/N, you’re not going to the party tonight?” Natasha grumbles, grabbing the sleeve of your bomber jacket as you try your darndest to escape your friends.
It was the fated next day following your erotically fantastical encounter with Wanda, and you had just completed your classes. As you strolled out of campus grounds, the sun was already setting. It painted a picturesque view of the orange horizon, but truthfully, you only cared about getting back to Wanda for that promised ‘tomorrow’.
“I told you no, Nat,” you reply with a playful sternness that the others laugh at. It was no secret that Natasha had a crush on you, ever since you first sat next to her in the lecture hall and got a little flirty and perhaps a little too handsy.
It was also no secret that for every lecture after that, you would sit next to a different girl and activities of the same sort would ensue. Most of the time, those encounters would end up with a pretty girl trapped between the wall of a cramped supply closet and you.
“They’ve probably got a secret girlfriend,” Tony adds unhelpfully, with that classic smirk you want to punch off his face sometimes.
“Really?” Steve asks genuinely, ever the innocently clueless one. “Is she younger than us?”
“Oh, definitely,” Sam chimes in. “Have you seen the freshmen ‘round our beloved Y/N?”
“Feral,” Carol states in resolution. “They crowd at the field to watch Y/N during football practice.”
“And of course, Y/N doesn’t bother to hide the way she leads them all on!” Natasha adds in partial indignation, nudging you suggestively. “That’s totally your type, hm? Younger, pretty girls who chase after you with a puppy love? Is that why my forward advances have always ended in flames?”
You grin half-heartedly, awkward in the spotlight of your love life. For one, your friends couldn’t be more wrong about this ‘secret girlfriend’ you had. Younger, innocent girls? More like smoking hot single moms in their late thirties.
It was strange, even, how you would normally take these girls’ teasing in your stride, almost basking in the glory of being the most sought-after student on campus.
But with the looming thought of Wanda intercepting every brain wave of yours, months of pining surmounting to a heated make-out session with the hope for something more, all else was forsaken.
You try not to think about the implications of that too hard.
As your friends continue to bicker about the prospect of your secret girlfriend, you seize the well-earned distraction and weasel your way out.
Sooner than you’d care to admit, you’re standing outside Wanda’s home, skateboard in hand. You’re buzzing in anticipation with your flushed face and windswept hair.
Before you can doubt yourself and backtrack, you knock on the door sharply, twice. You can’t help but smirk at the muffled shriek that follows, then a muted shuffle, then silence. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You really were about to do this.
“Come in, sweetheart,” the mother calls out with a sugary tone that feeds your ever-increasing libido.
You open the unlocked door, mentally preparing yourself to face Wanda once more.
But then you actually lay your eyes upon her ethereal figure, and your athlete-hardened knees nearly buckle.
Fuck.
Sprawled out on the sofa like something out of a classic Renaissance painting is Wanda, clad in nothing but a lacy set of dark red lingerie, the most sultry look on her face that draws all the air out of your lungs.
You’d never seen a more attractive woman, pregnant or not.
The way the lacy bra hugs her swollen breasts tighter, pushing the cleavage to be even more visible, the way her thick thighs are spread to reveal those beautiful stretch marks.
“Fuck,” you say, a lot higher pitched than you would care to admit. It seems to be the only word currently circulating in your mind, your studied vocabulary flying out of the window at the sight of Wanda presenting herself for you like a well-earned present.
“See something you like?” Wanda dares to tease, left hand trailing along the lace of her bra, dipping into the ample cleavage that leaves you salivating.
It takes approximately three seconds for you to kick the door shut, yank off your jacket and nearly dislocate your shoulder, then press against Wanda like it was always meant to be.
The kiss you pull her into is the opposite of gentle, your head slanting to deepen the kiss immediately, tongues meeting like planets bound to collide, bound to cross paths and cause an eclipse.
Wanda moans into the kiss, and you can barely hide your pleasure at that noise. You wanted to hear it a thousand times over, the breathless cry of your name, the begging tone of the older woman.
It was so wrong, but nothing had felt more right.
Wanda’s relinquishment of power doesn’t last too long, though, because before you can impatiently rip off the fabric of her lingerie, she threads her fingers into your hair and forcefully tugs you closer to her chest.
“My house, my rules,” Wanda states, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a rush of arousal coursing through your veins at Wanda’s motherly sense of control.
“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, half-jokingly, but when your peripheral view catches Wanda visibly aroused by that, you know it isn’t going to be the last time you address her as that.
Your hand slides under Wanda’s body to unclasp the bra, letting out an affected noise at the sight of her full tits on display.
“Shit,” you grunt, pausing for a moment to admire the view.
Throughout the months of babysitting Billy and Tommy, you had only ever discreetly checked out Wanda’s cleavage, or perhaps stare a little too hard when she wore scanty dresses that showed off her side boobs.
Now, with those perfect, swollen mounds right before your face, you give into your urges to bury your face between them. You groan at the sensation of Wanda’s milk leaking out of her hardened nipples, your mouth moving to suckle at her breasts.
“Shit, baby,” Wanda cries, throwing her head back as you drink right out of her breasts, lapping fervently. It wasn’t entirely sexual per se, but the sheer relief of lightening that weight load in her breasts was a pleasure in itself.
You get slightly drunk off the feeling of Wanda’s breasts in your mouth, and it takes Wanda a surprising amount of strength to get your head away from her chest eventually.
“You’re a bit too obsessed with my tits,” Wanda teases, swiping her milk off your lips with her thumb, tilting your head down to lock eyes with her. The tension between the two of you is palpable, thick in the air, and you long to drown in that desire.
You only smirk back, hands resting on the hem of her thong. “May I undress you now, ma’am?” you emphasise, tilting your head to the side in faux innocence.
“So polite,” Wanda retorts right back, fingertips tracing the curve of your jawline as a smile plays on her lips. “How could I say no to such a gentleman?”
That’s all the confirmation you need before you snap the elastic of Wanda’s red thong, stuffing the flimsy material into the pocket of your pants. What you’d do with it later was for another day.
You kiss down Wanda’s breasts to her swollen belly, firm but gentle, then you flatten out your tongue when it reaches her wet heat.
“I couldn’t pay attention,” you growl, licking a long stripe up Wanda’s pussy. “In any of my fucking classes today,” you continue, tongue flicking at her puffy clit. “‘Cause I was thinking ‘bout all the ways I could fuck that pretty cunt.”
The filthy moan that leaves Wanda’s lips at your words rings around the confines of the four walls.
It had been so long since Wanda experienced such mindblowing sex; She had been sexually repressed because of Vision’s busy schedule, and it was torture because pregnancy pretty much solidified her daily sexual arousal.
But what with her split from him meaning no more mediocre sex, and the prospect of a hot babysitter entering her life, Wanda’s pregnancy hormones had skyrocketed to an all-time high.
Long gone were the nights she held a vibrator against her clit under the sheets, eyes screwed shut as thoughts of you swam in her head. Long gone were the times she helplessly fingered herself in the shower, wishing her fingers belonged to you instead.
Now, your head was buried between her thighs, your mouth like the devil on her cunt, fast-paced and unforgiving and everything Wanda had always longed for.
“You’re perfect,” you grunt into the older woman’s wet heat, the vibrations of your rough tone sending jolts of arousal up Wanda’s body. “You’re so fucking perfect, Wanda.”
“D-Don’t say that,” she answers breathlessly, fingernails digging into your scalp. “You’ve slept with plenty of other younger, prettier girls than me.”
The insecurity Wanda felt about her body had mainly stemmed from Vision, who was always going on about how she had become less attractive after pregnancy, with the stretch marks and the added fat and other blemishes on her skin.
“I don’t know about that,” you say, relentless in your worshipping of Wanda’s body. The way you were treating her like a temple was overriding the false beliefs Vision had planted into her head. “‘Cause now when I think about those other girls in bed they all end up looking like you.”
At that, Wanda feels tears prick in the back of her eyes, her gaze blurring as she stares at you. ‘
You, who had entered her life like a ray of hope, brightening up her every day with a blindingly charming smile and a selfless heart. You, who had treated her with more care and respect than any man she had ever been with before. You, who tied up all her loose ends and sewed it up to form the shape of a pretty little heart.
“I love you,” Wanda whispers, the words spilling from the tip of her tongue before she can control it. Her breath constricts afterwards when your mouth finally stops to register her words.
“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it,” Wanda continues, breathless, pushing aside your hair to properly look at you in the eyes. “But I do love you, Y/N L/N.”
Wanda feels something wet on her inner thigh, something that’s not her own slick. It takes a moment for her to realize that it’s your tears.
“I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you,” you confess, eyes shining. “I think I was just scared to believe it until today, too.”
Heartstrings get tugged like a harp, crescendoing into a beautiful symphony that was finally requited love, finally coming to a high, finally reaching its summit.
The lust that encaptures the two of you dissipates into a warm glow of love, the tension easing into trials of romance.
When you dive back in between Wanda’s thighs, you’re determined and emotional and ultimately choked with new possibilities.
You could already imagine cooking dinners together with Wanda, reading the kids bedtime stories, chastising them to go and brush their teeth, stealing kisses when they fell asleep.
You could already map out a navigation of your future years, down millions of paths and possibilites that all brought you to Wanda Maximoff. She was your life, your truth, your unbreakable vow.
With that, her first orgasm comes in a tidal wave, like rushing water breaking free from a dam.
Wanda sobs, riding your face as she comes harder than she’s ever had in her life, squirting all over your face and the sofa, all else forgotten.
Your expert tongue and naturally-skilled fingers bring her to another plane of existence, where she was floating above the universe, where your name was chanted like a mantra.
The world around you faded as Wanda’s thighs wrapped around your head, as you dived down once more to worship, as you dived down once more to chase the love of your life.
This was the only happy ever after you needed.
hope yall liked it 😋 reblogs are much appreciated!!
main masterlist || AO3
#wanda maximoff x reader smut#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff x reader#x reader#marvel smut#gxg smut#wlw smut#wanda maximoff x reader fluff#wanda x reader#wanda x reader smut#wanda x y/n#sub wanda maximoff#bottom wanda maximoff#top reader#dom reader
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stoatfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.
dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader
for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.
word count: 2.4k
i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!
content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes
tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo
warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning
Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.
That is where you came in.
You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head.
He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold.
You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a stoat, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.
The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.
He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him.
Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be.
And so it shall be.
–
It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children.
It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was.
Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late.
“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice.
“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet.
“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.
“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.
“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you.
Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot.
You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.”
Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.”
A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders.
“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife.
You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him.
He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.
Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.
You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there.
No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him.
“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?”
“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.
Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”
“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.
“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”
“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.
He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open.
Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.
How wrong you were.
His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head.
You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”
“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”
You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.
“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”
“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”
A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.
“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.
He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it.
Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–”
Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough.
With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.
In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.
“My love, my wife– I love you.”
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fic#aemond fanfic#aemond smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#my writing
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sweet.
Steve x reader smut, 1.3k
foreword: u know that scene from Euphoria where Elliot makes out with Jules’ hand as if it was her pussy… anyways Steve Harrington take it away!!! 🎤 (dedicated to 🦊 anon thank u for your wisdom)
___
Sure, the drinking and the dancing is a good way to pass the time, but you’re partial to the end-of-night rituals you and Steve have settled into over the years. Your personal afterparty usually involves a shitty romcom, occasionally some weed, and always snacks both sweet and salty to soak up the alcohol.
Steve’s parents are out of town again, so the two of you are down in the basement den, passing a joint between fingers sticky with candy film.
From all your years of reading Steve’s body language you can tell he’s pretty high- feet planted on the ground but head lolling against the back of the couch, hands lax at his sides. There’s a dopey grin on his face- practically primed for a shitty joke or annoying comment- and you let the smoke out with a huff, asking on the exhale, “What?”
“You owe me five bucks.” Steve presses the side of his head into the couch, looking at you with red-rimmed eyes, still smiling.
You scoff, leaning in to pass the joint back and swiping a handful of gummy bears from the coffee table while you’re at it. “Since fucking when?”
“Since I bought this from Eddie.” Steve waves the weed for emphasis before taking another hit, smoke curling from his nostrils. “You’re matching me in pace, princess. This joint was ten bucks- ergo, you owe me five.”
You cackle despite yourself- “Ergo? You’ve been watching too many Perry Mason reruns.” You know Steve’s not actually gonna make you pay for the weed, he’s just trying to rile you up, and the fact that it’s not working is getting under his skin.
He shrugs a shoulder, just shy of pouting. “Point still stands.”
“Well, you shoulda let me buy from him. Eddie always gives me discounts. On account of these.” Here, you straighten your spine and gesture to your chest- after all the night’s activity, your boobs are practically spilling out of your bra and t-shirt combo, skin glowing in the muted TV’s light.
Steve blinks, clears his throat, and busies himself by ashing the joint into a spare candy wrapper. “Uh huh. Right. I’ll be sure to remember your tits the next time I’m talking to Munson.”
“At least someone will be thinking of them.” You mean it as a joke, but your voice is a bit too mournful to be taken lightly.
“Ah, and you’ve been picking such winners, recently,” Steve intones, dryly. The pillow launched at his head in your poor attempt to hit him is easily batted away. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve been going out with total losers. Aaron Conroy? Jamie Porter? Wouldn’t trust either of those guys to find their own dicks. Let alone your whole… business.”
Steve’s aborted gesture to the general area of your jeans makes you guffaw. “Oh, and you’re the reigning expert on girls’ business?”
“Sure am. King Steve, after all.” Said king juts an overeager thumb into his chest, winces, then gives his hand a little shake.
“Mmhm.” You slide across the couch cushions to take the joint again, knee knocking into Steve’s. “I’m pretty good at it too, y’know.”
Steve stares with wide eyes as you suck smoke into your lungs, blinking owlishly before stuttering- “You- you’re saying you’re pretty good at eating pu- at eating girls out?”
Another cackle looses from your chest along with the smoke, you can’t help it- Steve looks so properly shocked. “No, Steve, obviously I meant sucking dick. Not that I’d be opposed, per se, to a girl’s… business.”
The word drips in irony and Steve scrubs a hand down his face in irritation as you settle against the couch next to him, brushing shoulders as you continue. “Just aren’t enough girls in Hawkins to go for. Who are both out and not my friends,” you amend, before Robin can be dragged into the conversation against her will.
“You wouldn’t go down on a friend?” Steve fidgets a strip of paper Clark Bar wrapper between his fingers, crinkling quietly while he waits for your answer.
The weed has settled in your system now, a haze in your veins as you stub the roach out and leave it on the coffee table. You settle back into the couch, suddenly aware of every point of contact- thigh to thigh, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder with Steve, who’s seemingly paused his breathing.
“Uhm. Yeah. I’d sleep with a friend,” you say, staring at your lap, empty hands twisting around themselves.
The tension of the moment swells, you can feel it in your chest, even as Steve draws in a breath to muse, “Wonder who’s better at it.”
“Eating girls out?” You look at him to confirm, feeling a pang when you see the lock of chestnut hair that’s flopped from its place to rest against his forehead. “I mean… probably you. Seeing as you’ve got the most experience.”
Steve smiles, lazily, tipping his head in acknowledgement, then says, “I could teach you. If you wanted.”
If Steve feels the way you stiffen in response to his words he doesn’t point it out, instead tossing the wrapper aside in favor of taking your hand into his. “Only if you wanted, though.”
You start nodding before the words can come; a shaky “Okay,” and Steve’s wrapping two warm palms around your right hand, manipulating your fingers into making a fist.
“I like to start with kissing,” he says, voice low, gaze fixed on your combined hands. “Y’know. To work her up, get her wet.”
It’s not even technically dirty talk, but the pitch of Steve’s words make your thighs clench involuntarily, seeking friction. Steve brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the base of your thumb, and your breath hitches.
“And then I… usually…” Steve trails off, and you can see the gears turning in his head at how best to teach. Apparently, he pegs you for a hands-on learner, because instead of words, he dips down to lick a stripe up the flat of your thumb.
Your mouth falls open as Steve licks deftly into the crease made by your thumb and index finger, curling the point of his tongue near the base again, your clit throbbing in response as if he was actually between your legs.
Steve makes out with your hand for what feels like hours, all sense of time warped by the heady weed. His mouth is warm and wet, saliva dripping through to your palm as he holds you in place despite your squirming.
What’s really turning you on is how into this Steve appears to be- his eyes are closed as if to savor the moment, brow pinched with pleasure, little noises from the back of his throat sending vibrations down your arm.
You fight the urge to sink your free hand into those silky brown locks; instead, your nails bite into soft skin as you clench a fist at your side, willing the subtle movement of your hips with each stroke of Steve’s tongue to stay subtle.
There’s an obscene squelching noise filling the otherwise quiet basement, and this seems to spur Steve on, suckling at your sensitive skin, heat coursing through your body as you gasp out, “Steve…”
He pulls off your hand with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you both, his mouth a glistening half-moon in the low light before he swipes the back of his hand across it. “So. Yeah. Something like that. You taste good, by the way. Sweet.”
You fight with the hinge of your lower jaw to put it back in its place, breathing heavily as you wipe your slick-coated hand against the leg of your jeans. It leaves a wet patch- likely not the only one, if the heartbeat between your legs is any indication. “Probably the gummy bears.”
“Uh huh. You think you’re any better?” Steve’s got that easy grin back on his face, cheeks rosy, lips flushed with color, too.
A quick glance down confirms that he’s hard as a rock, sizeable outline of his cock visible through the denim, betraying the bravado in his stance.
Oh, you’re gonna wreck him.
With an easy grin of your own, you reach for Steve’s hand. “Dunno. Wanna find out?”
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hobie brown x gn! reader
um hobie definitely would love for his s/o to paint his nails. like I don’t think he would go out of his way to beg for you to do so, but if you offered he would def be like “sure, don’t see why not.” even let’s you pick out wtv color you want, like it doesn’t have to be black, it could be a cutesy yellow or blue (I feel like he’s secure within himself enough to not be one of those men that would fuss about it yk?? like he’s in touch with his feminine and honestly couldn’t give a shit what smb else would have to say abt it).
like let’s say you just got some new polish from the beauty supply store, a cute vibrant blue and a mute sage greenish, and ever since you purchased them you’d been thinking about painting hobie’s nails. you’d come up with this whole plan about how to ask, and even thought about begging a bit if he refused, maybe a cute little pout to guilt him into it, but to your surprise he didn’t even put up a fight ??? just told you to get out whatever color you wanted and start painting.
“hobieeeeee!” you drawled on, crawling on the  mattress below you, wiggling your hips once you reached hobie’s lap. peaking out from behind his phone, he raised an eyebrow in curiosity, allowing you to take his fingers and pry them from his device.
“yeah? wha’ you what?” he quirked his head to the side, eyes trailing the slight lift of your shirt, revealing the dangling belly piercing he gave you about 3 weeks ago.
“I was wonderinggg if you would let me..” you inched closer to his face, pouting your bottom lip.
“get on wit’ it love, don’t got all day.” hobie watched as you inspected his cuticles, growing impatient at your stalling (and partially because he wanted a kiss, but you were too busy ogling at his fingertips to notice).
“can I please paint your nails?” you asked, playfully batting your eyelashes.
“eh? that’s all you wanted?” hobie rolled his eyes, shifting his hips to scooch you closer to his abdomen, “wha’ color are you thinkin’?”
“wait really? all I had to do was ask..?”
“yeah? I don’t care bout none of that stuff, long as you like the color.” he trailed circles on your palm, gaze lingering at your glossy lips, licking his own at the sight.
you squealed in delight, intertwining your fingers with his own, “so I was thinking this cute navy blue I got! I don’t think sage would suit you as well, but I kind of want to match too because that would be so cute!!” you droned, listing out the possibilities.
“mhm.” hobie hummed.
“but maybe…because I have this dark red in my nail cabinet that I think would look good! just screams you.” you continued.
“mhm.” hobie tightened his grip on your hips.
“bee? you listening?” you leaned your head to the side, blinking at his gleaming gaze.
“yeah yeah, jus’ come gimme a kiss.” he mumbled, pinching your chin, dragging your face closer to his.
“did you hear anything I said?”
“yes babe, now please, ‘m dying here.”
#hobie is obsessed with you#like seriously#my last hobie fic of the dayy#I’ve been on a roll recently omg#hobie brown x reader#hobie x reader#atsv x reader#spider punk x reader#hobie brainrot !
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WARNINGS — Anakin × Fem!Reader, Dom!Anakin × Sub!Reader, ovulation, masturbation, breeding kink, pet names (love, baby), verbal degradation, humiliation, swearing (fuck, slut, cockslut, bitch), oral sex (m), fingering (f), pain kink, impact play (face slapping), manhandling, brief dacryphilia, brief dub-con, drooling, mentions of cum, clit play, creampie.
WORDS — 2.3k
Imagining Anakin with your own fingers rubbing onto your clit was a nightmare. It was agonizing torture to experience pleasure that was nowhere close to the feeling of his nine-inch cock rubbing against your cervix. Especially now that the moon has shifted and your womb is pulsing with the need for his seed.
Anakin has quite literally ruined you and your body, molded it into its own personal plaything that couldn’t get satisfaction without him. His touch was a remedy for everything —fear, anger, sadness — but it was especially skilled at calming your need to be fucked dumb.
Haunted by the inability to get yourself off and get rid of ovulation cravings in the process, you make your way to Anakin’s home office, where he’s been studying some dull Jedi scrips you had no interest in. The room was dimly lit by a single torchiere, which left a soft cast of light on Anakin’s scrumptious body. Peeking through the partially opened door that he’s purposely left for you, watching the soft frown between his eyebrows and the way his exposed forearms tensed while flipping the papers, you didn’t even notice how your hand slipped past your panties again. The absurdity of the situation was what made your walls clench extra tightly around your amateur digit — so desperate, you had no other choice but to secretly watch your own boyfriend.
Your head partially pressed against the doorframe, one eye peaking and savoring Anakin while your finger messily maneuvered around your clit, you couldn’t believe Anakin was still oblivious to your deed. Especially when your wetness has long ago seeped past your underwear and is now making a pathetic sloshing sound, which only fuels your desire.
“Come here, love.” Anakin’s voice drags you out of your fantasies; he pats his thigh, calling you as if you were a dog. If your hand wasn’t glued to your pussy, you would definitely follow the command instantly.
Even with your brain dumbified by all the hormones, it was quite easy to realize that Anakin indeed had it all figured about your activities. His nonchalant behavior, however, was surprising and not decipherable for your little head.
“Come on, hands off yourself and come, I won’t ask again."
This time, you move. Wiping the remains of yourself on the back of your skirt, you follow the soft light inside the room and display yourself in front of Anakin with pouted lips and a suspicious gleam in your eyes.
Anakin slides the papers aside and turns his chair to face you. Familiar heavy stare of desire filling you with the feeling of inferiority, even if he’s the one sitting below your eye level. He remains mute as he reaches out to dig his fingers into the supple flesh of your thighs.
“Wanna tell me why you’ve been humping every corner of the house the whole fucking day?” He asks as he slides his warm hand across your skin, brushing the very bottom of your ass with his fingertips.
“I’m just—”
“A bitch in heat.” He cuts you off, grabbing your butt-cheek at the same time as the sharp words sting your dignity. “Say it.”
Before you can open your mouth again, his fingers slip past the crotch of your panties, hooking under it and pulling it aside, allowing two metal digits to slide past the brim of your wetness as his other hand is welcomed under your skirt.
“I’m a—AH!” Your knees buck when the cold edges scratch at your walls; not even your pooling arousal relieves the bittersweet tingle.
“What’s wrong?” He asks with a voice of mock pity. “Needy cunt shuts you up, mmm? Can’t speak unless I fuck my cum in you?” His fingers move at a slow but forceful pace, each powerful stroke making you trip over your words.
“A-A-Ani-i-i s-stop!” You grab at his wrist, trying to pause the movement, which only encourages him to create a more agonizing pace.
“What was that? Harder?” He slaps your hand off his, intensifying the pumping into your hole. Creamy juice drips down his wrist as he’s tearing at your insides with an insensitive, artificial touch. And all you’re capable of is whimpering and letting him satisfy his sadistic needs.
Your eyes are clouded with tears of pleasure, yet the limited sight allows you to see the tightness of his pants, covering his hardening shaft from your view. You can’t help but create a mental image, replacing the mechno-fingers with his nine-incher. That’s when your sore pussy finally starts clenching down around him, making the corners of his lips twitch upwards.
When Anakin frees his hand out of your grasp, there is no other response than whimpering at the loss of delight between your legs. He doesn’t acknowledge your desperation. Raising his hips up slightly, he frees himself off his pants, letting them sit midway his thighs. Following the hint, you try to make your way on top of him, climbing into his lap while pushing your skirt up — ready to receive the reward you’ve been craving since eight in the morning.
“What are you doing?” Anakin asks, looking at you with his eyebrows slightly up, an expression of mockery.
You bite your lip, surprised by the sudden change of events. Your eyes bore into his, looking for a sign to proceed before your pussy grows cold.
Anakin smiles at you, seemingly holding in a small chuckle. His hand reaches back for your cunt, but instead of entertaining it further, he gently pats you twice. “Get on your knees.”
Frustrated, you slide your knee off the chair, standing back up between his now spread legs. You give him a needy stare, speechlessly begging for mercy.
“I know that look, baby.” He finally speaks, his fist wrapping around his length to smear the precum over the sensitive skin. “Unfortunately, little sluts don’t get their wombs used, get down." He points to the floor. Hypnotized by the way his hand squeezed the swollen tip with each stroke, you lower yourself.
Wasting no time, Anakin’s hand grabs the back of your head, pulling you into his crotch. Your lips settle at the base under his cock, resting it across your face as you stare at him, glossy eyes blinking in a silent plea. He strokes your hair, admiring the view.
“You wanted it, didn’t you?” The grip tightens, making sure you are locked in a humiliating position.
Without receiving an answer, Anakin guides himself past your lips, sliding in slowly as your throat and walls pulse in unity, one at the stretch and the other at the lack of it. He lets out a satisfied groan as the warmth of your mouth surrounds his painfully swollen dick.
“Fuuuck, what a tight little hole—” He curses, eyes staring up as his eyebrows furrow slightly. If you hadn’t been so depraved of him fucking you properly, you would have enjoyed the sight of his pleasure.
He doesn’t bother to use his hips as his hand guides your head up and down his length, each stroke appearing to be impossibly deeper than the earlier. Suffocating from the tears and salty precum spilling all over you, there is no other choice but to claw at his thighs as you try not to pass out from the intense feeling of your throat being stretched out and adjusted to the size of him.
“You’re fine, take it.” He groans, not switching the pace. He glances down at you, chest rising and falling as he uses you to his heart’s content. The sight of you drooling all over his dick without having a say in it made him feel like a god. He owned you.
Feeling him twitching inside you, you sense the end of your torture is near. As you brace yourself to receive his load, Anakin suddenly slides all the way out.
While your body greedily gasps for air, he tugs on your hair, making your head bend backwards without any remorse for your fucked-out state. His hand reaches up to slap across your cheek, grounding you.
“Now let’s try again. What are you?” He speaks, the same harsh tone making it obvious that he’s not a bit disturbed by his ruined orgasm.
Sniffling the tears away, your lips struggle between his fingers. “I’m a b-bitch in heat—” Your stuttering earns you another slap, followed by the return of the harsh grip.
“Again.” He says, lips in thin line, as he waits for your obedience.
“A bitch in heat!” You repeat it more clearly, trying to satisfy him by fighting the need to cough. Another slap is delivered to the same cheek, this time making you twitch and hiss in pain.
“Yeah? That’s what you are, isn’t it?” Anakin takes more pleasure in abusing your cheek, each strike forcing you to gasp and sob as your head rested inches away from his still throbbing cock. “Stupid cockslut, each month the same thing, your needy cunt begging for cum, need to breed so bad, hm? Say it again.”
“I’m a bitch in heat!” You say loudly, trying to make him stop and finally give you what you actually need.
Anakin seems to be snapped out of his trance by how loud and desperate your voice was. His hands grip your wrists, pulling you up to your feet. He doesn’t speak as he turns you around, bending you over his desk. Rough hand at your neck, pushing your face into the long-forgotten documents, which will soon be stained by your drool and tears.
He yanks your skirt and underwear down with one tug, his own pants sliding a bit lower in the process, allowing him more freedom of movement. Not waiting for your whines, he stuffs your pussy full, thick length splitting you open, fitting perfectly between your soft heat. Anakin’s instantly covered in your arousal, juices wrapping around him, making it easier to slip back inside with each sharp thrust.
“'S what you wanted, huh?” His hands grab your hips, raising you so your legs dangle while he ravages your hole. “What do you say? Let’s shut this tight cunt up for the next nine months.”
Anakin’s words made you spasm rapidly around him. Your body, determined to get knocked up, didn’t even bother to consider what your non-hormonal brain thinks about it, so when he asked the question, you couldn’t help but cry multiple begs about how you need to be filled up. You’ll worry about it later.
“Yeah? Say it again: What was that you wanted me to do to you?” He pounds away his pent-up frustration as you gather enough strength to speak through the quivering of your whole body.
“Ani, please! Need you to— ah! Come inside—!”
Hearing your trembling voice begging to be fucked full, his hips slap against your butt-cheeks with greater force. You feel Anakin’s chest press against your back, the warmth of his skin easing the way your insides bruised in the shape of each vein on his shaft. His moans and grunts of pleasure go straight into your ear in a new-found position. The room is full of lewdness: a wooden floor stained with love juices and spit, desk scratching the wall with each pump of Anakin’s cock, your pussy sloshing around it, struggling to accommodate his size comfortably but taking every inch without a whimper of displeasure.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck— S’ like that, take it, fucking slut!” He swears, grunts mixing with whimpers. The more he curses, the messier and more out of order his thrust becomes, signaling his inevitable release.
His hands snake around you. One finds his way to your clit and instantly begins rubbing it messily, causing your whole body to shake violently. His other arm reaches all the way across your chest to grab on your shoulder from under you, making sure you’re pressed nice and tightly against him with no chance of slipping off his cock until he’s fucked you full of cum.
“Aaaani, don’t stop—!” You beg when the tingle at the very bottom of your tummy seems to be unknotting slowly. Your hands reach to hold onto the one that’s squeezing your shoulder.
“Gonna cum, fuck, fill this pussy up, yeah? Want my cum baby? Yeahhh— Gon’ breed you properly—”
With the last strength left in his body, he proceeds to piston short and hard strokes into you while his fingers work furiously over your clit to bring you to your own pleasure. Anakin’s fingers dig into your skin, forehead leans tightly against the back of your head, his deep groans are mixing with desperate whimpers as his pleasure is reaching its peak.
“C’mon baby, don’t stop squeezing me, that’s it— fUCK, yeah— Baby—!”
With the last deep moan against your skin, you feel hot ropes of cum shooting all the way inside you, tainting your spongy walls with white. Your own orgasm follows when you feel his cock spasming with release. Curling your toes, your whole lower body trembles against him, unraveling the intense feeling of pleasure deep between your folds. Anakin’s fingers dedicatedly abuse your sweet bundle of nerves until your shaking subsides completely and you grow limp on top of the desk, your feet finally lowering to the ground.
Anakin lays on top of you, still holding you tightly against his chest to prevent your weakened body from sliding down to the floor. Still deep inside you, his entire weight squeezes you in a protective embrace while he’s slowly going soft, basking in the mix of your and his cum. When both of your heavy breathing seem to finally cease, his lips press against the back of your shoulder with a deep sigh.
“Think I fucked the slut out of your cunt for good?”
#mdni#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker smut#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker one shot#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker x reader smut#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker x you#anakin smut#anakin imagine#anakin one shot#anakin x fem reader#anakin x reader#anakin x reader smut#anakin x you#anakin x y/n#star wars smut
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OH, WE MUST STOP MEETING LIKE THIS
patrick zweig x reader
summary: in which patrick zweig is the bolter (the bolter by taylor swift). wc: 3k
kind of an alternate timeline spinoff of the golden quartet
(rather than an au, it's more like an alternate patrick x reader centric timeline, and an exploration of their dynamic and how it intertwines with the bolter, because i listened to it again after watching challengers, and thought to myself, "wow, this song is so patrick coded.”)
You like Patrick Zweig because he makes you feel like he’s yours.
The sudden hand that claps onto your shoulder almost sends your soul into orbit as you jump in your seat, fork dropping to your tray. It is very soon forgotten.
“Patrick, oh my god!” Your arms are thrown around him, chair pushed to the side, and Patrick stumbles a little on the impact.
When you part, he’s grinning at you and you turn your head back to the table, where Art is munching on an apple with the corners of his mouth twitching up.
“Did you know he was here?” You ask him.
Art gives a shrug as he swallows. “He said he wanted to surprise you.”
You tug at Patrick’s arm to sit as you settle back into your chair.
He gives you an exaggeratedly sloppy kiss on your cheek and you cringe disgust, butterflies in your stomach all the while. “Had to surprise my favourite girl.”
“Thought Art was your favourite girl,” you quip. The blond kicks your shoe in retaliation.
“You can both be,” Patrick announces as he grabs Art’s apple and takes a bite. “So,” he says through a mouthful, “It’s Friday. What are we doing tonight?”
“Well,” you say, “I have an essay due Sunday, so I’ll be doing that.”
Patrick gives you a look. “Boo, you whore.”
“Alright, pack it up, Regina George.” The words are accompanied by an affectionate roll of your eyes.
“A guy in my calculus class is throwing a party,” Art speaks up. He snatches his apple back out of Patrick’s hands.
You let out a humming noise. “You guys can come hang afterwards. I’ll probably still be awake by then.”
Patrick studies you for a moment, contemplatively, as if you are somehow a factor in making his decision. You wonder if perhaps he wanted you to ask him to stay with you instead. But he turns back to Art and nods his agreement as an easy smirk falls onto his face.
“Sounds like a plan.”
There’s a little more idle chitchat and three-way bickering while Patrick swipes half your meal from under your nose and indulges in it as though he was the one who paid for it. You let him, partially because you’re not hungry anymore and partially because you’re not sure what he’s been eating when he’s on tour, so any nutrients you can get inside his stomach is a win.
Art lists off some of the people going to the party, and you chime in with unsolicited opinions, pieces of gossip, etc., on each of them, until eventually, your tray is empty and it’s time for you to go to class.
“I’ll catch you guys later. Don’t get too shitfaced tonight.” You try to ignore the way Patrick grazes his hand on your hip as you stand.
“No promises,” he snickers. He and Art share a look over the table.
It’s three in the morning when Patrick knocks on your door. He is decidedly shitfaced, but still not as bashed up as you thought he’d be. His hair is only slightly tousled, he doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over, and his clothes don’t even look like they’ve been haphazardly taken off and thrown back on.
Still, you gently tug him inside, hands reaching up to brush down his curls neatly.
“Come here,” you murmur. You don’t question why he came to your room instead of going back to Art’s. Nor do you question why he seems to have gone mute.
You begin helping him take his jacket off, then as he sits on your bed, his shoes. Despite being fully capable of doing so himself, he lets you take care of him. He doesn’t even stop to smirk or make a comment about the compromising position of you kneeling in front of him. Instead, he stares. Or it looks like staring. In Patrick terms, you decide that the more accurate verb is ‘gazes.’
After you’ve forced a glass of water down his throat and put his things in a pile to the side, Patrick has half tucked himself under your covers and is gazing at you – expectant, pensive.
The bed dips as you lay beside him, turning onto your side to face him. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
Patrick’s hand darts out to cup your face. His eyes are half lidded, looking straight into yours. It’s a serious expression, one you so rarely see on his features. He almost looks like a different person.
His fingertips brush the side of your neck making their way down to your shoulder, your bicep then your ribcage, right near the curve of your waist. You hear his breathing deepen as your own does the same.
“I really like you, you know.”
Your breath hitches. You feel as though your lungs, heart and diaphragm have all be frozen in time.
The words shouldn’t warrant such a reaction. They shouldn’t have such a palpable effect on you, but they do. You know Patrick likes you a lot. It’s a given with the way he acts around you, seeks you out and calls you so frequently. But it’s precisely because you know that and because you know him, that you know what he really means in this moment.
Your voice comes out in a hoarse kind of whisper. “I really like you too.”
A hint of his usual smirk crosses his face, and then the next thing you know, you’re thrown in a void, and the only things you’re aware of are the warmth of his hand on your side and the press of his lips on your own.
You love Patrick Zweig because he will always come back to you.
“Hey.” There’s a smirk on Patrick’s face as you step out of the bathroom. His eyes dart up and down your figure, from the shirt you clearly stole out of his bag while he was training with Art and Tashi to the exposed skin of your legs.
“Hey,” you reply, smiling as you move to situate yourself between his legs. His arms wrap around you as you settle into him. Chest to chest, heart to heart. You can feel the steady thump in his chest through your shirt. You take the time to drink in the sight of him. Every visit feels shorter than the last, and you sometimes worry his face will fade from your memory like a thawing lake in spring. “How was practice?”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Tashi keeps riding my ass about my focus during matches.”
“Come on, she just wants to help you.”
Patrick’s eyebrows raise as he gives you a squeeze. “I didn’t come visit so I could be coached.”
You smile at that. “Oh yeah? What’d you come back for then?”
A grin stretches over his face as he flips you both over, and you squeak a little on impact. “Why don’t I show you?”
Warmth blossoms in your chest as he starts kissing up your neck. “We watch your matches sometimes, you know. When I miss you. Art always sighs when you do your weird little serve. Tashi commentates most of it, though.”
You feel the stretch of his lips as he smiles slightly into your collarbone.
“She has some good points,” you say, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he bites down on your skin. “Maybe you should listen to her.”
He sighs, mumbling, “I don’t want to talk about tennis right now.”
“I know. I’m just saying – raw talent won’t always be enough.”
“I’ll deal with that when I start actually losing,” he replies in between kisses. He’s at your jaw now, lips still pressed to your skin with every word.
You hum at the vibrations on your skin, but a frown pulls at your lips. You aren’t Tashi or Art. It isn’t like you care all that much about tennis anymore, but the fact that Patrick seems to care even less worries you. His future is hanging by a thread, and it worries you most of all because you’re not even really sure if you fit in his future. You’re not sure if you’ll be there to sew it back up or standing in the distance watching it fray.
“You always do that,” you blurt.
He pulls away, looking at your eyes with a brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Run away from your problems.”
“I don’t run away from my problems,” he says, pulling back slightly. You both know he’s lying.
“I’m sorry, I’m just worried.” You bite your lip. “You haven’t had a decent conversation with your parents in two years, and I feel like you’re not thinking about your future.”
Patrick shifts away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you instead. His jaw has set as he looks at you. There’s a cold expression on his face and you want nothing more than to rewind the last 30 seconds and go back to how it was before. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek nervously.
“I don’t need you to worry about my future,” he says, voice low and steady.
Your own voice has a subtle shake in it, one that’s filled with regret. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Patrick looks at you for a moment longer, then swings his feet off the bed and heads straight for his things.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” he says quietly. He shoves his hoodie into the bag and zips it up.
Your heart clenches. “Wait, Patrick, please. I don’t want us to leave it like this.”
“I have to go. I’ll miss the last bus if I don’t.”
“You can catch it tomorrow! Your competition isn’t for another two days!” The desperation in your voice is audible. “Please. Please don’t leave.”
Patrick’s figure is still, like a photograph frozen in time. His bag rests on his shoulder. He’s two steps away from the door.
“Please stay.”
When he turns and looks at you, you can see the way his expression crumbles.
“Okay,” he mumbles.
You manage a few steps towards him, slow and hesitant. The bag slides off of his shoulder and he engulfs you into his arms. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper into him.
His hair brushes against your cheek as he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m sorry.”
He holds you tight in his arms as you fall asleep. The next morning, you awake to an empty bed, and a sticky note on your desk that you won’t notice for another few days.
I’m sorry.
You don’t like Patrick Zweig because he makes you cave every time.
A year fresh out of college, and your career as a journalist is flourishing. Your boss flounces up to you at your desk.
“You used to play a bit of tennis, right?”
You blink. “Uh, yeah.” You were ranked, like, 7th in the world for junior tennis before your injury, but sure, that about sums it up too.
“I need you to write a piece on the competition happening soon. It won’t be too spotlighted, since we’re not really known for our sports new, but you’ll have full control over it, since you’re the only one who knows anything about tennis.”
“Okay, no problem.”
“Great! Here’s a list of the players.”
Your eyes skim over the list half-heartedly. There were occasionally names you recognised, including – ah, there was Art. You flipped through until the end, and your gaze locked in on the last name on the page. Your heart crept into your throat.
Patrick Zweig.
“Did you know he was here too?” You struggle your way up your stairs to the apartment, grocery bags in each hand and your phone balanced between your ear and shoulder.
Art’s voice sounds muffled from the other line, probably because your ear is more on the screen than the speaker, but even so, the awkward lilt in his voice is clear as day. “Yeah, uh, he texted me.”
You sigh. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not still friends with him for my sake.”
He’s quiet for a moment. "I know. I just didn’t know how you’d feel about him being back in town."
“That’s what Tashi said too.”
“So how are you feeling about it?”
"Well," you huff as you reach near top of the stairs, "it’s not like I didn’t know he’d be at the tournament." Your eyes close for a moment, and the image of his name in font size 11 Arial appears in your mind’s eye. "I just didn’t want to think about it. I mean, it’s been ages since I’ve even spoken to him. It’s—"
"Complicated," Art finishes for you.
"Yeah." You fumble for your keys in your pocket, trying to manoeuvre the bags without dropping anything. "I’ll be fine, though. "
Art hums. You get the sense he’s thinking about something. Finally, he says, "For what it’s worth, he never wanted to hurt you, you know.”
You manage a small smile, even though he can’t see it. "I know. I’ll call you later, okay? I gotta put these groceries away."
"Sure. Take care, alright?"
"Yeah, you too." It’s a big struggle trying to get the keys out of your pocket. You barely manage to grab your phone in your other hand.
"Need some help with those?"
The sound of Patrick’s voice startles you, and you nearly drop the bags. He’s leaning against the wall next to your door with a smirk playing on his lips. Your first instinct is to hug him, then something switches and you want to punch him. With the bags in your hands, you can do neither, so you opt for staring at him as though you’ve just seen a ghost.
He still looks the same as you last saw him (not that you think about him often enough to picture that image, of course), except with an extra hint of adult despair. But still, the curls are the same, he’s still wearing shorts, he’s still clean-shaven, and his smirk is still stupid as ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a figure of your imagination.
You gape at him for a moment before finding your voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
He straightens up, taking a few steps toward you. "Thought I’d surprise you."
"Well, mission accomplished," you mutter, pushing your key in the door and twisting it. Patrick follows you in, reaching to grasp at the bags in your hands. You don’t say anything as he carries them over to your counter, his eyes darting around to take in the sight of your apartment.
“Nice place. I like what you’ve done with the bookshelf,” he muses as he lifts the groceries onto the tabletop, then leans against it.
The way he moves is so familiar that it sends a jolt of déjà-vu through your stomach. A battle rages on in your mind as you struggle to figure out how to feel. On paper, you’re not necessarily on bad terms. It isn’t like you could say you had a bad breakup, since you aren’t even really sure you were dating in the first place, so you never really had any nights of crying over him, eating ice cream, and asking your friends to stop you from texting him. The two of you just stopped talking.
“Patrick. Why are you here?” Your voice cuts like a knife through the air. This is starting to feel like some sick joke from the universe. You wonder if Art knew Patrick was going to ambush you. Maybe he gave him your address.
He looks at you, his easy smile dropping for a moment. “I wanted to see you.”
You stay quiet. His expression is uncomfortably serious, and you can see him waiting for a response. But the truth is you don’t know what to say. You opt instead for moving towards the groceries beside him and putting them away. Patrick just watches you.
"So," he says, breaking the silence, "how’ve you been?"
"Busy," you reply, picking up a carton of milk to put in the refrigerator. "Work’s been hectic."
You see him nod from the corner of your eye. "I’ve heard. Your articles are really good."
You glance at him, surprised. "You read them?"
"Of course." His expression softens. "I always keep up with what you’re doing."
A lump forms in your throat, and you focus on moving around the jars in your fridge door aimlessly to avoid looking at him. "Thanks."
It’s silent once more as you finish putting everything away, though you can feel Patrick’s eyes in the back of your head the whole time.
His eyes meet yours when you finally turn back to face him, and for a moment, he looks vulnerable. He steps closer, reaching out to take your hand. "I missed you."
Your heart clenches. It becomes easier to decide then. You don’t like Patrick Zweig. Can’t stand him, really. You hate him. You hate that just his hand in yours and three little words can make your resolve crumble like a statue smashed to rubble.
Against the better judgement of every cell in your brain, you say, “I missed you too.”
It’s nothing to do with you. You know that. As he kisses you, as he slips his hands under your shirt, as he lies in bed with you, traces patterns on your skin and clings to you like a lifeline, you know. Patrick is yours, and you are his. But he’s always making promises he can’t keep, starting things he cannot finish, running away from everything to no end.
Perhaps one day, things will be different. But for now, you stare at the empty space in your bed, the only trace of his presence being the lingering scent of his cologne. You sigh, draw open the curtains and allow the morning sun to seep into your room.
You hate Patrick Zweig because he will never stay.
#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#challengers#challengers x reader#challengers imagine#challengers imagines#josh o'connor#art donaldson#tashi duncan#written works !#art donaldson x reader
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Hello! I have a request if that's okay? Could you maybe do a James Potter x male!reader (with the reader being Ravenclaw) where they end up being partnered together in potions and afterwards James is like 'shit. I think I might be gay.'
Basically where the reader is his gay awakening haha
A Revelation in Potions (Not Through Amortentia, That's too Generic)
pairing: james potter x male!ravenclaw!reader
summary: in which James never knew men could be so attractive until he gets paired up with you in a Potions activity.
genre: fluff, gay awakening, crushing
wc: 2.1k
warning/s: cursing, reader is a little taller than james, he/him pronouns, gay panic, james is a lil shy here, potion nonsense that i made up on the spot, reader is good in potions, mention of boobs lmao
note: oooh, interesting request anon. i like it. i hope you enjoy!!
oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1 | part 2
James Potter was dying.
No, not literally. But he did feel like he was literally dying.
This is what a painful death felt like, didn't it? The inability to properly take in air, the painful pounding of his racing heart, the stumble of his tongue as he tried and failed to properly speak.
On the contrary, James Potter was not just dying. He was dying of embarrassment.
Let's rewind a little bit for some context.
Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were stuck in the dungeons of a double Potions class together. As usual, James sat beside his friend Sirius Black, and as usual, they were noisy with sniggers and poorly muted whispers.
"Black, Potter, do you have something that you'd like to share?" Professor Slughorn called to the two boys sitting in the back after a wheeze from Sirius was too loud for the professor to ignore.
"No sir, we're — we're fine," James said, sounding slightly out if breath from containing his laughter at a joke Sirius had made. "Just a little hot in here, isn't it?"
Slughorn sighed. "It's less hot here in the front, Potter, so why don't you switch with Shelby here?"
The girl sitting beside you perked up at the mention of her name, looking back and blushing when she realized that she was going to be sitting beside Sirius Black.
"On the contrary sir, I think I feel slightly colder already," James grinned. "I'm fine with staying at the back."
"I insist, Potter," Slughorn held a strained smile, displaying the fact that James had no choice but to follow.
The boy sighed, giving Sirius an exaggerated mournful look before picking up his things and walking over to the now vacant seat in the front, messing up his hair along the way out of habit.
He set his things down beside his chair and slumped into it, sparing a glance at his new seatmate. "Hello. I guess you're stuck with me for today," James said quietly, not wanting to disrupt Slughorn's lesson again.
You turned to face him, giving him a small smile. "I guess so. Nice to meet you."
James nodded, and you looked away to jot down some notes as Slughorn wrote on the board.
James did a double take, his brain just processing the face he saw.
Woah, he's handsome.
He couldn't stop himself from looking at you again, taking in your features from the side; your focused eyes, your cheeks, your jawline, your lips.
James had to make himself blink twice to snap himself out of his trance. I'm straight. So what if he's handsome? I'm handsome too.
"Now that we're done with our lesson, you will use the rest of the period to brew a simple Sleeping Draught with your seatmate," Slughorn announced. "Go through your books for the procedure, and don't hesitate to ask me any questions you may have."
With a wave of his wand, a cauldron appeared on the side of each pair's table. "The ingredients are in the cupboard behind me," he continued, waving his wand once more to open the cupboard doors. "You may begin."
James went to stand up, but you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looked at you and saw that you got to your feet. "I'll go get the ingredients. Can you partially fill the cauldron with water and heat it up please?" You asked.
"Uh — sure," James responded, making you smile and pat his shoulder twice before leaving with you Potions book in hand.
James stared after you, shook his head to focus. You gave him a task, and he had the weird goal to not let you down. He muttered “aguamenti” under his breath and water spilled out of the tip of his wand, filling the the cauldron. He flicked his wand upward to stop the flow once the water was halfway.
He ignited a fire under the cauldron and stayed standing over it, watching bubbles appear in the water.
“I’m back,” you greeted, gently putting down the ingredients on the empty part of their table.
James turned his head to look at you, his breath hitching when he noticed that you had a few inches over him, the top of his head reaching a little bit above your eyebrows.
He watched you pull the sleeves of your uniform upwards to your elbows, revealing your forearms. He swallowed with difficulty.
Get your head in the game, Potter, James thought, mentally slapping himself. He’s just a random boy from Ravenclaw whose taller than you and has really nice arms. Big deal.
“I’ll cut the ingredients up, you put them in the cauldron and follow the stirring. Is that okay?” You asked, giving him a glance before you put the ingredients on the cutting board in front of you.
“You’re doing an awful lot of work, huh?” James said, chuckling breathily, making you laugh slightly in response.
“Stirring properly and putting the ingredients in is also important, is it not?” You smiled teasingly, cutting the plant root with as much accuracy as possible.
He watched your fingers glide over the root and how the veins on the back of your palm popped to life when you gripped the knife.
Holy shit, James, control yourself, the messy-haired boy scolded himself. Think boobs. Boobs!
“Are you ready for the Quidditch match tomorrow?” You asked, attempting to break the semi-awkward silence between you two.
“Ah,” James remembered that Gryffindor had a match against Hufflepuff. In truth, he wasn't all that worried about it, since he's seen their Seeker and he isn't much (NO HATE ON HUFFLEPUFF, I LOVE HUFFLEPUFF <33).
"I think I'm ready," James said after a moment of silence. "I don't feel all that worried about it," he grinned, sending the boy a wink. Why he did that when he normally only did it to girls (with the exception of his own friend group) he had no idea why. I guess being with you made him full of even more surprises.
You rolled your eyes playfully at him. "Sure." You handed him the chopping board with your evenly cut plant roots on it. "Time for you to shine, Mister Potter. Pour it and stir it properly."
James took the board with an exaggerated bow. "It's my pleasure, good sir." He tossed the roots in the boiling cauldron almost carelessly, some of the water splashing onto the back of his hand.
You, who was supposed to be grinding some mineral to powder, immediately set down your mortar and pestle to check on the boy who winced in pain as the hot water made contact with his skin.
"Be careful!" You scolded, gently grabbing his hand and examining it. "It's not that bad of a burn, but we're gonna have to rinse it with warm water."
James nodded dumbly, the pain numbing slightly as soon as his hand made contact with yours.
Soft hands, he noted.
You dragged him over to the sink on the other side of the room and let the faucet run for a little while before guiding his hand under the running water, your focus blinding you from James's stare.
I'm straight. I'm straight. Straight as a wand.
"Does it hurt, Potter?"
"James," He answered absentmindedly.
"What?"
"Call me James. Not Potter."
You looked up, his big brown eyes staring at you behind round, silver-rimmed glasses. "Okay, James," he totally did not shiver at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue, "does it hurt?"
James shook his head. "It feels way better now."
"Are you sure?" You questioned, brows creasing in concern.
"Yeah — yep, I'm fine," he answered, his eyes unblinking as he maintained eye contact with you despite his small stumble over his own words. "We can just continue brewing the potion, yeah?"
Which brings us to the present moment, where he felt like he was dying.
"Okay, as long as you're sure..." You said, not entirely convinced but letting it slide for now.
You pulled down your sleeve on one arm to use it to wipe the extra water that lingered on his hand before letting it go entirely. James was already missing the warmth.
"Let's head back," you said, checking your watch as you turned around to return to your table and to resume your tasks of preparing the ingredients.
Your work commenced in silence. Your potion was a little messed up from the lack of stirring and addition of the other ingredients, but it wasn't unsalvageable. You just added some bark and leaves to balance it out a little.
You hesitantly handed the ingredients to James, worried that he was going to hurt himself again, but this time he was gentle, smiling at you victoriously as if not getting burned again was an accomplishment — which it was, you guess.
"You're stirring too quickly, James," you said, laughing slightly at his somewhat aggressive stirring.
"It didn't say that speed mattered," he replied cheekily, continuing his ministrations.
You sighed, shaking your head slightly with a smile on your face as you took a step towards him and grabbed his stirring hand, the one that wasn't burned. James eyes widened a fraction at the contact, but said nothing.
"Slow down," you murmured, guiding his hand to a much slower pace compared to the one he had set moments before. "No need to rush."
James didn't reply, too busy trying to tame the redness of his cheeks. In order to guide him, you had to stand close behind him, your chest grazing his back and your breath fanning his ear and part of his neck. Goosebumps trailed over the skin that your hot breath caressed.
"'Stir clockwise until potion turns a light shade of blue,'" you read from the instructions in your book. "What do you think, James? Is our potion ready yet?" You hummed the question almost directly in his ear.
This damn man. No way is he not doing this on purpose.
"It — No, not yet," He said, mentally whacking himself in the back of his head for his stammering.
"Alright, we keep stirring then."
You could have let go of his hand already and let him stir on his own, but you didn't. You kept your hand over his, clutching it in a gentle grip, until your potion turned from purple into a light blue.
You smiled. James, for some reason, could feel that smile despite not seeing it. It tingled in the back of his brain.
"Okay, we're done."
You let go of his hand, moving to the side to grab a dropper and a vial. James pulled the stirrer out of the cauldron and set it aside, watching you collect some of your potion and putting it in the vial.
"The Sleeping Draught can be deadly in large amounts," you said, collecting more of the potion as a bit of your Ravenclaw brain slipped out. "If you take too much of it, your calming sleep will also turn into an endless one."
You put down the dropped and took a stopper to seal the vial. You looked up at James with a smile that James could only interpret as mischievous. "Everything can kill you if you have too much of it, don't you agree?"
You don't wait for him to reply before going to the front and placing your vial in the empty rack on Slughorn's table, holding a small conversation with Slughorn before returning to get your things.
"We can leave early," you informed James, grinning. You shouldered your bag and adjusted your blue tie to not choke you as much, the hot atmosphere of the Potions room getting to you a little. "See you around, James."
You left him staring at your back, mouth slightly open and eyes wide.
Sirius passed him to get some ingredients his partner forgot to retrieve earlier and noticed his dumbfounded expression. "You good, Prongs? What happened to your hand?" He asked, looking at James's hand as he raised it to ruffle his own hair.
"Pads," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Pads, I think I'm in love."
"Huh?" He followed his best mate's gaze, catching a glimpse of your uniform before you disappeared completely. Sirius looked back at the bespectacled boy with a cheeky grin on his face.
"Nah mate, I think you just got your gay awakening. Welcome to the club, Prongs."
"Yeah..." James's eyes were still fixed on the doorway where you once were, before his eyes snapped to Sirius's when his words fully processed in his brain. "Wait, you're gay??"
Sirius shrugged. "I'd be disappointed in myself if I wasn't," he joked, clapping James on the back. "You got good taste for your first boy crush," Sirius said before leaving James to his unpacked things and his own thoughts.
Can't argue with Padfoot about that: I definitely got good taste in men for my first guy crush...
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x male reader#marauders#marauders x reader#marauders x male reader#marauders era#sirius black#male reader#harry potter
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Oh my God, if you wrote more sex doll!141 I would be thrilled. It's such a good concept and you've executed it wonderfully!! (Personally I'm partial to simon but if you wrote any of the other characters I would still eat it up).
-🦝
So I’m going to be honest, Simon is a very difficult character for me to right in intimate situations because of how his character is structured. It’s one of the reasons I have trouble flushing out how I write him and why he may be much more varying than my other boys when I write them fic to fic. He’s truthfully the hardest character for me to right and he’s the one I know the most about so I hope this is good.
Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, check out my AU list for more like this. Don’t forget to leave me a comment (i always try to respond) or a request in my inbox (i also try to respond to these when I can), a reblog, or even just a like to let me know what yall want to see!
I gift you, Sex Doll!Simon and his loser!reader as a gift. As always, under the cut.
A doll and his loser 2, electric boogaloo.
When Simon’s lady had ordered him, she had also been drunk. She was ovulating, feeling sorry for herself, and incredibly horny when the ad on whatever porn site she was on popped up for the sex dolls. So she scrolled through the options, noticing the ‘Johnny’ Doll was sold out, but it didn’t matter, one had caught her eye immediately. The doll style they had named ‘Simon’. His mask made her run wild. She noticed how the pants clung to his thighs and wide shoulders and it made her mouth water. She couldn’t even remember what she ordered the next morning between headaches and vomiting but she just assumed it was something she forgot and paid off that credit card charge.
It was days later when the box arrived.
“Big ole box you got there,” her neighbor teased, “need help getting it in, little lady?”
She huffed, she had been trying to push it in for about 20 minutes. “Please,” she whined.
Her neighbor helped get the probably 200 pound package into her room. The box was all scratched, fragile stickers torn. She thanked her neighbor and ushered him out as she began to open the weird box.
The language seemed made up, but she didn’t expect to get the box open and a giant Ken doll to fall on her with a loud thud as the two hit her floor.
“You’re a big bitch,” she groaned as she shoved the doll off her. His eyes fluttered open and she watched him curiously. “Hi.”
She was met with silence. He seemed mute, like his mouth was stuck shut.
Confused and slightly disappointed, she stared down at the doll lying on her floor.
She had expected an interactive experience, a companion that would fulfill her desires, but all she had in front of her was a lifeless figure. Frustration began to well up within her, fueled by the lingering effects of her hangover.She had gotten wasted the night before again.
Frustrated, she decided to give the doll a chance. After all, she had spent a considerable amount of money on it, and maybe there was a way to activate its features. She carefully inspected the doll, running her hands over its smooth, artificial skin and marveling at the intricate details. But no matter how hard she looked, there didn't seem to be any buttons or switches that would bring it to life.
Determined to find a solution, she grabbed her laptop and searched for the website where she had made the purchase. But it was as if the site never existed. It wasn’t in her search history, it wasn’t in her purchase history, she couldn’t even find a number on the box.
Frustration turned to confusion as she scrolled through her browsing history, desperately trying to find any trace of the website that had led her to this mysterious doll. It was as if the entire transaction had been erased from existence.
Feeling a mixture of unease and curiosity, she decided to take matters into her own hands. With the doll still lying motionless on the floor, she sat down next to it and began examining every inch of its body. Perhaps there was some hidden mechanism, some secret activation method that she had missed.
Then she saw the icon on the box between the gibberish writing, something about the lips.
She crouched down and tenderly pressed her lips against the cool, skin textured rubber of the cheek of the robot. In response, his previously stiff body began to move and his facial features softened into a look of happiness.
A surge of excitement coursed through her veins as she realized that there was more to this doll than met the eye. She had stumbled upon something extraordinary, something beyond her wildest dreams. Her hangover instantly forgotten, she eagerly awaited what would happen next.
Slowly but surely, the doll began to move. Its previously inanimate limbs twitched and flexed as if awakening from a deep slumber.
“Hi,” she said softly, running her hand over the mask.
He flipped his mask up over his lips and quickly kissed her passionately.
She let out a squeak as he climbed on top of her.
“So pent up,” he mumbled, kissing down her neck as she giggled. His hands roaming free. “So stiff, I could use a good stretch, love. And it seems based on your purchase of me, you could too.” He said with a teasing tone before pulling off her pants she wore to work.
He began to eat her through her panties, but it was more lip locking with her lower set. He moved her panties to the side and continued his make out session with her labia. His teeth occasionally gently pulling on them. He took his sweet time getting her wet before he did any more. He spit on her then dug in.
Messy, his face covered in her natural lube, mask rubbing against her clit.
She sat there like this for a while but she got too loud so he stretched his long arm so his palm stretched over her mouth, thumb rubbing her cheek as he continued. Her eyes rolling back as he edged her slowly. One, then two, then three times. Her body convulsing as he finally lifted himself, she let out a whine and he shushed her before freeing himself from his jeans.
He got real close to his ear. “How badly.” He commanded.
She whined out pitifully as a plea.
“Good.” He said, throwing a leg over his shoulder before sliding in and thrusting. A fast pace in, a roll of the hips, and slow pull out. He held this pace for so long she began to feel like the sex doll. It was brutal in the most wonderful way.
Toe curling.
Ball smacking.
Pussy dripping.
Best sex of her life.
Her cervix thoroughly bullied.
Her moans muffled and covered by his rough palm.
Her rug covered in sweat, her flooring under it glistening with heat.
When he finally let her come it was like reaching the peak of Everest. She gasped and whined and moaned, almost screamed into his palm. He fucked her through it and came not long after from her body milking his cock.
He removed his hand and cock making her whine, returning his mouth to her cunt to make out with it again.
He cleaned her of his cum before picking her up and running a bath.
“Worth every penny.” Was all her mushed brain could muster.
#cod x reader#call of duty#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley smut#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley
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firewatch | 01
john price x gn!reader
wc; 2.7k
summary; a firewatch tower in the heart of a state park is as far away from your trainwreck life as you can get. the company of the man in your radio is just a bonus.
(if you saw this the first time i posted it no you didn't) my entry for the o captain challenge hosted by the lovely @glitterypirateduck, using prompt 61; first day at a new job! this au lives in my brain now please enjoy!
the air is crisp here. bright orange sunsets, dry summer heat, the gentle sound of birdsong and the wind through the trees – it was all a welcome change of pace, and with the added bonus of being nothing like your home in the city, but isn't that exactly why you’re here? the solitude, a blank slate, and some much needed peace and fucking quiet.
a branch snags your leg as you step through the underbrush, but the sting it leaves behind is little more than an afterthought. your backpack hasn't changed you left, but it feels heavier somehow as you jerk it higher on your shoulders. tiredness hangs from your limbs and makes it a struggle to push forward, but the lookout is in view now, and with night closing in fast, you want to get there sooner rather than later.
the wind is louder all the way up here – and it has a chill to it now, that nips at you through your airy clothes – but as you make it up the first few steps, the wood creaking under your weight, the view over the forest fills you with a melancholy sense of awe that tightens in your chest. it's beautiful. if only you could've had a better reason to see it.
the rest of the stairs are a breeze compared to the trail you've been following all day. the sun has only just dipped below the horizon, bathing the landscape in an indigo wash and shrouding the trees in cool shadows.
with the last of your energy, and one final glance over the steadily darkening view, you push open the door and step over the threshold. it's completely dark inside once you close the door, with the shutters closed over the windows, but there's a wonderful calmness to it that almost soothes the ache in your muscles.
you feel blindly for the generator switch, as you'd been told to, following the red glow until it's under your fingers and you can press the button. the bulb overhead flickers to life, and the small room you'll call home for the next few months is bathed in a dim yellow light.
you blink as your eyes adjust, and take in your surroundings. central in the room is an osborne fire finder – which you, of course, knew existed before you impulsively applied for this job – and a small but effective kitchen along one wall. there's also a log burner nestled into one corner, and a desk beside the door stacked with cardboard boxes labelled 'tower 7 supplies'.
your gaze finally lands on the bed in the far corner, and a sigh of relief passes your lips at the sight of the comforter folded on top. perhaps it had seen better days, but you had reached the point where you simply didn't care anymore. you slip your backpack from your shoulders and drop it in the general direction of the desk chair, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor in favour of smoothing out the bedding.
your fingers barely get to brush the fabric before you're interrupted.
"evenin', tower seven." from a worn yellow radio, partially hidden between two boxes, comes a voice that cuts through the otherwise silent room. his words are distorted slightly by the static, but you can still make out the deep gravel of his tone.
for a moment, you can only blink at the object, hands still hovering over the comforter as your tired mind catches up. you drag your feet back over to the desk with a muted sigh, kicking your backpack in the process and nearly stumbling over yourself, but you manage to grab the radio and stay upright.
"uh… hello? whoever this is?" you reply, the obvious uncertainty in your voice making you cringe as you hear it.
the stranger on the other end shares none of your hesitation, responding within a second of you finishing your sentence. "john price. i’m in tower six, east of you."
you make a noise of recognition, nodding even though he has no way of seeing it, "right, the guy mentioned you on the phone."
"saw your light on, thought i'd say hello." john says, with a lot more energy than you can muster right now. it would've been a welcome distraction any other time, but right now you just want him to stop talking so you can finally sleep.
"good to meet you, neighbour. i'm…" you stifle a yawn, and open and shut your mouth a few times trying to decide what to say next. "…i'm gonna go to bed. no offence"
you hear him scoff through the interference, "not even gonna introduce yourself?"
"you already know who i am, don't you?" you grumble, your eyes locking wistfully onto the mattress that awaits you as you try to hold back another yawn. "listen, if i don't go to sleep in the next thirty seconds, i'll probably die."
there's a pause before he responds again with a chuckle. "alright, i won't keep ya, we'll talk tomorrow."
you don't bother answering, and instead just slot the radio clumsily back into its station. you flip the lightswitch, plunging the room back into darkness, and shuffle slowly back over to your bed. you tug your boots off, and you're out as soon as your head hits the pillow.
when you wake up, the sun is already low in the sky, casting long shadows over the park below that don't quite reach your tower yet. your muscles burn and ache like you knew they would, but there's also a relief that comes with knowing you have no obligations to tend to – apart from your duties as a fire lookout of course, but that was trivial compared to what you left behind.
the air is still warm outside, the breeze that passes by your tower cooling to a pleasant degree as you pause on the balcony. you're not sure you like the way the wood creaks as you slowly make your way around, and opening the shutters took a lot more arm strength than you were expecting, but it was more than worth it for the view you got from your desk.
the journal you reluctantly bought at the advice of your therapist sits open in front of you, your pen twirled absently between your fingers as you gaze out at the horizon instead of the blank page before you. wasn't writing out your feelings supposed to make them easier to deal with? then why was it so difficult to come up with a single word to put down?
with a frustrated huff passing your lips, you drop your pen onto the desk and your head into your hands. when your therapist had suggested keeping a diary as a part of your healing journey, you really didn't think it would be this difficult. you've been sitting here for twenty minutes, and all you've managed is the date.
"mornin'," your lamenting is interrupted by john's voice through the radio again. you're almost surprised that he actually wants to talk to you, but then again, there aren't that many people out here to talk with anyway. "i can see you at your desk, so i'll assume you got to sleep on time and didn't die last night."
your lips quirk into a smile as you reach for your radio, flipping your journal shut and shoving it to the back of the desk.
"uh, yeah, sorry. guess i overslept." you reply, somewhat sheepishly. you didn't even bother setting the alarm clock on your nightstand before you passed out – in fact, you didn't even plug it in, but you're honestly not sure if it would've made a difference. "what time is it, like, six?"
"quarter to seven."
you squeeze your eyes shut and cringe to yourself. "...oh."
john chuckles, a deep rumble that slightly eases the embarrassment of passing out for most of the day. "s'alright, that hike knocks everyone out for a day or two."
there's a comfortable lull in the conversation, and you take the opportunity to look over the fire finder, scanning the area east of your tower in an attempt to pinpoint exactly where john's is. you find the annotation for tower six easily and turn to gaze at it through your east window, the silhouette of it clear against the early evening sky.
you wonder if he's doing the same thing, or if he even talks to any of the other towers. you don't have any neighbours besides him, the interviewer had mentioned that to you, but you know john does. he seems eager to talk to you, the same as last night, so either way you suppose he's just happy to have a fresh face to talk to.
it's not long before the quiet is cut short by john's voice crackling through the radio again. "what’s your story then? must be a good one to have you all the way out here."
you make an indignant face at his question, as if he can see it. "what’s that supposed to mean?"
"c’mon love," the nickname should feel odd, he's only one step above a stranger to you, but it flows so naturally off his tongue that you barely even question it. "there’s only one reason anyone takes this job, and that’s to get away– from something, someone, somewhere, all of the above,"
"all of the above, let's just leave it at that." you mumble, brow furrowing. your eyes dart back to the journal laying untouched in the shadow under the window.
"relationship troubles?" he asks. the question itself is innocent enough, but the lingering thought only causes your frown to deepen. "that's why most people come out here."
"yeah, something like that…" you mutter in reply. a sigh escapes you as you drop yourself back into your chair, picking up the stray pinecone on your desk with your free hand. "anyway, enough about me, it's your turn smartass."
you hear john huff, something like a laugh, and the sound lightens your own expression. "is it now?"
"you said it yourself, only reason people ever take this job is to get away from something." your lips quirk up at the corner now the tables have turned, and you distractedly roll the pinecone back and forth on your palm. "so what are you running from?"
"don’t pull your punches, eh?" he hums, his tone flat.
"just following your lead, price." there's a long pause as you wait for his response, the smile slowly falling from your lips with every second that passes is silence. "you don't have to tell me, y'know."
"no, no, it's–" he cuts himself short, clearing his throat in an undeniably uncomfortable manner, "i lost someone, a good friend, few years ago now."
your jaw falls open, the pinecone dropping from your hand as you freeze in shock. you try to find the words to comfort, but they get stuck in your chest and all you can muster is a solemn; "i… i'm so sorry…"
"don't be." he replies, quieter than before, in a way that makes your brows pull together. "was my fault."
another long silence, but this time a small guilt forms in your mind. if it was enough to drive him out here, it must be a memory worth forgetting, and you can't help but feel bad for bringing it up – despite the fact that you couldn't have known. still, he sounded so defeated, and you don't actually know him more than the two conversations you've had with him, but he didn't sound like himself at all. you make a mental note to stay away from the topic.
"so, uhm," you stumble over breaking the silence, dropping your head into your palm as the shame creeps up your spine. you need to change the subject, you don't want to leave it on that upsetting note, so you pick the most obvious small talk question you can think of. "what did you used to do, before this?"
"i was in the sas, for about twenty years." john answers, thankfully, still with a distant sound to his voice. you'd half expected him to be done with you after that bombshell, but it seems you didn't completely scare him off.
"oh, no shit!" you reply, your surprise this time a lot more lighthearted. "that's way better than what i used to do…"
john breathes a chuckle, and you smile to yourself in triumph. "highly doubt that, love."
you respond with a good-natured scoff and roll your eyes. "seriously? there's no world where an office job is cooler than the fucking sas."
"i think you'd be surprised." the sound of a door opening and shutting is faintly heard in the background as he speaks, and then the unmistakable creak of the floorboards under him. "it's hard work, y'know."
"c'mon, you got to see the world! all i ever got to see was the inside of a meeting room. for several unnecessary hours at a time." your smile morphs into a grimace at the memory of your old job – you were more than grateful that part of your life was over now.
"i'd've killed for that amount of down time a few years ago," he muses, something nostalgic in his voice as he continues, "never had a moment's peace in the service."
you told your head and hum thoughtfully. "yeah, i guess i never thought about it like that. but don't you find it a little… slow out here?"
"'course i do, but sometimes that's exactly what you need. never'a guessed i'd enjoy bein' bored outta my mind, but here we are, eh?"
"you're probably right." you release a deep breath, your eyes finding the red clouds of the horizon and following the last rays of sunlight to the treetops below. "always wanted to be someone who had things happen in their life, but as soon as things started actually happening to me, all i wanna do is go back to how things were."
you feel the hesitation before he speaks again. "this about your all of the above?"
"yeah..." you sigh, bringing your free hand up to smooth over the crease between your brows. "so maybe being bored outta my mind is what i need."
"you'll get used to it. might even start to like it– i did."
"here's hoping." you try not to dampen the mood, but you can only manage a quiet mutter in return. your stare follows the dark forms of a couple of birds against the indigo sky, and you find yourself wishing for that kind of freedom. you have to shake your head to bring yourself back to the present. "but anyway, i won't be completely losing my mind. i have you to bother, don't i?"
"right back at ya, rookie."
you snort. "rookie? seriously? thought you quit all that military shit."
"old habits die hard." he replies, the smile he's undoubtedly wearing evident even through the radio. "supposed to be a cold one tonight, might wanna stock up on firewood."
"i'll take your word for it, i saw some by the shed yesterday." you stand from your desk and stretc your back with your arms above your head. by now, only the very last of the sun's rays still light the sky, and when you step outside the air has already gotten noticeably cooler.
"think i'll sign off for the night, then." his words draw your eyes over to the barely visible shadow of tower six against the dark blue of the night. "if you ever need anything, just gimme a shout, yeah?" he sounds more serious now, leaving no room for doubt that he's genuine, and after a second he adds in a murmur, "even if it's just for a chat.".
"i will. talking with you is nice." you smile to yourself, soft and more heartfelt than you've managed in a long while. "plus, i'll get pretty lonely out here if i ignore my only neighbour."
he chuckles again. "can't argue with that. g'night, rookie."
"night, john." you return, slipping the radio into your pocket. you'd woken up this morning – evening, actually – with a deep uncertainty weighing on your mind; for this job, what drove you here, what will happen after. for now, though, you find it easy to ignore that doubt and focus on where you are now. you came here to escape, and you'll be damned if you let what happened haunt you here, too.
before you descend the stairs, you give one last glance over your shoulder at the distant lights in john's tower, and thank god that this job listing found you when it did.
#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#141 x reader#cod x reader#mw2 x reader#mw3 x reader#call of duty x reader#price x reader#john price#captain john price#roosterr writes
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♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟗: 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐂.𝐉𝐇 ♡
Pure Relaxation
【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Jongho kept losing over and over again. Becoming increasingly more frustrated as time passes, it's a good thing you are here to help him cool off.
『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 703
-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive, Fluff. Gamer Au.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Boyfriend!Jongho x Girlfriend!Reader
[Warnings] : Fingering. Edging. Swearing. Such sweet intimacy. Sleepy sex. Jongho lowkey takes his frustration out on the reader in the form on cock warming hehe.
Thank you, @deathbyyeekies , for requesting Jongho for this day ♡♡♡.
Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober 2023 List
This was a terrible idea… Actually, scratch that, it was a sinisterly great idea, and holy shit were you internally screaming at Jongho for suggesting such an idea. He had always said that he wanted to try to be more physically intimate since he is not the one to normally show physical affection. And you being a touch-starved person, how could you ever deny the touch of your lover? He was sitting in his room on his gaming chair. He and the others were all playing a new game for game night, and Jongho suggested you come cuddle him while he plays.
At first, it seemed innocent. You were koala hugging him, with your legs sitting bent either side of him. Every now and again, you felt him wrap his arms around you to give you a hug or draw shapes along your spine. You were in complete bliss, even tempting to fall asleep. But when it was like a switch went off and Jongho. He kept losing the stupid game, huffing out every time he saw the red killed banner. He was getting frustrated as the moments passed and needed something to help him cool down…
Or someone.
“Come on baby, before they start complaining I’m not back yet.” Jongho had told the others that he was just going to the bathroom for a moment so he could mute and help you prepare for him. His fingers were deep inside you as he whispered nothing but sweet things in your ear. You were a whining mess, wanting so badly to come undone all over his fingers. “Such a god girl.”
“J-Jong.” Your grinding hips start to stutter, getting yourself tip over the edge. You came hard, feeling your liquids pool around your lover's fingers. He wasted no time in pulling them out and placing them in his mouth. He hummed at the taste wanting nothing more than to sit here for hours and fuck you, but instead, he promised to play this stupid game he doesn’t even want to play.
“Now for the fun part, Honey.” he gripped his cock, stroking himself painfully slow before using his other hand to help you sit up so his tip was pushing against your dripping wet entrance. “Come on baby, take a seat.”
You sank down onto his thick dick, feeling him fill you up deliciously. Your hips automatically start to grind, but his hands suddenly grip your hips tightly, stopping you. Your eyes snap open to look at him, seeing his features were painted with a frustrated but sternness You sighed, silently apologizing, leaning down to press your body against his, laying your head on his board chest. His fingers rake up your naked form, calming you down before he groans “Don’t worry I’ll fuck up later.”
And so the hour begins, trying to sit still, and not grind against him and every time he lost you felt your cock twitch inside you, making you feel like you were going to combust. He wasn’t any better, every time he got angry he’d trust upwards into you so he could calm himself and it partially worked, but now all he wanted to do was fuck you into next week.
But once the next hour passed and then another a different form of desire began to brew. A need for intimacy. You were falling asleep, feeling a wave of comfort and peacefulness being so close to Jongho. You felt safe from him being nestled deep inside you. It was like your heart was opened to him and his, for you. Even after you fell deep asleep and he was done with his game. Neither of you wanted to move.
But to save yourselves from aching muscles later, Jongho picked you up, slipping out of you for only a moment before laying you down on the bed where he could let you cuddle up next to him while he sank back into you. No words were spoken, no eye contact was present. Your bodies did all the talking, and as your limbs tangled around one another, you both knew this would become one of your favourite things to do
- ♥︎
#ateez#ateez smut#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez reaction#ateez reactions#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez scenario#ateez x reader#ateez x female reader#ateez x reader smut#ateez fic#atz reactions#atz smut#atz fluff#atz drabbles#atz hard hours#atz imagines#atz scenarios#atz x reader#atz fanfic#kinktober 2023#kinktober#ateez jongho x reader#ateez jongho#choi jongho#jongho smut#jongho#ja3hwa
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‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 — 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤
𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), dub con, fem!bride!reader, kidnapping / forced domestication, loss of virginity, mentions of murder, blood and threats against reader, objectification / mild degradation, size kink, forced breeding kink / creampie, all characters featured are 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3
𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ sex doll by nathan james
your instructions were all very clear, and very specific, but you found yourself struck speechless when he appeared. lightning scattered webs of silver across the night sky, thunder shook the entire mansion, and then he was standing there, on the balcony, just outside the crystal doors. your breath caught in your throat as he stares inside, dark eyes zeroed in on you, and one hand reaches for the latch. a gust of wind catches the unlocked glass and flings it inwards towards you, banging against the wall— the hinges creak, but hold. you flinch, startled, and stumble back, but he’s inside and across the room to stand before you in the blink of an eye, without so much as time to allow a droplet of rain from his inky tendrils to fall beforehand.
“I recognize you.”
he must; the pearly white chiffon of your gown was tattered and stained a muted rust— dried blood. what had become of your veil or your shoes were unbeknownst to you, forgotten when you hid underneath the altar and clamped a hand over your mouth to not alert the mass murderer of your presence whilst he slaughtered the entire wedding party.
of course, he’d been privy all along, and simply bent over to peek inside at you once he was finished. black eyes were devoid of any remorse, but he didn’t try to reach and pull you out, or kill you. he simply stared for a moment or two, probably listening to the sound of you sobbing and begging him not to hurt you, and then straightened without so much as a whisper, and left.
it wasn’t until after you’d crawled out and witnessed the carnage that you’d been taken.
you hardly hear it— the savage thumping of your nervous heart much too loud in your ears, as is the way you suck in a desperate gulp. “I— I—“ think, dammit. but, where had your thoughts gone? had they, along with your ability to breathe, been stolen?
“Who left you in here?” the assassin’s expression wasn’t soft, but it was understanding. as if he knew that someone as meek as you would have trouble being this close to him. yet, still expectant of answer. “You didn’t make it to my bedroom by yourself.”
“Your f—father.” you don’t recognize your voice when it leaves your lips, it’s much too soft a whisper. then again, there was no need for you to be any louder than that; he was so close that you could smell the fresh rain in his hair. “He says…” the words Silva used were embarrassing and horrible, but you were told to recite them verbatim. and so you do. “He says that since you didn’t finish the job, he kept your compensation. The only payment you’re allowed is…” your voice was starting to shake.
“You.” Illumi finishes for you, staring down with an unreadable, abysmal gaze, and his head slowly tilts, as if he’s starting to understand, or, perhaps, ponder the possibilities. “Hm.”
you’re relieved for some reason, when he turns away and struts to the other side of the room. you feel like you can breathe for a moment while his back is turned.
but only for a single moment.
because that oxygen is wrenched away from you the second he peels out of his wet shirt, allowing it to fall in a damp heap on the floor. “W— what are you—“ your cheeks were hot, but you felt as though your feet were frozen solid to the floor, unable to move even an inch, you watched him undress. your eyes grazed over the dips in his abdomen when he turns, partially, to face you. each pad of muscle is blanketed artfully in ivory flesh with ribbons of rain dribbling from the raven tips that cascade over his shoulders and tickle his belly. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing.” he said, incredibly simply. you could see that much. but, you were more concerned that he was doing it right in front of you. his hands fall to his waistband, and he makes short work of it, allowing his trousers to join the other garments. this is when you look away, when he’s stark naked. you want to hide behind both hands, but you’re much too in shock to command your muscles to move. “You’ll be expected to get used to my naked body if you’re going to be my pet.” you feel a tight, cold grip around your wrist and the need to jerk back overwhelms you, but he’s stronger and holds you there. when did he cross the room to come back to you? it didn’t matter; it seemed like when Illumi moved, he did so on clouds. he was silent and quick. guiding your trembling fingers to his abdomen, he presses your palm flat. you can feel the solid muscle that’s been built over years of harsh training beneath his skin.
“P—pet…” you whisper, hopelessly.
“If you prefer bride, I can call you that.” Illumi offers, flippant, and drags your hand down to his sex. the suddenness in which he forces your fingers to envelop the girth of his soft cock elicits a whimpered protest, one that has him twitching against your fingers. “It makes no difference to me. Property is property.” for a while, Illumi allows your fist to rest there, giving you time to familiarize with the sensation of him in your palm. he didn’t even force you to watch— not minding that you kept your eyes closed tight and your chin tucked into your chest. “How should I have you first?” inquiring aloud, Illumi takes hold of your fingers and glides them up the length of his cock, pressing the tips against the sensitive slit, and snorts through his nose in approval, before pushing your hand back down to his base, guiding you into a steady, stroking rhythm that had him hardening against your palm. “Should I put you on your knees and have you worship my cock? Etch prayers into it with your tongue?”
your cheeks were even hotter now, teeth sinking into your plush, lower lip as you shied away from his words. you knew he was watching your reaction, and he must’ve read it instantly. “I’d have to teach you, I suppose,” he replies, as if mildly disappointed, “and I’m in no mood to tutor right now. he lets out a soft sigh, releasing your hand, “it would be easier to put you on your back.” your hand slows to a stop, eyes opening wide when you realize his intentions, and his now rock hard cock throbs in your fist. both of his hands came up to frame your face now, tilting it up, forcing you to stare into his obsidian gaze. “I didn’t tell you to stop stroking.” he croons, and the atmosphere around you felt like it weighed a ton, bearing down on your shoulders. you were locked in his stare, with his lips moving inches away from yours, but you found the will to pump him again, your couplet trembling. “It would be very stupid for you to disobey me,” he purrs, and takes a daunting step closer, forcing you to back up. and another, and then another. “I’m glad you know that, at least.”
he had grown in your hand, and now his cock was thick and solid, and it took both hands to wrap around him. Illumi took a final step towards you, and when you stumbled back this time, the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed and bent; you clamored backwards on to it. there was a split second where you worried that Illumi’s cock would slip from your hands, but he was right there, climbing atop the mattress and atop you, before you had time to think. his hands never even slipped from your cheeks, until his knees pried a gap between your legs that he could fit into.
“Hold your legs open.”
grateful that you could stop stroking, your hands fled to grab on to your thighs, spreading them apart with shame written over your features. you couldn’t look at him any longer, and turn your head against the pillow.
Illumi blinks, one brow quirking, before flipping the skirt of your gown up on to your belly, exposing your panties. you were embarrassed to admit that you could feel the wet patch that had grown against the cotton even before he pressed the cold pads of his first, two fingers against it. you whimper, and writhe. “Wet already?” he asks, rubbing against the fabric until you tremble and start to inch up the mattress, desperate to get away from the sensation, but one hand grabs your ankle and jerks you back down to him in a swift, rough motion. your dress scrunches up around your waist. “Stay put.”
you know better than to fight against it, even when he wrenches your panties down, but your heart is revving like an engine, your breath hard to catch. you’re so afraid that this man, this murderer, is going to damage your body simply because he can. that he’ll hurt you in the most intimate ways possible, and there would be no one to save you from his cruelty.
“Look at it.”
you could feel the broad, pink tip, prodding against your virgin netherlips and you gasp for air, but turn your head slowly back towards him. you didn’t want to look. you didn’t want to see your assault happen. but you do because you don’t have another choice. “P—please…”
Illumi doesn’t push himself inside just yet. holding tight at the base of his cock, his hips only hardly jut forward, applying enough pressure for your folds to spread. then, he starts in a nonchalant, but certain voice. “I’m going to fuck your little pussy deep, and hard.” you didn’t even realize you were shaking your head, but you stared at his size, nervously. you couldn’t imagine that thing fitting in your body, but he continues, as if solidifying his threats. “You’ll feel every, single inch. You can scream as loud as you want, cry as much as you want, but you keep your legs wide and accept me. Keep your eyes open and watch me fuck you. If you don’t, your stay here will shorten tremendously. Nod if you understand.”
you can’t look up at his face, eyes glued to the manhood ready to split you in half, and you swallow hard around the lump in your throat, before you give him half a nod. you can do this, you tried to tell yourself. it’ll only hurt for a second.
when he forces it inside, you lose your breath completely, yelping when, inch by inch, the thick cock disappears. there’s a sharp, sudden pressure in your depths, and you know this must be the severing of your innocence. “If you get any blood on my sheets, I’ll wrap them around your neck and squeeze.” he mutters, low and threatening. you knew he wasn’t lying.
you mewl, and your nails sink into your own, fleshy thighs to grip tighter. you don’t want to break any of his rules. Illumi moans, for the first time, when he’s completely nested to the hilt, one hand reaching for your neck. he doesn’t squeeze, thankfully, but he grips it to pin you against the bed, while the other gropes your breast through the ivory bust. he’s still staring, watching how you flinch and whine as you struggle to accommodate him. “You’re a tight, little thing.” he doesn’t sound particularly happy or disappointed by the fact, but he punctuates the statement with a strong rock of his hips, slamming himself home. your back arches, and you cry out, mouth hanging slack, at just how much force was behind each slow, deep thrust.
he hadn’t been bluffing.
you could feel every, thick inch as your walls stretch and spasm around him, flittering wildly against the pulsing veins that bulge and scrape against your sensitivity. his bulbous tip pummels knotted nerves relentlessly until you feel tears well up in your eyes. whether it’s pain or pleasure, you can’t tell the difference.
Illumi starts to look, and sound, more human with each thrust— his lids sag low, his jaw works, and he snorts through his nose. you could even see a faint twinkle of perspiration against his temple. he’s hunched forward, hovering above, pressing his forehead to yours. his wet hair draping over you like a black curtain, engulfing you in his scent, making it hard to see anything except what he wanted you to. which was him, decimating you. “You look pathetic, bleary eyed and whiny,” he started, his breath in warm puffs against the cold tears on your cheeks. each word seems is separated by the sensation of him pounding into you, the sound of his body slapping against yours, and your own slick squelching hideously. “But you’re still taking it.” he almost sounds… impressed? “Your little pussy is stretched to her limit, but she’s still milking me. Who could’ve known? Behind those tears, there’s a cock-starved, little fuck doll?”
it was humiliating, degrading, but for some reason— you only clenched around him tighter. you only felt yourself get wetter when his hand careens upwards to grasp your face, keeping it steady as he bullied your guts. your mouth hung open, and just as you’d been given permission to, you let out a lilting shriek. your legs were starting to shake. but, you could also tell that something was building inside of Illumi, too.
it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was.
realizing he had no intentions of pulling out, you squirm, and your hands fall between your bodies to press against his taut abdomen, whimpering a breathy, “Please— don’t— not… inside…”
but Illumi didn’t stop. he didn’t pull out. he rammed into you just as hard, and your breasts jiggle against the sagging neckline of your dress. you croak, hoarse, and stare up at him, squinting against his cruelty. “You’re my bride, aren’t you?” he croons, dark eyes expecting ( and receiving ) a submissive, yet reluctant nod. “Then act like it. Beg me to breed you.”
sniffling, your nails barely scrape at his flesh, and you gurgle a soft and pathetic, wet eyes full of protest, “P—please… breed me… Cum in me… please, Illumi—“
Illumi groans in approval, a wicked smile spreading across his tiers when he comes undone. both of his hands wrap around your throat now, and he buries himself as deep as he can force to pump you full of his warm release. even as you snub and squirm and gurgle, you can feel how full you are of him, and it’s a sickening feeling.
he’s released you a few moments later, favoring his side of the massive bed, and you remain on your back, legs open and quivering, core feeling hollowed out and sore, for a while before he murmurs, “You’ll need to tend to my wet clothes, and do away with that tattered dress, before you can rest.”
blinking, you take a couple of breaths before slowly closing your legs. the muscles are aching, and you have to do everything at a snail’s pace, including pulling yourself off the mattress. when your feet hit the cold, hard floor, your knees want to buckle. you’re wobbly at best, one hand gripping your lower belly as you let out a whispered cry discomfort. the bridal gown hangs askew on your body, now stained with more than just blood and sweat, and you stumble, awkward on your own, two legs, over to the pile of wet clothes. gathering them all up, you hug them close to your chest and turn to look at him, meek and bashful. how hopeless you must appear to him in this moment. “What do I… what do I do with them?”
Illumi looks at you, unblinking, and runs his fingers through his hair as he props up on his elbow. he’s shameless in the way he’s splayed, nude across the bed, his soft cock draped over his thigh. “The butler will meet you at the door, he’ll show you the laundry and where to bathe and dress.” he tilts his head, watching you stumble, still disoriented and uncertain, towards the door. you can’t really see it in the dark, but there’s a faint fondness in the depth of his eyes. “Hurry back, too.”
curious, you nibble on your lower lip and push the door open. just as he’d said, a tall man clad in a crisp suit is waiting on the other side. there’s a glimmer of distaste for how filthy you are as he sees you, but it’s gone in an instant as he grabs hold of your elbow, none too gentle. you look over your shoulder at Illumi, and blurt out before the man can drag you away, “Aren’t you worried I might r— run away or something?”
the worst part about Illumi’s smile is that his eyes turned icy and diabolical when his lips curved upwards; the two counterparts didn’t match. “And go to whom?” he asks, taunting, before adding simply because he could: “I killed everyone that knew or cared about you already, remember?”
#illumi#illumi zoldyck#illumi x reader#illumi x you#illumi smut#illumi zoldyck x reader#illumi zoldyck x you#illumi zoldyck smut#hunter x hunter#hunter x hunter x reader#hunter x hunter x you#hunter x hunter smut#hxh#hxh x reader#hxh x you#hxh smut
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HEY, HI, HELLO!!!
Your one and only and favourite wolf girl here! I came to celebrate your big milestone and I'd NEVER say no to free ice creams!
So! I'd like some: raspberry ice cream with M&Ms and maple syrup in a cup! I'll eat those with my lovely wolf!Nanami!
On the other note!
Congratulations sweetheart! I am so proud of you! It's a big milestone and you deserve it because of everything you put into this blog and your works! Stay amazing and never change!
I send you all the love and kisses!
CONGRATULATIONS AGAIN!! 🎆🎆🎆🎉🎉🎊🎊
Warnings: smut w/o plot, creampie, female omega!reader, wolf hybrid - beta!Nanami, rough p in v, partial hybrid transformation, mating, dirty language, doggy style & missionary
Synopsis: you've been chosen as a mate by Kento Nanami, one of the most handsome betas in the pack, and he's going to have his ways with you - his shy little omega
A/N: myyyy babygirl! Thank you for sticking with me for over 8 years already, can you believe it?! Your request was challenging, but I really hope you'll like it ♥
5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST
"I finally get to meet you," Nanami chuckled a little too darkly, his deep voice reverberating as his pointy, fluffy ears twitched. He shut the door behind him, locking eyes with you, his gaze darkened by desire. Dressed in a snug white t-shirt that highlighted his muscular chest and black jeans, he stood before you, his arms at his sides. Veins snaked up his forearms, accentuating his strength.
You stood before him, completely mesmerized, feeling a familiar heat pulsating in your core. It was your first mating season, and you were chosen by one of the strongest betas in the pack, Kento Nanami. While he wasn't the alpha, many females were attracted to him, and now you understood why. He stood before you, tall and confident, his blonde bangs slightly messy but adding to his charm. He was so handsome and muscular, and you couldn't help but feel grateful that he chose someone like you, a mere omega.
"Are you a mute?" he joked, stepping closer to you. He'd noticed you checking him out. "Like what you see?" he teased, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off your blushing cheek.
"No... No, I'm not..." You closed the distance, captivated by the wild allure that radiated from him. "Who could resist such a tempting sight?" you replied, your voice breathless with anticipation as you looked up into his dark brown-greenish eyes.
Nanami's eyes darkened even more, his senses heightened by your proximity. "Careful," he warned, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're playing with fire, little wolfie."
You reached out, your fingers trailing along his muscular chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath pads of your fingers, even through the material of his t-shirt. "I've always enjoyed a little danger," you whispered, your voice dripping with desire. "But... Why me? You could have any other female, someone more beautiful…" you replied, your voice tinged with shyness.
He gently lifted your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "But I've been wanting you," he admitted. "Your scent has been driving me wild for weeks, if I'm honest. I love everything about you, little omega. The way your cheeks flush when you catch me staring, the way your lips part when you're watching me and others from afar. If you thought I didn't notice, you were mistaken," he said, leaning in to kiss your earlobe, his voice a soft whisper in your ear, "I just had to make you mine."
You parted your lips to speak, but words failed you.
He smiled at your attempt, catching a hint of your arousal with his heightened senses that kicked in. The corners of his muzzle curled up into a wry grin. "Well, well, you smell delicious, little omega." His body pressed close to yours, emanating incredible warmth.
You let out a quiet gasp as he kissed just behind your ear, his lips trailing down your neck.
His hands found your breasts, gently squeezing them through your shirt. As he continued to fondle them, he kissed and nibbled his way towards your soft mounds of flesh, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.
Your breath hitched as he stopped at the middle of your cleavage, looking up at you with a seductive grin. He motioned for you to raise your hands, and with a swift movement, he removed your shirt. Then, with expert precision, he unclasped your bra and traced his flexed tongue from the middle of your breasts up to under your chin, before capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.
You squeaked in surprise, but he quickly silenced you with his invading tongue, his hands now cupping either side of your face.
"Mine," he growled lowly after breaking the kiss. He of course made sure to leave a trail of hickeys along the column of your neck.
You couldn't help but notice the massive bulge in his pants and a shiver of lustful anticipation ran through you as Kento took a step back to admire his work.
He slowly began to move towards you again, and instinctively, you backed up until you hit something firm behind you with your calves.
He leapt forward, pushing your shoulders and causing you to fall backward onto the mattress.
You gasped at the impact, looking up at him easily towering over you with a mix of shyness, fear, and pure lust.
He had removed his shirt, revealing a muscular chest with a trail of fluffy, blonde hair leading down from his navel and disappearing within his pants. He smirked, his hungry eyes surveying you, the bulge in his pants twitching with desire, making it all too obvious that he liked what he saw. Leaning over you, his strong hands placed on either side of your head for support, Kento kissed you again, rubbing his confined cock against the drenched fabric of your pants in your crotch, already soaked from your arousal that managed to drench your panties.
You moaned, feeling an ache deep inside you, longing to be filled by his cock, to submit completely to this male.
Sensing your desire, Nanami worked his way down, stopping at your breasts to suck on one nipple, flicking it with his tongue and lightly grazing it with his teeth.
"Oh!" Your back arched with pleasure, and you ground your crotch against his, the ache becoming almost unbearable as your mind was completely clouded with desire and lust. All you could think about was getting laid with him, right here, right now.
He pinched and sucked on your nipples, emitting a low growl as he ground his crotch against yours.
You heard Kento softly laugh as he stopped his actions, and you almost whined in protest. But your pout died on your lips when you saw him stand up, staring directly into your eyes as he began to undo his fly.
With a sharp movement, he yanked his pants and underwear down, revealing a monstrous cock standing proudly and begging for attention. Its reddened, uncircumcised head glistened with pre cum, and although it appeared to be only several inches in length, it was the girth that truly stunned you.
Free from his garments, Kento stood there, enjoying your reaction. It was clear that his little bitch wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of his cock.
Reaching down, he skillfully removed your pants and panties in one smooth motion, revealing your sopping pussy - so wet that your own juices had lathered the inside of your thighs, glistening in a dim light casted by a moonlight falling into the room through a large window.
"You're fucking gorgeous," Nanami said peeling his eyes away from your glistening cunt to fix his gaze on your face.
The ache inside you was rising to a point where your breathing became sharper as you moved further toward the center of the bed.
"Shhhh, shhhh, relax," he whispered soothingly as he climbed onto the bed, his hard member trailing through the wetness you had left on the edge of the bedding. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation as he licked his lips in appreciation. "Fuck. Your scent is driving me nuts." Positioning himself on top of you and easily pinning you down to the mattress with his weight, he leaned in close to your face, his cock mere centimeters away from your pulsating pussy. He whispered directly in your ear, his voice low, "I'm going to pump you full of my cum, I'm going to fill you with my litter, and watch you swell and grow ripe with my seed, my sweet little omega. We're going to mate for life, and you'll be mine forever. And if any other male dares to even look your way, I'll rip their throat open. You're gonna be my little, breeding bitch."
He plunged his rock-hard cock into your wet cunt.
You screamed out his name as you felt him stretch you painfully, filling you completely.
With a steady rhythm, he began pumping in and out of you, causing your body to convulse in sync with his movements. Your tits bounced with each powerful thrust, and you reached for his back, raking your nails down it for support as he continued to pound into you. You grabbed your perky nipples, pinching and pulling at them, moaning loudly as you were consumed by frenzy.
Kento pounded faster, grunting lowly as beads of sweat slickened his chest, falling onto yours. Leaning down, he kissed you forcefully, his tongue invading your mouth eagerly.
Suddenly, without warning, you felt a powerful orgasm wash over you. Your pussy clamped down on his monstrous cock, your abused hole hot and wet, and he could no longer hold back. It was time to switch positions, or he would cum right then and there.
You were lost in the stupor of pleasure, moaning with each thrust as you rode the waves of your orgasm, rolling your hips up and down to meet all of his thrusts.
Nanami exhaled, pleased to see you enjoying his cock that much, but he couldn't ignore the growing urge from the beast within him. Wrenching himself from your pussy, he leaned back on his haunches, his massive cock glistening with your slick juices, throbbing even harder. He grabbed you and flipped you onto your stomach. "Stick out your ass, bitch."
You got on all fours and raised your plump ass in the air, wiggling it for him.
Nanami gripped your hips, positioning himself behind you. He could feel the warmth from your pussy against the cool slickness covering his throbbing cock. Licking his lips, he plunged back into you. "Oh, fuck, so fucking tight." His tail wiggled behind him as if confirming his appreciation to how snuggly your cunt was.
All you could do was to whimper a little in-between gasps.
This only turned Kento on more, and he began his rhythmic thrusting, making his monstrous balls slap against your luscious ass. He gripped your hair firmly and pushed your head roughly down onto the mattress as he picked up the pace. "Fuck, yeah, take this cock, take it, take it," he growled, his voice rumbling within his chest.
Pain mixed with pleasure as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his massive girth. "Kento.... Oh, Kento!" You were moaning.
He reached around you, gripping your breasts firmly, fondling them hardly.
You let out a surprised squeak, but Nanami paid no heed.
His hands shifted to your hips for support as his muscles began to ripple and change, growing larger. His shoulders broadened, and his legs thickened. "Fuck!" he howled, throwing his head back. With one hand on the back of your neck, he pressed you down, while the other smacked your ass, making the flesh jiggle. "Fuck!"
You felt a surge of fear as you quickly realized what was happening. He was on the brink of shifting into his full animal form, but he seemed to be fighting it with all his might. You knew that if he fully transformed, you might end up as his meal once he was done with you. Alphas and betas in their full animal forms were incredibly dangerous, their instincts overriding any trace of human rationality. "N-Nanami..." you begged, your mouth running dry with all the pants that escaped your lips so far.
Feeling his climax approaching, Nanami struggled to hold back the transformation. Instead, he let out a deep growl as he thrust deep inside your pulsating pussy, releasing his load. Hot, thick cum poured into your pussy, painting your spongy walls white with his semen. With each throb, he delivered more of his sticky release, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull in pure pleasure as he kept himself buried inside you, still offering you a few more pushes.
Even as you remained stuffed full of his cock, you began to leak a mix of both your releases. "Kento, Kento..." you were repeating like a mantra.
Finally his cock went flaccid and he pulled out of your hot pussy, his thick semen spilled out of your abused hole, and coated the bedding right between your legs.
You knew that his potent seed would do what he desired, sooner or later. As you glanced over your shoulder at him, you noticed he couldn't fully control the transformation. His head had taken on a lupine form, while the rest of his body remained as human as possible, aside from a wagging tail.
Nanami leaned forward, licking the sweat off your back with his large, warm tongue, his tail wagging even faster. He gently nibbled on your nape, licking the spot afterward, making you giggle at the sensation. Moving between your legs, he hoisted your hips upwards to gain access to your pussy, which he happily lapped at, cleaning you of the slickness from your mixed releases. Then, he lay by your side, pulling you into a hug. He was satisfied for his bitch had done well.
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futturman comforting you headcannons
masterlist | requested by @futturmansgf (babe im sorry this is so late xx hope you enjoy!)
pairing: josh futturman x gn!reader
tags: comfort, fluff, angst, established relationship, best friends to lovers but it’s not really mentioned, mention of family issues (nothing specific stated), use of y/n.
author’s note: finally getting back to focusing on my requests! this is so rushed and not my best work for sure but i still hope it’s enjoyable <3 also not edited so excuse any mistakes!
First off, I 100% believe Josh is the type of boyfriend to tell you to call him whenever you need him—and he empathises how it could be three in the morning and if you call him he will pick up!
He’ll probably be up gaming, playing either Biotic Wars or something.
It doesn’t matter how into his game he is, the moment he sees your contact appear on his screen, he puts his controller down, mumbling a quick “hold on” to whoever he’s playing with before muting his mic.
“Hey, Y/N,” he’ll say through the line, his voice gentle. The moment he hears you sniffle and the sadness in your tone, his heart breaks. “Is everything okay, love?” He asks out of concern.
He picks up your call, you didn’t often call him this late so this must’ve been important. “Hey, Y/N, is everything okay?” He asks through the line, his voice gentle. He hears you sniffle and he can tell something is wrong (also because it’s not everyday that you call him this late.)
He listens to you explain what occurred, and before you can get too in detail he asks you if he can come over.
He listens to a brief explanation of what happened, you want to say more but you’re so overwhelmed with everything, and you’re partially scared you’re bothering him.
Josh knows you through and through, he has since you two were really young. So, he can sense you’re struggling and that you clearly want to say more so he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what he wants to, immediately blurting it out once you’re done speaking.
“What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.
“Can I come over?” He repeats, his tone gentle. You don’t know why but it surprises you—it surprises you that someone is willing to drive late at night just to hear you ramble about your problems.
You’re quite, no answer leaving your lips so quickly Josh says, “you—I don’t have to, er, if you—you don’t want me to but…” he trails off.
Truth is, he wants to hold you. He wants to be there for you physically if he can. If you’ll allow him to.
If you want, he’ll listen to you over the phone of course but he prefers to be there with you.
“Josh, it’s three in the morning…” you respond. This is not you saying no, though, you’re just still unsure if he wants to actually come over.
You hear him let out a soft chuckle. “I know, Y/N/N, but I really don’t mind. You clearly need someone right now.”
You agree and both of you hang up, Josh not even bothering to tell his friends (who were still on the game) bye, simply leaving the game.
Yes, Josh Futturman is the type of boyfriend to drive down to your house even if it’s three in the morning.
He doesn’t show up empty handed either, probably stops at some ‘open 24 hours’ shop to grab you some of your favourite snacks.
The moment you open the door, he moves forward to hug you. You were still crying, a little less but he could see your teary eyes and your stained cheeks.
With that, you both get cosy on the sofa in your living room, Josh patting his lap for you to lay your head so he can play with your hair while you tell him about your issues.
He listens the whole time, he doesn’t talk until your done.
He honestly can’t imagine what you’re going through, how your family has the capability to treat you like that. It pains him that you’re being treated so poorly by them.
He plants soft kisses on your head whenever you start crying, wiping your tears away.
When you’re done, he cups your face in his hands, gently wiping your tears away with his thumb. He looks into his eyes, his own glossy with probably tears. “I’m so sorry, love,” he frowns. He hates seeing you like this. He especially hates that your family’s causing this. “I know you’re struggling, I know I can’t take your pain away but I want you to know that you’re, like, the most important person to me. It might not mean much but I love you and I’m sorry your family hasn’t shown you that love but you are loved by me, okay?”
He always knows what to say in these situations.
He knows how to make you feel loved even in moments like these.
He peppers kisses over you face, even your tear stained cheeks, whispering “I love you”’s between each kiss.
Lastly, he’ll land at your lips, kissing you so softly and lovingly. He takes a moment between the kiss to tell you how perfect you are which makes you smile softly.
Your snacks that he brought over go ignored for now, Josh holding you in his arms until you fall asleep, finally at ease.
#josh futturman#josh hutcherson x reader#josh futturman fluff#josh futturman x you#josh futturman smut#josh futturman imagine#josh hutcherson fluff#josh hutcherson#josh hutcherson smut#josh hutcherson fanfic#josh futturman x reader#future man x reader#future man#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt comfort
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-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143
pairing -> lee minho x fem reader
synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?
warnings -> gen, y/n talks abt being compared to her sister, family tension, food/eating mention, lowkey survivors guilt going on
MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT
CHAPTER FIFTEEN -> LIKE IT USED TO BE (partially written, wc: 898)
"Oh good, you're not dead yet," Han speaks a bit loudly into the phone and you move it away from your face slightly.
The bright screen has your eyes straining in the otherwise dark room, tucked under a plush comforter from your childhood. It's amazing it's still in good condition considering how old it is, but your bed squeaks under you to remind you of the age of this room full of old memories. On the night stand next to you is a framed photo of you with your family, your mom and dad standing behind you and another little girl, slightly taller than you; your sister. You lean over and put the frame face down.
"Still alive, barely," you reply with a sigh. "Why'd you assume I'm having a bad time?"
"Let me think," he puts a finger to his bottom lip in fake concentration. "'How am I supposed to last four more days'... doesn't exactly sound like someone having a good time."
"You caught me, but I swear it's nothing." A lie. "Nothing interesting." A truth; is your family drama really worth talking about? "How's the apartment?"
"Fine. We've started to try and befriend the guy down the hall, Seungmin? Maybe you've run into him?" You shake your head. "Minho seems to get along with him the best. I think it's because they both act unwelcoming to strangers."
This makes you snort. The two of you continue to talk and laugh, the cats making an appearance at one point with Minho, who gives you a short wave, and you don't realize how late it's getting until your eyes catch the time briefly; 3:08AM. Shit. How loud have you been? You freeze when you hear a door open, muting Jisung on the other end and flipping your phone over. Your door opens.
"What are you doing up so late? Don't you know what time it is?" Your sister groans. "And you're being kind of loud, mind keeping it down a bit? Who're you even talking to?"
"No one," you say too quickly, internally cringing at yourself. "Sorry. I'm going to bed soon."
"You're lucky it was me and not mom who walked in here," she says with a sort of laugh. "She would have screamed her head off and taken your phone, despite being an adult now."
You sit up. "Yeah."
"She really fucked us up a bit, huh?" She sits next to you hesitantly when you don't reply. "Maybe we'd be closer now."
"Hyo-"
"I'm sorry," she stands suddenly. "I shouldn't be saying all this. Forget this, please." Your older sister stands in the doorway, eyes pleading. "Don't mention this to anyone, okay?"
"Okay," you whisper, knowing damn well Jisung heard every word.
As you listen to her footsteps fade, you learn to breath again, flipping your phone back over and unmuting Han. When he notices you're back, he says nothing, fiddling with the string on the hoodie he wears.
"You-"
"It's okay-" You speak at the same time and laugh, breaking the newfound tension. He continues. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I guess this is what you meant by complicated?"
You pout, eyes beginning to sting. When you speak, your voice breaks a little. "Yeah, I mean, it's hard, you know? All my life I've been compared to Hyo by my mother and teachers and even my friends. Like, I have to be her instead of myself, and she never once stepped in to protect me from all that like a big sister is supposed to. Never heard her stand up for me when it was happening right in front of her, no moment of 'hey, let my little sister be who she wants, you already have one of me'. I feel like I can't talk to her anymore. I'm rambling, sorry."
"No, it's okay," Han reassures you.
"We used to be close when we were young," you speak into the space he's left you. "Then as we got older, we drifted. We're only a few years apart, but she always acted so much better than me once we hit a certain age. She said hurtful things to me a lot, and I'm sure I said equally awful things back." A tear falls onto your blanket and you sniff, looking up to your ceiling where a poster of a boy band is pinned to prevent more from falling. "I want my sister back, but... I think there's too much pain."
"Oh Y/nnie," Han gives you a sad look. "I wish I could hug you right now."
"I'm just saying stupid stuff now, I should sleep." You've overshared and want out of this conversation ASAP. "Goodnight Han, sleep well."
He's about to protest when you hang up, moving your phone next to the frame to charge. For a while you lay there, staring at your ceiling with a heavy weight on your chest. You've never fully talked to someone about the way your upbringing made you feel or the way it still affects you. There's still a scared little girl inside of you, shying away from hands that want to hold you, comfort you. Because what if it's all a lie? What if they all leave you, like Hwa? Or like... like him?
You glance over to the frame again, not having it in you to flip it back up.
notes -> me vs y/ns mother rn- who do we think this "him" is referring to? and what happened? will hyunjin and y/n make up?
taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @multifandomedsimp @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers @dreamerwasfound @imsiriuslyreal @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lixie-phoria @aalexyuuuhm @sunflowerbebe07 @st4rhwa @lukeys-giggle @jabmastersupriseee @judeduartewannabe @gaysontheprince @stepout-09-15 @splat00z
^^^ orange means i can't tag you
#-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143#stray kids smau#skz smau#non idol au#stray kids#skz#lee know#lee know smau#lee minho smau#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#lee know x fem reader#lee minho x fem reader#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#smau#social media au
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