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bitten-fruit · 3 months

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I am begging on my knees for a part two to cowboy price😭🙏

here she is!!! cowboy price part 2!! I really really hope you enjoy it ♥︎♥︎

18+ mdni - cw: spanking - ~2.8k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You like to trespass. He teaches you a lesson.

Here's part 1! (and there will probably be a part 3 lol i'm having way too much fun)

Staring face down into the bale of prickling hay, sipping the turgid air like warm milk, you scoured your mind for your next apology. There was a long list of transgressions Mr Price could demand an apology for. Would he punish you for every single one?

Did you want him to?

His spread hand hovered over the skin of your rear, a threat – it ghosted over the fine fuzz and triggered ripples of gooseflesh to radiate out from the faint touch.

“I’m sorry for–” you uttered, barely a croak, “for making you chase me.”

The second you spoke it, your entire body tensed itself on instinct – girding itself for the discipline that would inevitably follow. Swift, and purposeful; he raised his arm, reeling it back like the string of a bow.

And he released it just as suddenly, hurling his palm downward rapidly enough to emit a whistle through the air; it collided with your ass in a sharp smack, over the same burning handprint he had already left there.

The force of it thrusted you forward, knocked a helpless squeal from your throat. You whimpered at the grit and dust grinding under your knees as it rocked you, your hands flat on the haybale turned to fists as you desperately squeezed handfuls of straw.

“Mhm,” he grumbled, grave and deep, “and?”

You swallowed air through your open mouth, your heart thundered in your ears – out of breath, but too wary to inhale deeply enough to sate it.

“For…” you hesitated, “for talking bad on your father.”

Keeping your hips still with his restraining forearm, he raised his free arm once again; you held your breath, squeezed shut your eyes in preparation for the blow. Swing. Smack.

Each collision of his vicious hand over the same spot burned worse than the last, as though his palm was adorned with barbs that pierced your fevered skin on impact. Yet a quiet moan slithered from your chest, slipped from your tongue, oozed like honey.

He drew in a grumbling breath, strained as he sucked it deep. Could he hear the pining titillation in your throat, dripping from each yelp? Might he hit you harder for it?

You winced, shivered, as his wide hand rested against the matching print that only grew more raised and more red by the second, the touch by turn warming and punishing. “Keep goin’.”

“I’m–”

Bitten off by a gasp as his fingers pushed in only slightly, burrowing into the pillowy flesh of your ass as though the squeeze was unintentional – the pressure on your near-broken skin inflicted an ache that made you whimper.

“I’m sorry for stealing cherries,” you force out, in a wet mewl.

He bore his dissatisfaction with a cocksure suck of his teeth. “Whose cherries?”

“Yours,” you squeaked.

“Mm,” he nodded, grinded out through a tight jaw. “Mine.”

Followed quickly your chastisement; the swish of his hand hurtling through the air, the ear-splitting crack of his open palm striking beaten flesh, the whine of twisted thrill that squealed out from your lips.

“My cherries–” he spat, unrelenting; again he lifted his palm, letting it hover in the air for a brief moment before he brought it down with a force.

Smack.

“–My orchard–”

Smack.

“–My hat–”

Smack.

“–My horses–”

Smack.

“–My stable–”

Smack.

“–My land.”

Smack.

The final blow threw a saccharine cry from your heaving lungs, dosed with a shameful squeak of desperation, wet and eager; eyes watering, your head collapsed into the haybale, prickly against your bright red cheek.

The skin of your rear stung numb, throbbing like a heartbeat, your knees shook with the adrenaline that riddled you from head to toe.

And as you adjusted your knees to balance yourself after he had knocked you off kilter – you felt the slick that had seeped from you, drenching your cunt in slippery syrup, the cool air biting cold at the saturated patch of your floral pointelle panties.

You could only suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in abashment and guilt, self-flagellation for the burning heat that had pooled between your legs; almost as blindingly consuming as the white-hot sting of his hand-shaped brand.

He leaned back from you, balanced himself with his hand on your ass. Panting like a wolf, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand as though he had overexerted himself, broken a sweat in his outburst. Seemed to pause as he looked over his handiwork – had spanked you hard enough that you wouldn’t doubt how crisp the perfect outline of his hand would have been. Perhaps it was purple, speckled with the spots of broken capillaries and blood seeping under the hot skin.

But it mustn’t have been the damage he had inflicted that he was stuck on, as you heard his heavy breathing degrade into hoarse, animalistic chuffing; a broken grunt as though he had been kicked in the stomach.

You felt his thumb, slow and probing as though influenced by an unseen force – creep towards the cleft of your ass, running along the elastic lace hem of your panties. Teased the trim like it might slip underneath, but it didn’t. No, instead, he hovered it over the gusset, barely grazing the sodden fabric.

Eyes fluttering shut, you inhaled weakly, a quiet simper as he pushed his thumb into the valley of your cunt; wetting the tip with your fluid that soaked the thin cotton, dipping into you as though the single layer of fabric wasn’t the only barrier preventing him from plunging it deeper.

He must have felt the ring of muscle at your entrance tighten and twitch, an inadvertent reflex to his intrusion – because he abruptly tugged his hand away. You quickly released a sharp and feverish breath, cunt still pulsing around the painful absence of his finger.

“Alright,” he huffed, through teeth, as he rubbed the back of his head in exasperation. “Reckon you learned your lesson.”

You squeaked as you felt his pelvis press against yours, weighing against you from behind; as he leaned over you, reaching past you to pick up the cattleman that he had knocked from your head.

“Huh?” He persisted.

“Yes,” you croaked, realising his demand, you were quick to follow it. You leaned upright, kneeling still, as you tugged down the skirt of your dress to cover yourself; grimacing as the light fabric brushed over the burning welt on your rear.

With a hand on his knee he pushed himself to stand, sniffing in vexation as he dusted off his jeans. Bowed his head to put his hat back in its rightful place, pinching the leather crown with a single hand as he gave it a shimmy to adjust it. “Yes what?”

Through a whimper, you whispered, “Yes sir.”

“’Atta girl,” he gritted, “learned you some manners.”

You feebly swept a lock of your dishevelled hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, too poignantly humiliated to think of anything pert to utter.

“Up y’get.”

It took you a moment to gather the nerve to stand, breathing carefully as you placed your hand on the edge of the haybale. Impatient, evidently, John bent down to you, slipping his broad hands under your arms in an effort to pick you up.

You yipped, wriggling away from his grasping hands as he hoisted you upright, and you landed on your feet with a wobble. “I can walk,” you bit.

“Yeah, right,” he groused, spinning you by the torso before hooking his arm around your waist; you yelped as he tossed you callously over his shoulder like a wet rag. “I ain’t letting you run off again, missy.”

“I wasn’t gonna run,” you whinged, but you mustered no resistance as he hauled you towards the stable door, kicking it open with his boot.

He snorted as he adjusted you on his shoulder, carting you out into the evening sun – appeared the sun had begun its approach to the horizon since you had run off from him, you forgot the days were beginning to grow shorter. The hum of the cicadas still blared just as loud as earlier, though, and the air just as warm, despite the fading orange glow of the sunlight.

Trudging through the long grass, no doubt towards his truck, he chided; “D’you expect me to trust you?”

You bit your tongue, scoured your scrambled mind for any retaliation. “I don’t want to get in trouble again,” you mumbled.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he sneered, “I think trouble is the only thing you want.”

The pressure of his thumb lingered against your entrance, a permanent impression that made your heart flutter at the memory. Perhaps he was right.

“That’s not true.”

“No?” He questioned scornfully, grasping hand digging into the side of your waist to keep you steady. “Then why’d you come back here, huh?”

You pouted, staring into the grass, watching the back of his boots rise and fall with each step. Would you tell him it was just to see him? Just to have him find and scold you? Just to toe the line? Long since crossed, wasn’t it.

“I wanted some cherries,” you lied.

“Uh-huh,” he scoffed, as the grass began to shorten, bleeding to the rubble and dust of the old road. You heard the deep click of a handle, the rattling of the truck door, the moaning of its old hinges as it swung open. “Was it worth it?”

You hesitated, gasping as he tossed you into the passenger door of his Chevy – you landed on your back across the worn leather bench seat, bouncing slightly in the fall, head narrowly missing the steering wheel.

“Yes,” you breathed, to answer his question, and he froze like you had caught him in a bear trap.

Stood imperiously between your knees, as your feet dangled out of the open door, skirt having been rucked up by the landing. He glowered down at you, lips in a thin and admonishing line, but his predacious eyes betrayed his stoic righteousness.

Glare clawed down your splayed form from your dewy lips, to the swell of your breasts, to the bare skin where your thighs met your hips. Catching a glimpse of the mound of your pussy from under the hem, hidden from him by the dainty fabric of your underwear.

He breathed raggedly through flared nostrils, put a white-knuckled hand against the top of the doorframe, casting a looming shadow over your body. His gaze was pointed, fiery, burned from lidded eyes - you felt the heat of his stare, it made you sweat, made your cunt ache unbearably for his attention.

Tongue squirming, too bashful to form a plea; you made your entreaty with a meek hand, tracing your fingertips down your stomach, catching in the pleats and folds of your linen dress. With a hook of your fingers under the hem of your skirt, you coaxed it upwards, coyly exposing yourself bit by bit. Watched cautiously as his lour raptly followed your movements, belying his stone-faced expression.

But he stopped you, or himself, with a pat of his hand on your thigh, just above your knee. Left it there. And he ordered, dark and strained;

“Settle down.”

With a moan of petulant defeat, you dropped your arm to your side.

“I’m takin’ you home,” he grumbled, reaching for your skirt – did so with purposeful cruelty, letting his calloused hand graze up your thigh as he grabbed the hem and tugged it downwards to cover your panties.

He took impatient hold of your knees and swivelled them inside the cab, before shutting the passenger door with a creaking swing and a loud slam. You sat yourself upright, wincing at the painful reminder of the lashings on your rear as it pressed into the firm leather seat. He marched around the truck and hopped in behind the steering wheel, you crossed your arms churlishly as you glared out the passenger window.

Peevishly huffing as he started the engine and accelerated off down the deteriorated dirt road, you bounced around in your seat, the vibrations of the rolling vehicle doing little to settle the sore throbbing between your legs.

“I’m telling my dad what you did,” you griped, rich with spite.

“You can tell ‘im whatever you want,” he scoffed, hanging his arm out his open window, wrenching the steering wheel in the tight grip of his closer hand.

“I’ll tell him you hit me.”

“Yeah?” He gibed, “Gonna tell him how worked up you got?”

Scowling, you felt your cheeks glow red as you glowered out the window. “I wasn’t worked up,” you fibbed.

“Mm. Sure seemed like it.” You could hear his smirk without having to look at him.

You fumed. “Sounds like you’re proud of yourself."

He only released a quiet and scornful huff of laughter in response to that. Nothing snide left to say, now that you’d accused him of purposefully arousing you. But he was right. It was all you could think about, writhing and sizzling in your mind and in your stomach; a fire that he had lit, and now he mocked you for being ablaze.

Daddy’s house came into view, two storeys high with a wrap-around veranda, cladded in chipped white siding and adorned in carved cornices. Sat atop a rolling hill of dry grass, surrounded by century-old white oaks that kept it shaded.

You could only sulk, keeping your arms vitriolically crossed and refusing to utter a single word until the truck rolled to a halt over the raw gravel of the turn-around driveway.

Your father was where you’d often find him; leisurely lounging on the wicker veranda bench, reading glasses on his nose and some dull book about the economy in hand. But he perked up at the arrival of Mr Price’s truck, an especially unfamiliar sight, one that would no doubt spike some suspicion.

John left the engine running and hopped out of the truck. You sorely begrudged the dire possibility that you’d be forced to return to your childhood home, stuck in the tedium of your quotidian life, left to only daydream about the events of the afternoon as you washed dishes and folded laundry.

So in the brief seconds you had before he stormed around to the passenger side, you slipped your hands under your dress. Tucked your fingertips into the waistband of your panties, bucked your hips as you shimmied them down your legs and plucked them over your feet. And you nestled them behind you, out of sight as John yanked open your door, beckoning with an impatient and commanding hand for you to step out.

You groaned as you followed his wordless demand, jumping down into the gravel and glaring up at him with a vindictive curl in your lips. You spitefully stayed still, then, not taking a step in any direction of your own volition, wary that he might glance upwards and spot the coquettish little calling card you left in his truck.

“Move it,” he ordered.

You only pouted. “You’re a dick.”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he tugged your shoulder in the direction of your house – then lodged his hand at the back of your neck, under your hair, an authoritative grasp so that he could drive you by it. And he did, nudging you along, you stumbled awkwardly over your bare feet as you were carted towards your veranda.

Daddy pushed himself to stand, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the blinding setting sun as he ambled to the top of the deck stairs.

“Johnathan,” he spat, disgruntled and apathetic – just wanted to get back to his book, no doubt. And when he spotted you, last, of course, he queried; "That you, hun?”

You glared into the gravel, flushed with fervent humiliation, disguising it as malice.

“Found her trespassing,” John yelled, terse and irate. “Again.”

Your father hooked his thumbs in his beltloops, squinting down at him. “Fence is on your property, John. S’your problem if she fits through the gaps.”

“You need to keep a handle on your daughter,” John snarled, thick with derision, fuse running short. He released your neck with a slight shove, then, and you vindictively rolled your shoulder away from his lingering touch.

Your father snorted. “Looks like y’got a better handle on her than I ever will.”

Had enough, you stormed away from the condescending rancher, marching with your arms crossed towards the steps.

“Y’know what happens if I catch you back on my property, don’t you, girl?” John barked after you, a growl in his throat.

Shoving past your bewildered father as you trudged up the creaking stairs, you rolled your eyes. Concealed the coy smirk that curled in the corner of your lips, you answered with a grouse;

“Trouble.”

for the besties who asked to be tagged in part 2, here you go!! @lilliumrorum @stars4sar @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @iamnotfinedaddy @erajoie07 @rafaelacallinybbay

#can you tell i listen to lana del rey #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

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milswrites · 3 months

Text

Hobbies Part 7.

~Azriel X Reader~

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Angst and sadness :( Panic attacks

This was all wrong.

Cassian roared with laughter at a joke Feyre had told, his large hand beating against the table in glee causing the glasses to shake and plates to clatter. Rhysand was conversing eagerly with Amren and Mor, eyes twinkling above the rim of his glass of wine which was raised to his lips. Even Nesta had a content smile across her face as she bounced Nyx upon her lap as he gurgled happily at this action. And Elain. Elain was attempting to chat with Azriel about how her garden has been coming along since he left.

But Azriel felt like a ghost in his own home. He felt as if he was stuck in purgatory. His perfect life he’d always wished for was in the palm of his hands. Here surrounded by his family, past transgressions forgotten as he was able to talk to Elain again.

This was all wrong.

This was Ariel’s first full night back in his home court. Once Rhysand had made his presence known he had winnowed Azriel away instantly, eager for his brother to return home. The promise of Ariel’s belongings being brought to him the next day on his lips.

Shocked at the sudden reappearance of his brother Azriel didn’t know what to do or what to say. Wanting to give him time to readjust after being away Rhys had sent him to bed. To his bed, in his home. It was all too surreal to Azriel, as if it was all some dream he couldn’t wake up from. Only he couldn’t decide which was reality, Day or Night?

He had spent most of the following day dissociated and disoriented. Training with his brothers was a complete fail, he lacked both in focus and in presence. Cassian joked that it was all that Day Court air messing with his brain. Azriel laughed along with him but was sure it was due to the hole in his heart that felt like a missing limb.

Which is what led him to where he was now. At his celebratory return dinner with him family. He wondered if everyone there knew the true reason why he had been gone. Would they have been celebrating his return then? Or would they have let Rhysand leave him at the Day Court? Ashamed of their friend who had ignored Rhys’s wishes.

The Day court. The place Azriel hadn’t wanted to go to in the first place was now the place he found himself longing for. Y/N. Azriel’s stomach churned at the thought of her. What must she think? Azriel felt nauseous at the thought of Y/N waiting for the male at his door. Waiting for someone who would never come.

They had shared the most perfect night of his life, and then Azriel had left. It wasn’t until the morning after he returned back to his home that Azriel came back to reality long enough to find Rhys and begged him to let him go back. Rhysand must have thought it was some form of a mental breakdown after being separated from his family and entering a self-imposed form of isolation. He was afraid Azriel had grown too used to being alone.

Ever the concerned brother, Rhysand had gripped his shoulder and told Azriel that he was sorry. That he should never have sent him away and that he wouldn’t take control over his life again. Azriel had dismissed his brothers apology and asked once more to go back to the Day Court.

Rhys had assured him that he told Helion about his departure and how he wouldn’t return and then urged Azriel to go to training. To forget about the past and move on.

So now Azriel was here, surrounded by his family. Yet feeling more alone than he ever has. He stared at Elain next to him. Sweet Elain, who had worn her blue dress for the occasion of his return. Yet all Azriel could think was how much he wished for it to be Y/N in the dress he’s sure she made with him as inspiration.

“And then I planted some blue violets which just look wonderful next to-… Azriel? Are you ok?” Elain’s excitement at describing the new additions to her garden faded as she noticed the death-like look on Azriel’s face. Her descriptions reminding him of just last night when he had shared the Day Court garden with Y/N, the two admiring its existence. The memory he had sealed in his mind forever of Y/N surrounded by the vibrant life of the garden threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

His lack of an answer to Elain’s question had caused everyone else at the table to stop talking at look his way. A worried Rhysand tapped on his mental shields but Azriel refused to lower his wall, afraid if he were to allow Rhysand’s claws into his mind they’d tarnish his memories of Y/N forever.

Not wanting to be here, Azriel stood abruptly. His chair falling backwards onto the ground with a thud and drink spilling across the table. Red wine staining the pure white of the table cloth. Cassian who’s face was full of concern, also jumped to his feet and made to move towards his brother.

But Azriel not wanting the comfort that his family would offer him allowed his shadows to absorb him. They surrounded his body like a thick black cloak and swept him away. Taking their master back to where he needed to be. Back to the Day Court. The last picture his eyes saw was of his fearful family staring back at him, anxious for their friend and brother who did not return from his trip the same.

~~~~~

Azriel appeared at her door. Palms sweating and heart racing. It had only been a day. How mad could she be? Sure he should brace himself for a slap, he expected that she would even scream at him a little before she’d grow her beautiful smile back and invite him inside as she did last night. Jokingly berating him for his disappearing act.

He’d be able to apologise for the confusion, explain what had happened and how his brother had whisked him away. But all would be forgiven because Y/N would understand. She would be able to read Azriel just as she had from the moment she met him and tell he was being honest. He’d even tell her that he loved her, just so she knew how much she meant to him.

Hope in his chest, and excitement at seeing the women who had broken down his walls, Azriel knocked and waited.

Nothing.

Nothing was fine, the hour was late and Y/N was likely asleep. He debated sending his shadows inside to seek her out, to gently caress her arm and brush her face until she woke and felt the excitement of seeing them. That their presence meant that Azriel was here and she would rush to the door and into his waiting arms.

But Azriel was interrupted by a little old woman clearing her throat next to him, stopping his eyes from burning a hole in Y/N’s front door and drawing them to herself.

“She’s gone.” The woman said simply as she pottered to the door of the house next to Y/N’s, key rattling in hand.

“W-what?” Azriel asked in confusion, unsure what the woman meant, shadows freezing along with him as they waited to hear what she had to say.

“She left this morning with a lot of bags in tow. Said she’d be gone for a while. I don’t blame the poor dear the state she was in when she got back to her house earlier.” The woman let a sad smile cross her face at the memory of her younger neighbour’s frantic appearance as she entered her home with a sea of tears staining her face.

“What?” Azriel said once more, eyes stinging. He was too late. Y/N had gone. Gone where?

“Poor child was done with being alone that’s what I think. She deserves to find a life.” And with that the old woman entered her home leaving Azriel alone in the street, moonlight casting a haunted glow over Y/N’s empty home.

Neither Azriel or his shadows moved. Too stunned by the news to know what to do. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

His chest became tight, the action of breathing causing him pain as he struggled to keep his shallow breaths even. His eyes blurred from his tears he dropped to his knees, hand pressed tightly against his racing heart in an attempt to slow the erratic beating. He felt as if he was dying.

Shadows coming to their senses they absorbed their master once more. Transporting him back to the Night Court. Back to his home which now felt strange to him, which felt like something was missing.

Azriel stayed in place wherever his shadows had taken him, knees pushing into the dirt on the ground. His ability to breathe forgotten as his head grew lighter and nausea crept up his throat. The constant flow of tears unceasing. A firm body crashed into his, pulling him into their arms. Through his clouded vision Azriel couldn’t make out who it was but he forced himself to summon the words to speak, “She’s gone” he choked, “she’s gone.” The arms around him drew him in tighter, pulling Azriel closer to their chest.

Azriel then felt Cassian’s long hair brush against his tear-stained cheeks. It was his brother who hugged him securely, his large hand bracing the back of Azriel’s head as he sobbed, “she’s gone” escaping his lips once more.

His eyes had cleared enough that Azriel could look past Cassian’s shoulder and he locked eyes with the blue violets Elain had told him she had planted.

His shadows had taken him to the Night Court’s garden but his heart longed for him to be in another.

Part 8

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: If you want to cry even more: blue violets represent the melancholy of lost love and abandonment :(

Taglist Part 1:

@minnieoo @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #sarah j maas #azriel imagine #a court of thorns and roses #azriel

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ma1dita · 4 months

Text

anything you want

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.6k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke!

(posted 1/25/24 unbetad)

—

“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.

“Where you off to, man?”

“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.

“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.

“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”

“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.

“What’re you teaching today, trouble?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater.

You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you.

Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.

You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred.

Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt.

Fuck.

There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.

When did you get so close to him?

“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.

“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium.

He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair…

Maybe Chris was onto something…

“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”

Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you. What a dork.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.

And they always are, whether you can help it or not.

Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.

“Like what, trouble?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.

“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.

It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.

“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table.

When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete.

But Luke’s always been there, watching.

Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.

“You talk too much, you know that?”

Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.

Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.

Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.

Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.

It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.

Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—

“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”

He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.

He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.

—

“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”

-Lang Leav

ask to be put on general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo show imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #luke castellan fluff #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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spankinganthologies · 4 months

Text

Stepmoms from Spankingwomen

"Is there any way we can not tell my dad about this?"

On Christmas Eve, Andrea cuts a deal with her new stepmother, a woman she barely knows when you get right down to it, in order to keep her father in the dark when it comes to a few winter break transgressions. The only thing Andrea didn't realize was that her stepmother, who was only 13 years older than her, was a firm believer in old school discipline.

When she agreed to take a spanking in exchange for secrecy, Andrea didn't realize she was going to be put over the knee to take a panties down, bare ass beating with a big nasty brush. By the time her eyes were blurry with tears, staring directly into the lights on the Christmas tree as she got her bottom blistered, she had already realized that maybe the smarter play would have been trying to charm her way out of punishment with her daddy.

(this should have happened to me fairly regularly, but it didn't)

It turned out, that despite her youthful appearance, Mary's new stepmother was rather old school when it came to matters of discipline. She knew how to handle a brat efficiently and effectively - even a brat well into her college years. Over the knee, skirt up and panties down - there was nothing Mary could say to talk her way out of it.

And it was as if her new stepmother was making up for lost time, for all those years that Mary had gone unspanked. When she took Mary across her knees, the spanking would seem to last forever, until Mary's poor bottom was red and swollen and her throat was sore from hollering.

It's an embarrassing routine but one that Trisha knows well.

Before being taken across her mother's lap and spanked, she is required to stand naked in the corner and think about the reasons she is not being permitted to wear clothes, about why she is going to be getting a spanking, how her bottom will be burning before too long and what exactly she needs to change in her behavior to avoid a scene like this playing out again in the future. Trisha knows she will be asked about these things both while getting her butt blistered and then in the immediate aftermath as well, so she knows that she had better have some good answers.

And then, the spanking itself.

Two sessions. First, her mother's hand, which is plenty bad enough. But then a humiliating naked trek down the hall and into her mother's bedroom, crying and bottom very much reddened already, to retrieve the hairbrush and bring it back to the living room. Then back over the knee for the finale which will leave Trisha squealing as her mother spanks some much needed sense into her with that evil brush. Face covered in snot and tears, Trisha will be stood back up (not allowed to rub her bottom at all) and the lecture will continue.

Finally, it's back to the corner, still naked, while she tries to catch her breath and stop boohooing. Now, her little backside is fire engine red. Shamefully, she's very damp between her legs - something that happens whenever she gets a damn good spanking. She can't help but think about how she'll masturbate for hours later before falling asleep. Her nipples are hard and ache. But the lesson is learned. If she can be a good girl in the corner, she will be allowed to get dressed and go upstairs before her father or brother get home.

She's going to spank that defiance right out of her spoiled step-daughter. All toughness will soon melt away and the tears will come. It's quite humbling to be crying like a baby with your jeans and panties around your knees and your bum rapidly turning bright red. A good spanking can really take a brat down a peg or two!

***

If Candy's monster of a stepdaughter refused to listen to reason and continued down this path, then you can be damn sure Candy was going to do something about it.

Candy may have only been 14 years older than the bitch, but she knew in her heart she could teach her lesson. The little brat had never been spanked in her entire life and she also didn't have the guts to fight back. Even if she did, Candy could overpower her easily. She was 100% confident about that!

There was no faster path to a real and meaningful attitude adjustment than the path of a crimson behind and that was exactly the path Candy intended to take her stepdaughter down. She intended to take her over her knee, pull down her panties and give her the spanking of all spankings. Things were going to change. There was a new law of the land.

And after she blistered that nightmare's bare bottom, Candy intended to go to the store and find a suitable hairbrush - just like the one Candy's mother had used on Candy's behind years ago - and then she was going to put that hairbrush to good use going forward. The little brat may never love her, but she was damn sure going to respect her.

(okay, I wasn't a full-blown 'monster' or 'nightmare' but I'm sure she wanted to spank me plenty hard more than a few times!)

There were plenty of lessons learned with her butt bare and her panties down around her knees. Sometimes the cane, sometimes the strap - her mother was a resourceful woman who could punish a naughty bottom with the best of them. A countless number of their "little chats" ended in tears.

Mary's new stepmother has her own ideas about how to deal with errant young ladies, no matter how old they are or how mature they think they might be. It seems like Mary is in for a rather rude awakening.

***

Jenny was always punished in the living room. This sometimes proved to be awkward as there were times when her stepmother sent her to her room to wait for a spanking. Then, when her stepmother decided she was ready, Jenny would have to come back downstairs where a chair would then be waiting in the center of the room. It was always the same: over-the-knee, panties down and one very sorry girl. The awkward (and most humiliating) part was the walk of shame back upstairs. Jenny would be trying not trip over her underwear, shuffling and still crying hard as she marched her fire engine red ass to bed.

Her stepmother was a cold, calm and firm disciplinarian. She was strict and knew how to spank. Jenny begged her father for reprieve, claiming she was far too old to be spanked, but he just shrugged. "If you don't want to be punished, then you need to learn how to behave," he would tell her and the matter would close.

The spankings themselves were long and painful. Both of Jenny's cheeks would be sore and swollen for days making sitting uncomfortable. But it wasn't just her ass that her stepmother would target. Oh, no. Jenny's stepmother spanked the backs of her thighs too. Hard smacks over and over causing Jenny to shriek and kick. Jenny would be left raw from the top of her bottom nearly to her knees. The rest of the girls on the swim team always knew when Jenny had earned herself another spanking.

#spankingwomen #stepmom spanks #mom spanks #college

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guulabii · 11 months

Text

Teaching to Transgress, Bell Hooks

#words #literature #bell hooks #patriarchy #oppression #womenhood #pain #quotes #book #teaching to transgress #liberation

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tommysversion · 1 year

Note

I see you're asking for smutty Din requests. May I suggest you my favorite?

Breeding Kink Dom!Din?? 👀

[[ Anon!! I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s literally been in my drafts/WIPs for like?? Three?? Weeks??? But I finally managed to finish it and I hope you like it!!! ]]

CWs: smut / literally very little plot / established relationship / daddy kink if you squint / breeding kink / soft dom Din / praise kink / unsafe sex / oral sex (f!receiving) / spicy language / religious undertones (may be considered blasphemous?) /

——

Din has no idea what the hell has come over him. Normally he’s the epitome of a gentleman; kind, soft spoken, honourable, respectful. Everything a man should be, everything he was raised to be. Everything the Creed teaches. The way he’s currently thinking and feeling? Is the very opposite.

He’s been having these dark thoughts all day. Not dark as in cruel, or evil. Dark as in sinful. Dark as in something forbidden. And it’s all your goddamn fault. Not that you know it, of course. No, you have no idea what you’re doing to him, and that makes it all the worse.

It’s the way you play at swords with the foundlings. The way you are so quick to repair torn tunics or bandage scraped knees. The way you always make sure to bring back cakes and sweets for each child whenever adventure calls Din and yourself away from the covert. Much of what little money you have, you spend on the children, asking nothing in return. You don’t even get to see them smile; most of the children are old enough to have spoken the Creed. This doesn’t seem to bother you either; you smile enough for all of them, beam bright like the sun at the shrieks of joy that are passed through the foundlings whenever you open your backpack, hands full of treats, treasures spilling into eager smaller hands like a rainbow.

You are not Mandalorian, but the way you treat the children, the way you smile so easily, speak so respectfully - especially when asking a question about their culture - has endeared you to his people. Made you one of them, without being one of them.

The Creed teaches to be selfless. To be humble. To not want, not for selfish reasons. To want, to covet, is a sin, a transgression. And yet, he’s only human.

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. Only, before, he was able to push it away. To dismiss it as a fanciful, fleeting thought alone. It’s harder to ignore, seeing you like this. Why not admit it? The sight of you, surrounded by children, taking on that naturally maternal role, has made him want. Has made him wonder what you would be like if the child was his. His and yours. Made between you and stardust.

Once he’s let the thought in, it won’t go away. It begins curious, like that, but over the days becomes darker. Less curious, more lecherous. More sinful. Until it comes to where he currently stands, certain he’s going half mad with need and desire for you.

You’re completely oblivious to the battle raging in his head, folding some freshly laundered blankets, bent over to put them in the carved wooden chest at the foot of your shared bed, giving him a fantastic view of your ass in the soft leather leggings you’d picked up a dozen market trips ago. The view definitely doesn’t help things, at all, only suffices to make him even harder in his own snugly fitted pants.

He can’t go on like this, sinful and dishonourable or not.

He waits until you’ve set the blanket down, closed the chest, before he sneaks up on you; it’s easier to be stealthy without all his beskar on, each piece neatly set aside on velvet cloth on shelves hewn into the rock of the wall. He presses up against you, wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Is everything alright?” You ask; you’re used to him being quiet. Din is a man of few words, but there’s something off about his demeanour. You’re worried about him, he realises.

“Everything is fine. More than fine, really.” He reassures you, almost rushes to soothe you because he can’t stand the thought of you worrying about him when it’s unnecessary.

You lean back into him, comforted by the reassuring solidness of his touch, the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“Oh. I just thought… you’ve been quieter than usual and… I thought maybe I’d… done something you didn’t approve of?” You chewed your lip, waiting for the disappointment to appear. You were so certain you had done something wrong.

“What could you possibly have done wrong?” It concerns him, the level of worry you’re displaying. He knows rejoining the covert has been a change for you, but surely nobody’s making you feel unwelcome?

“I thought… maybe it’s not allowed… to spoil the foundlings like I do? Maybe it was some cultural thing you were too polite to tell me?”

He can’t help but laugh, relieved that that’s what your fear stems from.

“Not at all, love. Most of the children don’t have parents, and it’s not something many of our adults would consider. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I just thought… I felt you watching me, and I…”

His arms tighten around you, the ache in his chest matching the ache in his cock; his hands caress your waist, touching gently.

“I wasn’t watching you because I disapprove.” Din assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “I was watching you because I like seeing you happy.”

He pauses, considering for a moment, fighting those dark thoughts and losing.

“And because I wonder what you’d be like as a mother.” The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them. Not that he wants to stop them. For a moment though, he’s afraid he might have scared you, so he turns you round and leans down to kiss you before you can say anything.

You lean right into him, stand on your toes to reach him, and that’s enough to break any resolve he has, any concern or care. Never mind that it’s a sin, never mind that he shouldn’t be showing you his face, much less desiring you the way he does. If Bo can show the entire damn covert her face, then he can show you his. That’s his rationality at this point.

He’s too far gone to care, lifting you up into his arms to get you closer to him. He’s running on impulse now, and he knows it, but he’s no longer interested in holding back. Beneath his honourable demeanour, his gentlemanly behaviour, there’s a dark streak, and it wants out.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him, thighs locked loosely around his waist. It’s so rare that you get to see his face, so you can’t help staring at him, memorising every little detail. Din loves that about you, loves how respectful you are, how you never push his boundaries. You’d never ask him to show you his face, leaving it entirely up to him to decide; you’ve never once pushed the issue, loved him long before he finally showed you what he looks like.

He carries you the few steps to the bed, sets you down on it gently. You kick off your shoes, let him pull those sinfully tight leather pants down, before you lean up and tug his shirt off. You’re just about feeling smug when he catches your wrists, big hands wrapped around them, placing your hands at your sides.

Something in his gaze keeps them there. You’re used to seeing nothing but gentleness in his eyes, but there’s a burning desire there now that intrigues you. Makes you want to obey.

You let him pull your shirt up over your head, toss it aside, heated by the intensity of the way he looks at you, immediately returning your hands to where he placed them. The heavy boots and the pants he wears come off next, and then he’s laying you down, pressing the heat and muscle of his body against yours, kissing you like he’s starving.

Maybe he is. You know that before you, he didn’t particularly bother with intimacy when it comes to sex. His knowledge of sex was hard, fast, fully clothed, with no real attachment to it. Which is fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. You also know that he’s starving for affection. For touch. And you usually get to be on the receiving end.

He takes his time kissing you, knows it isn’t something he gets to do often, knows that even though you don’t say anything about it, you want it more often than he can give. He loves that about you; that you may not be Mandalorian, you may not understand the Creed, but you respect it. Respect what it means to him. That means more to him than he can ever articulate.

So yes. He takes his time. Kisses your mouth until your lips are bruised and swollen from his attention, but you love every second of it. He pulls away from you slowly, watches the way you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips still parted for him.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, but Din knows it isn’t a rebuke. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your legs are spread for him, the way you’re fidgeting on the bed beneath him. It’s not a rebuke. It’s desire.

He doesn’t answer. Lets you run your fingers up and down his solid arms for a moment, before he pins your wrists above your head, one at a time, holds them there with one big hand.

You don’t question him again, but he can see approval and desire in your gaze, a flicker of understanding.

“No more questions.” It’s an order, albeit given in a soft tone. “Keep your hands right there for me, there’s a good girl.”

He releases your wrists, but you don’t move, won’t until he tells you to, remaining perfectly still as he kisses his way down your body, scarred hands settling on your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he looks up at you.

“So wet…” he’s talking more to himself than to you, but you still shiver slightly at the words, at the expression on his face as he stares at you, just for a moment longer, before he leans in, buries his face in your cunt.

You’re already wet, wet enough that he was able to see - and comment on - it. But it’s not enough for Din. He wants you soaked and begging for his cock by the time he’s through with you, wants his beard and the sheets absolutely drenched.

If you thought he was kissing you like he was starving, it was nothing in comparison to this. He keeps his hands firmly clamped on your shaking thighs, preventing you from moving, as his tongue laves at you, kissing and sucking at your clit, making you wriggle and moan beneath him.

You’re desperate to wind your fingers into his hair, but you know if you try, he’ll stop, and that’s the last thing you want.

It’s only when you start literally dripping onto his tongue that he relents, pulls away from you. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, beard soaked with your slick as he moves back up, slaps the thick head of his cock against your cunt deliberately, teasing.

“You ready for me, baby?” He knows the answer already, likes the way you bite your lip and chew on it, nodding.

He leans down and kisses you, sucks your lower lip out from between your teeth.

“Answer me.”

There it is again, that faint hint of a demand, the tone so soft that you can’t help but comply.

“Yes, please…”

You know how to answer him, even though you’ve never seen him like this before, those dark eyes blazing like liquid obsidian as he surveys you, spread out for him, so needy and willing.

“There we go.” He lines himself up, slides into your soaked cunt; it’s not as smooth as he hoped, he’s too big and you’re too tight, and you can’t help but wince slightly at the feeling of him stretching you out, but he settles, pressed to the hilt inside you.

“There you go…” He almost moans it, keeps your thighs spread, hands moving your legs, bending your knees so your ankles are by his shoulders.

You know this position, realise why he’s doing it. It doesn’t scare you. The opposite, in fact. He realises it a moment later when he feels your cunt tighten around him.

“Oh, you like this, huh?” He drags himself out of you, slow, almost to the tip before he slams back into you, drawing a scream from your parted lips.

“Can I touch you now?” You gasp it out when you can breathe again.

He surveys you for a moment; the way you’re pressed beneath him, knees up by your tits, eyes heavy with need for him. How much better for him can he ask you to be?

“Yes,” he agrees, dragging himself out and pressing in deep again. It’s all the permission you need, hands immediately jumping to the solid muscle of his biceps, clinging to him as he slams into you.

He’s usually so gentle, so careful, but this is completely different. Wild, desperate. He’s not holding back, has no interest in being careful tonight, slamming into your tight little hole, moaning the entire time.

“Fuck, baby, so tight…” He nuzzles into your neck, keeps your legs firmly in the position he wants them in, pressing deep with each thrust, hard and fast.

“Feel so good, gonna fill you up, fuck my baby into this sweet little cunt…”

It’s filthy, you’ve never heard him say such things, but you love it, love how roughly he’s handling you, how wild and frantic he is, how your body responds to him. You can feel yourself tightening around him, milking his incredible cock as he drills into you.

“Please, please…” you can’t say much more than that word, repeated over and over as he fucks you, so hard the bed shakes.

“Keep begging me for it,” he moans it into your ear, one hand leaving your leg to fist into the bedsheets, holding himself up, bracing himself.

You drag your nails up his back, back arching up as best you can in the position he has you in.

“Please… need it… need you so bad…”

You’re overwhelmed, he’s so big inside you, so rough, not making any move to slow down even as he feels you getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah? You gonna make me a daddy, baby?” He presses another kiss into your neck, shudders when he feels you tilt your hips to get him deeper, a gasp tearing from your throat when he hits your sweet spot.

“Please…”

You can’t form words, not when he’s pounding into your sweet spot with every thrust, saying such filthy, sinful things. You can’t hold on any longer, and he knows it, fucks you harder and faster until you’re writhing on the bed beneath him, tight, perfect little pussy tightening around him, keeping him in deep, massaging his cock as you climax.

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty when you cum for me…” Din loves seeing you like this, body arched in a perfect mating press as he drills into you.

Any other time and he’d put you on all fours, press your face down into the bed and fuck you til you screamed yourself hoarse for him.

Maybe later. This time, anyway, he wants to see the look on your face when he fills you, the glazed look in your eyes when his cum leaks out of you. Not that he plans on letting that happen. He’s going to fuck you so full of his seed that you’re overflowing with it, but this first time? He doesn’t want to spill a drop.

Your nails keep raking at his back, pulling him close against you, and it’s that that urges him on, the way you’re looking at him, so desperately needy for him.

He could get addicted to this, so far removed from the slow and gentle and passionate intimacy you usually share.

“This all I needed to do to get you drunk on my cock?” He presses you down harder into the mattress with just his hips, relying on his strength.

You whimper in answer, clench around him again.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, “you want this just as much as I do, huh? Bet you’ve been desperate for me to fuck you like this, put a baby in you.”

You don’t answer; can’t answer, because his words and his pace drag another climax out of you, surprising both of you. He fucks you through it, pace increasingly more rough and erratic.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it, fuck, I’m so close…”

He has to brace himself on the bed, fist clenching in the sheets as the other holds you steady, in place as he presses deep, grinds his hips roughly against yours, ensuring that every single drop of hot, thick seed fills you, stays deep inside you.

“Fuck, like that…” he pants, watching the way your eyes blaze with arousal and love as he comes back to himself, slowly, second by second.

He’ll have to repent later, ask for forgiveness for his sins, but right now? Right now he couldn’t care less, the hand that isn’t curled into the sheets caressing your - for now - still flat abdomen.

It won’t stay that way for long. Not if he has anything to do with it.

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fic #answered

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flightyquinn · 1 month

Text

thinking about how cursed objects work in most fantasy RPGs.

typically, they wind up just kind of being a big middle finger from the game master - a kind of "whelp, you should have been more paranoid, so now you get hosed" sort of deal. which includes the somewhat game-y trope of objects that you can't get rid of. it's kind of an un-fun mechanic, when you think about it, which is why in most games I've been a part of cursed items often don't see much play, unless it's as a "punishment", or part of a story arc.

...which naturally leads me to think about how to do it better. in the past, I've tried using a curse as a kind of limiter. restrictions or drawbacks to a mostly functional item that is still worth using despite being "cursed". that's good, but it doesn't let you draw on truly nasty curses, because the item needs to be worth using, but also still needs to be balanced.

so, I'm drawing from a lot of sources here, like the cursed shield in Final Fantasy VI, and especially the comics by @foldingfittedsheets, where curses exist to (literally) teach the recipient a lesson

MEAT OF THE POST STARTS HERE:

what about cursed items that have a way to overcome their curse?

it's actually a fairly common trope in classical literature / fairy tales. every curse has a way to be broken. yet in D&D and Pathfinder, most often the only way to break a curse is to find someone with the specific curse-breaking spell.

so, give each cursed item a condition. perhaps a weapon that fuels a person's anger and causes them to fly into a blind rage in battle waits for them to sincerely forgive a hated enemy. perhaps boots that slow the wearer are actually making them heavy with the weight of past transgressions and a sufficient act of atonement will free them. maybe the perpetually bloody doll that gives its bearer horrible nightmares simply waits for someone to be motivated to action by them, either to right some past wrong, or generally bring a certain number of murderers to proper justice.

...maybe a Bag of Devouring. which is technically actually a creature, not a cursed item (but usually classified with them), can be befriended by figuring out a treat it likes, and will not only carry things for the player if fed and cared for, but even cough up a few things that previous bearers had stuffed inside.

the specifics aren't too important, but the idea is that any item with a curse on it has a reason for that curse, and a way to break it. the players can drop the item at any time, sell it off, give it to someone they hate, whatever, but if they put in the time and energy to actually breaking the curse, it becomes better than it was before, sometimes simply losing a drawback, or sometimes gaining new powers.

for an example, let's look at how that doll idea from earlier could work in D&D 5e;

while the party has the doll in their possession, they will all be afflicted by horrible nightmares, seeing themselves as children being attacked by a group of eight bandits with indistinct features. the details of the dreams change each night, and the players awaken before learning their ultimate fate, but the general gist is always that they are completely helpless, and subjected to harm.

after a long rest, have them roll a Wisdom or Charisma save (challenging DC, but not too difficult), or take a small amount of psychic damage.

if the players bring murderers to justice - meaning deliver them to the proper authorities and see them punished for their crimes - the content of the dreams starts to change. one bandit gets caught or killed by the end of the dream for each real world criminal successfully punished, possibly hinting to the players what they need to do. once eight murderers in total have had their sentences enacted, the next morning the doll will be in pristine condition with a serene expression, emitting a faint glow. thereafter, any player may attune to the doll to gain the ability to cast the Guidance cantrip without components (as thought the doll's ability to project what it wants the players to do into their mind was turned to their benefit.

#tabletop gaming #tabletop roleplaying #roleplaying games #dungeons & dragons #pathfinder #game master advice #homebrew #my ideas #curses #cursed items #long post

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fermented-writers-block · 1 year

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With the revelation of the Collector being just one out of a whole species and the whole “Collector creed” as in the book King read, it really has me thinking on the mural in King’s tower and the name of the Titan Trappers as a group. What if the big battle between the Titan Trapper and Titan was not about slaying the Titan, but rather about the Titan Trapper trying to subdue the Titan long enough for the Collectors to collect and preserve it?

After all, the comet IS headed towards the Titan’s face, and as we saw in this episode, well…

But given the established fact that Titan magic cancels out Collector magic this episode, as well as the mystery of how that battle ended, I feel the story of the Collectors and Titans may have gone in a direction like this:

Countless eons ago, the Collector (who shall be referred to as Cole for ease) came into existence to a group of Collectors. At some point, he was brought along to observe and participate in the collecting of a new planet as part of his training to be a proper Collector...

Amongst the creatures they set out to collect, they came across huge, powerful beings known as the titans whose magic, curiously, made them resistant to the Collectors’ magic. Desiring to collect such powerful creatures, they empowered and created the Titan Trappers, who would ideally trap and pin down the Titans long enough to actually collect them.

Practically though, the Titan’s magic proved too strong of a counter to the attempt to collect them, so while the adult Collectors tried to figure out how to preserve the adult Titans, Cole was sent out with the task of collecting the much weaker - and thus easier to collect - baby Titans.

However, instead of preserving them, Cole wound up playing and having so much fun with his unexpected new friends that he went to the other Collectors to argue for his new friends to stay UNcollected and UNpreserved. Aka going going directly against the “Collector creed.”

But rather than punishing Cole for deviating from their book of conduct and beliefs, the adult Collectors took outrage at the Titans who had “meddled” in their affairs and “corrupted” their poor, innocent, rule-following child.

To the adult Collectors, their precious Cole could not have come up with such heretical ideas on his own. Surely he could not have fallen into such a transgression against everything the group is meant to stand for out of his own free will.

No, it must have been the influence of the Titans and their horrific magic, and as decreed in the book of the Collectors, these meddlers in personal affairs MUST be eradicated. Thank goodness they caught this in time and prevented their precious Cole from forsaking their family and everything they believed in.

As for the demons who dared try to “corrupt” their child and by extension the rest of the Collectors, the the stars would descend from the heavens above to strike the world below in fiery judgement - a world which would be immolated as part of the efforts to prevent any swaying away from the truth that they all follow and have been teaching Cole to follow.

In other words, sounds an awful lot like a Puritan colonist getting so swept up in the fervor of burning witches at the stake as their interpretation of the Bible decreed - so swept up that they cannot accept a loved one’s true self could deviate so far from the norms of society and blames such deviancy on witches and demons, amiright?

#the owl house #the owl house spoilers #the owl house theory #TOH theory #TOH spoilers #the collector #the Titan #toh speculation #toh collector

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crisiscutie · 2 months

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pls more headcanons on yandere father sephiroth

Let see what happens if darling strayed further from her set path than Sephiroth would have preferred... Yandere Musings here.

Content Warning: Slight NSFW. Emotional abuse. Yandere Sephiroth. Confinement. Brainwashing. Unhealthy and unsettling family dynamics. Rebirth spoilers.

You were sent by Sephiroth to conquer this strange, hidden world and merge it with his other dominions.

You got into a fight not long after your arrival. But your enemy talked you down and proposed an alliance to stop your father. You really hated the idea of betraying him, but this is necessary to find out who you really are.

You joined a group of adventurers looking to stop the energy of their world from being drained.

Sephiroth was closely observing your mission, but he was briefly distracted by other multiversal anomalies. Yet once he sensed you slipping away, he wasted no time in trying to reestablish his link to you.

His velvety, fatherly voice resonated in your head. "Sweet girl, have you done what I asked?" He said.

It was extremely difficult, but you've managed to ignore him.. Even with him saying those two special words.

He reached out again, this time his velvety voice being a mixture of a cold demand and a fierce warning. "Darling." Ugh, you could just feel him digging into your mind, scrounging whatever information he could get.

"Go away!" You said, shaking your head. You were able to expel him from your mind this time, but for how long? You already sensed his frown searing into your very soul, even when he's not near you.

Sephiroth's whispers quickly caught up to you and your new group of friends in no time. Despite your attempts to teach your friends about them, panic consumed them, and the whispers mercilessly picked them off, one by one.

Your will to fight vanished completely when one whisper transformed into your beloved father, wearing his traditional, malicious smirk. This smirk, usually reserved for his enemies and other lesser beings, grew wider upon seeing you.

Sephiroth made this massacre last a little longer. It'd help you truly understand the gravity of your defiance.

Tears welled up in your eyes just when he carried out the execution of the last human parasite - that damned boy who dared to steal his place.

You wanted to raise your blade and run it through Sephiroth, but something rooted you to the ground, making you tremble like hell and seem like that hapless, innocent girl that he always treated you as.

He menacingly approached you, blood still dripping from his Masamune. This transgression of yours cannot go unanswered.

He had grabbed your chin, his velvety words dripping with cruel fury as his face leaned in close, mere inches from yours.

"I gave you everything you needed. Wanted. And you repay me with this." He casually flicked the boy's blood off his blade, letting it stain the body of another one of your comrades.

"I'm sorry, Father! Please forgive me!" You broke down into his arms.

"You know I love you, don't you?" He said. You nodded in response.

"So you should know that I'm only doing this for your own good."

You became confused as he said those words and you looked back up at him. He wore the usual gentle, affectionate smile, but his slit eyes brimmed with rage.

Following that, he let out a chuckle and facepalmed when he had his epiphany.

Of course. You didn't fully understand what you were doing. You were only naturally indulging in a childish desire. He could only blame the boy who had tempted you away from your proper place.

Sephiroth hugged you and gave you a gentle head pat. "Sweet girl... I shall take you to a sacred place," he whispered.

He knew it was too early to introduce you to it, but he couldn't help himself this time.

"..a place where you'll learn just how much your father loves you!" His tone carried a twisted nostalgia as he cast a sleep spell on you, gently guiding your head to rest against his chest.

Later on, you found yourself confined within a pod, your face concealed while the rest of your body was bare. Tentacles coiled around you, piercing your flesh to inject corrupted essence into you. And a long metallic tube was connected to your stomach, channeling the energy of the last conquered world into you as well.

"Such power and beauty, just like your dear mother..." Sephiroth said.

The sight of you like this was so breathtaking. He was tempted to touch the pod, but refrained, as if it was too immaculate and sacred for his touch.

Your pleas and squirms went unnoticed as he was consumed by his twisted nostalgia.

"I must ensure that you retain your purity," he continued. "I cannot have you ruining it, especially with a mere human, can I?"

Your pleas ceased, and your squirming slowly subsided.

"You will become my sweet and obedient girl. One who will make me proud, and who will forever be by my side, and who will never hurt me," He seemed almost solemn for a second before he continued. "...I will protect you and your purity from everyone who would taint it. It will be for me, and me alone."

Game over! Try again? 👈

#sephiroth #ff7 sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #crisis cutie #ff7 #sephiroth x reader #yandere sephiroth #final fantasy x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere x y/n #yandere father sephiroth #yandere x darling #tw: emotional abuse #tw: confinement #tw yandere #tw: abuse

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