[theloversabovethelaw]

Laura: I will now torture you.

Travis: *while tied up* Do your worst.

Laura: You are a handsome and wonderful man.

Travis: Wait -

Laura: You are a good boy who cares for his family.

Travis: STOP -

Laura: You deserve to be loved and cherished for who you are.

Travis: I NEED A SAFE WORD

[pearlessance]

Overtime

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.

Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing

Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!

WC: 2k

[masterlist] [AO3]

Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age. 

Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes. 

He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set. 

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."

thank you for reading, i love you!!!

[groovyangelkisses]

it always feels like pope’s in your stomach when you’re his girl. the memory of his cock stuffing his way into your cunt isn’t something you can usually shake.

it’s similar to the feeling of watching his large, bulky frame bend over to pick something up off the couch and seeing a sliver of his toned back when his shirt rides up. a deep twist, almost like hunger… an empty tummy when you should be satiated.

he was in your guts about 2 hours ago but still… the slow grind, pulsing palms mashing against each other and spreading heat and want and the heady scent of yearning.

when he lifts back up he turns to look at you in surprise, “ya alright?” his flighty eyes drag across you & then the room awkwardly– he can practically feel the heat and pulsing of your belly from where he stands.

vascular arms, tight t-shirt, broad shoulders cutting through the air as he straightens up. your hand presses to your stomach as your half lidded eyes take him in.

press, press, press. but nothing mirrors the sleeve of you cradling his cock closer & closer into your stomach.

depraved, you shake your head and whisper “wanna feel you again.” “n-now?” “now, please.” “b-i… what if you’re still sore?” “don’t care andrew, please now.”

it doesn’t take long for him to decide, especially not when he sees your smaller palm pressing into your stomach in thrusts; mirroring the rhythm he had you in this morning.

scooping you up like an angry bull, breathing heavy through his nose as he walks you into the bedroom and lays you out for the second time this afternoon.

[yeollie-plz]

Dead Girl Walking

Titus Danforth x F! Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Synopsis: You're forced into your worst nightmare, a loveless marriage with an assumed psychopath. But maybe it's not all bad.

Warnings: forced marriage, age gap, mentions of murder, mentions of cults, mentions of Satan, virgin Titus, Titus is borderline stalkerish, sub! Titus, dom! reader, masturbating in front of someone, p in v! sex, unprotected sex, not much foreplay, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, marking, panty sniffing, crying from pleasure, pet names, blood

Gif credits to owners!

You were fucked. You were so totally fucked.

Not only was your father marrying you off like some cattle to repay a debt, but he was marrying you off to Titus Danforth no less.

Titus Danforth, who around the high council and other members of the cult was known as a notorious psychopath. Okay well everyone in the high council was a psychopath, but there was something else about Titus.

But that night you stood in front of him, in a blood red dress. As red as the blood oath you took tying you to a man twice your age. A man you hardly knew, all so your father didn't explode. Literally.

Now he sits on the bed of his room, you stood almost as far away from him as possible as his eyes watch you. You aren't sure if he's contemplating his next move or watching to make sure you're not going to run.

"You don't have to be scared, you know." He finally speaks. You don't respond, only scoff at his statement.

"You don't." He reaffirms.

At that you turn, finally looking at him. His hands are sitting in his lap, turning into each other as if he was anxious. Your eyebrows furrow at his movements, but he doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't react.

"We both grew up with all of this, Titus, you know that isn't true. Safety is a falsehood."

"It isn't a falsehood, I can keep you safe." Another scoff.

"You can't even keep yourself safe, not really." He wants to fight your words, but he knows you are right.

He stands, moving slowly towards you. As if you would cower from him if he moved any faster.

"We don't have to do this, though." You shock him by speaking, motioning between the two of you as you do.

"Do what? Talk?"

"No, we don't have to create all this tension between us. I know that both of us didn't want this union but-"

Titus cuts you off, "I wanted this union."

Your jaw almost drops open. "What?"

"I wanted this." His voice is so monotone, almost clinical. Almost scary. "I asked for this."

"You what?"

"I suggested we wed. Your father owed us some debts and I wanted you."

You don't answer, you don't know how. So you just blink at him.

He steps closer.

"And now that I have you, we will come to an understanding."

"What understanding?" You look up at him, trying to analyze what he is thinking.

He licks his lips before speaking again, "I do not wish to force you to do anything or be something you are not. But I do have a few expectations, if not now then when you are comfortable."

"Expectations?"

"Maybe expectations is a poor choice of words. Let's say requests."

You hold back the sigh bubbling in your throat, "Okay, what are your requests?"

"I will share them all with you in time but for tonight I only have one. If you are willing." Your eyebrows raise at his words.

Titus does not let you respond, "I wish for us to have sex, I would like to know if I enjoy it."

If he would enjoy it? His choice of words is strange. It almost makes it sound as though he has never had sex before. Then you think back to the kiss at the wedding, how rough he was. How aggressive and long the whole display was. You thought it was some feral claiming thing, but now as Titus stands in front of you in the dim light of his ornate room you know the true intensity behind it. Titus Danforth is a virgin.

You do not laugh, you would never not with the reputation Titus has. Instead you form your words carefully, "You have never done it before?"

"No." That's it, just a flat out simple no.

A darkness sparks behind your eyes at his response. It is not like you wish to take Titus Danforth's virginity, but this? This is something to hold over his head.

"Alright." This quickness of your submission has Titus tilting his head at you. He knows it would never be that simple.

"But I have some requests as well then." There it is.

Titus's eyes darken as well, "Yes, Mrs. Danforth." He stands completely over you now, towering. His large body shields you from the light, encapsulating you in his darkness.

"I'm in charge tonight."

"I cannot promise that I will obey."

"I do not care. You will." Titus's Adams apple bobs. He does not speak again, only drops his head down to your level and takes your lips with his. This time the kiss is nothing like the one on the alter. It's slower, as if he is really tasting you.

When he pulls away he tries to read your face, searching for approval.

You do not give it, "Unzip my dress."

Titus listens instantly and unzips the back almost too flawlessly. He starts to push the fabric down your shoulders but you grab his hand, tutting warningly.

"I only said unzip it. Get on the bed."

He does. You saunter towards him slowly. Swaying your hips a bit more than usual, teasing him with every movement. Stopping at the edge of the bed you cock your head at him, the noticeable bulge in his pants finally catching your attention.

"Titus, honey I've barely even touched you." You talk to him as if he is a child and yet it doesn't make him angry, just want you more. What are you doing to the almighty Titus Danforth? And so easily too.

"Do you wish for me to?"

"Yes." He breathes out.

"Prove it. Touch yourself in front of me."

Again, he follows your orders all too easily. Unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his legs eagerly along with his underwear. His member springs to life, bouncing against his stomach.

"What a shame, you have all this and never shared it with anyone." You tut at him again, running one nail down the underside of his hard cock. Titus shivers at the feeling, he swears he could finish right then and there.

"Go on." You nod your head at him. Slowly, almost tentatively, he wraps his fingers around his dick. Gripping it completely he starts to move his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never leave yours as he continues his motions.

He swallows, hard, sucking in a breath. You are not watching him, not like that, you are watching his face as it twists slightly in pleasure. Then you reach down under your skirts and pull your panties down your thighs. The teeny tiny black lacey piece of barely there fabric that your mom insisted you wear that morning.

They dangle from your index finger as if taunting Titus. He licks his lips at the sight, but never stops working his hand on his member. You toss them at him and they land perfectly onto his chest. He grabs them and lifts them to his nose and inhales deeply. He groans.

You bite your lip, your dominant demeanor almost dropping as you watch him slip into the intoxication of your scent.

"That's enough." You stop him. Hand stops moving instantly, he's a deer in the headlights as you slap his hand away from his dick. You lift your dress up your hips and straddle him. "My turn."

He nods quickly, desperately. His hands reach out to grab your hips to help you settle on top of him. Reaching in between the two of you, you grab his cock. You run the tip across your wet core, teasing the both of you.

Then without warning you sink onto his rock hard member and he whimpers, actually whimpers at the feeling. It just urges you forward, slowly grind your hips into his.

"Do you want to see all of me?" You ask, you were still in your stuffy dress and if you were honest you would love to feel him fully in this moment.

He nods and grabs the tulle, all but ripping it from your body. Now you are left with nothing but his shirt between the two of you. His eyes lock onto your boobs. Titus reaches forward and grabs one of them carefully, kneading it.

"You can manhandle me, you know?" You say.

"I thought you were in charge?" He asks.

"I am and I want you to use me." His eyes turn black at the permission and he sits up, teeth locking onto your neck. He bites hard, you know what he wants, to mark you.

"You're that possessive?" You want to giggle, but you bite it back.

"You have no idea." He bites again in another spot, then again. This time you gasp and look down at him. And as he looks back up at you, a drop of blood falls down his lips. He smiles at you and licks his lips clean, he moans.

"I want to fuck you." He says, no he whines.

"I already gave you permission."

So he does, he fucks up into you roughly. The thrusts continue as his face stays in your neck. He groans as he enters you particularly deeply.

Titus knows he's not going to last long, but at least he wants to make you feel good before he finishes. It's as if you can sense it as well because you grab his shoulder and push him back down onto the bed. You hover your body over his, kissing him deeply while grinding your hips into his.

Your clit grinds into his pelvis adding to your pleasure, as you use your husband below you. A hand stays on his chest to hold him down. You may have given the minute to be in charge, but there was no way that was ever going to last that long.

"You gonna cum for me Titus? Huh, wanna fill me up nice?" He gulps again and moans at your words.

"Tell me how much you wanna fill me up."

"I want to fill you up with my seed. I want to cum so that you-" And he stutters on his words, hips stuttering at the same time as his orgasm overcomes him.

He fills you with rope after rope of his cum. You would've thought he had never came before in his life. It doesn't send you over your edge, but the warmth that spreads across your body as he looses himself under you is worth it. Besides you have all night right?

Finally Titus starts to come down from his high, but you are unrelenting as you continue to work his softening dick inside of you. His fingers grip your hips tightly, leaving bruises in their wake. He whines at the feeling as a tear falls down his cheek at the pleasure.

You finally slow down your movements, but do not remove him from inside of you. Instead you lean down, face to face. You grab his chin and turn his head to the side. You run your tongue up his cheek taking the salty tear with you, blinking down at him below you. All he can do is stare back at you.

Titus Danforth was so fucked.

[madmusenavigator]

This was perfect.

[in-ky]

Making out with Andrew in the kitchen while the kids get ready for bed and you’re so needy and he’s so hard but then your kids ask for you from upstairs and you chuckle, having to break away from your heavy kiss. You have to go help the kids but you say to Andrew. “Once I’m done, I want your cock inside me, n’ I want you to fuck me till all I know is your name. Can you do that for me?” While kissing and nipping at his jaw and all he can do is whimper pathetically and nod before you leave to go see what your kids need.

[groovyangelkisses]

being titus' favorite cartgirl at the danforth golf course in the summer⋆˖°🏌🏼‍♀️⚘.˚⛳⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

mixing his gin tonic while he tugs on your ponytail and asks you who else you've served today. "were they nice? respectful?" "yes sir!" you chirp in response and he's smirking beneath his round glasses.

titus loves to publically toe the line, too. you're leaning over your cart to put some ice in his cup and he's using the tip of his five iron club to lift up your skirt in the slight breeze. tilting his head to see up your skirt, he looks pleased when you squeal and giggle. "just checking to see if you're in uniform, sweets"

the "uniform" being the danforth crested thong he slipped into your tip jar last week <3

[madmusenavigator]

omg writer... ilyvm

[iluvit212]

help

Kay I don't know what to do rn guys i have two unfinished works sitting in my drafts and I don't know which one to finish writing first so y'all can choose

What matches your freak the most rn

Stepdad!Jack/Reader -you go thru jacks phone and find lewd pics of u

Uncle!Pope/Reader -Pope is stealing your panties, after a while he needs more

Voting ended onJul 11

[madmusenavigator]

I NEED YOU TO WE NEED TO VOTE, HAVE YOU SEEN THESE? ARGHHH I SOUND LIKE A PSYCHO BUT PLEASEEE I NEED YOUU

[millermouth]

Kinktober requested, siren!reader x fisherman!joel x fisherman!tommy

summary: on a fishing trip meant to be a bonding trip for the brothers, joel and tommy come across something far darker in the waters. || smut MDNI 18+, dubcon because power imbalances, threesome, pinv, partial spitroasting, riding, m!recieving oral, no brotherly touching or incest, use of gag and bindings, I do mention physical characteristics of game!tommy (being blonde/fairer than joel), post outbreak, omitting some tags that would contain spoilers || a/n: omg! the amount of you who wanted siren!reader! genius! amazing! this was so so fun to write and also terrifying and I ended up changing this fic entirely cause I got too nervous from my original plan. please excuse the lack of editing, I was traveling and I felt a little out of the usual writing groove when I threw this baby together. But still! Hope you enjoy! wc: 3.7k

“Old fucker,” Tommy said, voice full of a grin as he tipped his drink toward his brother. “Can’t believe you still got the knees to haul yourself out here.”

The lake in front of them caught the last of the daylight like glass, purple and blue and still as stone. A thin mist curled over the surface, broken only by the soft click of Tommy’s beer can and the creak of his folding chair. The brothers sat shoulder to shoulder on the dock, boots planted wide, fishing lines stretching lazy into the water where the light died slow. The truck had been parked up the trail a ways, hard to get through the line of trees since they’d overgrown in the years since any campers came to this lake.

Joel smirked without looking up, eyes fixed on the soft ripple of his line. “Happenin’ to you too, I see. Got a few new grays since last time, brother.”

Tommy barked a laugh and brushed a hand through his hair like that might hide it. “That right? Guess we’re both fossils now.”

“Speak for yourself.” Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the can dangling loose between his fingers. Their guns were laid out a few feet away, forgotten for now, the edges of their packs slumped against the dock post. For the first time in weeks, neither of them looked like they expected trouble. Just two men, a cooler, and the sound of cicadas rising somewhere deep in the trees.

“Think we’ll find anything?” Joel asked after a while, low and thoughtful.

“Hell, she said this was the best spot,” Tommy replied, kicking at the wood beneath his boot. “Figure we’ll see what we can catch.”

The silence after stretched long as the sun sank behind the ridge, leaving the water the color of bruised glass. A faint breeze stirred, brushing against the reeds, the night feeling like it might actually be a relaxing one.

But then there was a sound.

Soft at first, almost too quiet to notice. It came from the far side of the lake, threading between the sigh of the wind and the creak of the dock. Almost like… a voice—high and aching, like something recalled from a dream. The kind of song that pressed against the back of your mind and made you ache without knowing why. Neither of them spoke as Joel’s head lifted, eyes narrowing toward the shimmer of the water, and Tommy’s hand brushed unconsciously toward the rifle at his side.

The song carried clearer now, sweet and strange, rippling through the twilight. It didn’t sound human. It didn’t sound…like anything either of the men had heard before. It was beautiful, and yet made the air feel heavy, as if it had been made for no other purpose than to lure. The melody wrapped around them like warm breath, threading through the woods around them, filling the spaces between their heartbeats until their muscles loosened and their minds drifted. Joel found himself stepping closer to the edge before realizing he had moved at all.

“...You hear that?” Tommy whispered.

Joel didn’t answer. He only stared at the dark water, the reflection of his face warping in the ripples, drawn forward as if something beneath it was calling him by name. Tommy couldn’t help himself as he did the same, his own features mirrored in the water below beside his brother’s.

Then the song stopped, and the cicadas ceased their droning beat, and the night seemed to pause.

Because a pair of eyes were staring back at Joel and Tommy from the water.

You

They were such decadent creatures, the pair of them—broad shouldered and built from sinew and sun, every inch of them gleaming with the kind of vitality that made your mouth water. Flesh and breath, muscle and pulse. You could taste the hum of their life, even from the depths where you lingered beneath the surface of water.

Who were you, born of salt and sorrow, to deny them the ache of their own desire? What cruelty it would be, to starve them of temptation when it was your very nature to provide it. Perhaps, just this once, you might sin a little.

Best not to play with your food, your motherling used to say. But tonight the moon hung low and heavy, and you were hungry for something sweeter than blood.

And so you slipped beneath the surface, scales whispering against one another, willing your form to change. Flesh where there had been silver armor, softness where there had been fin. You reshaped yourself into the image of their most secret longing, a reflection born of their own minds. When next you surfaced, the men were leaning over the edge of the dock, drawn by your song.

Their eyes found you, and they gasped—those beautiful, trembling sounds of awe that always came just before the end. They stumbled back, eyes widening as they took in your bare form.

You smiled as you climbed onto the wooden dock, the water sliding down from your hair to your neck in glittering ribbons, rivers cascading down desire spun flesh, pooling down around your palms. Your fingers were no longer webbed, your nails dull and harmless now, though the danger still thrummed beneath your skin. You were temptation, sculpted from every dream they’d dared not to speak of.

“What in Sam hell—” murmured the darker one as he sat back, the burlier of the two, voice deep and low, thick as molasses. His tongue dragged over the syllables like a hymn gone astray. You liked him best already.

“Joel— we should— we should—” stammered the fairer one, younger by the look of him, and just as lovely in his confusion.

You tilted your head, tasting the air, and let your voice spill soft as a tide, “Hello.”

It rolled through them like heat, left them trembling, sighing, undone. You watched their faces flush, the blood surging downward, watched want take root in their bodies. The hunger in you sang back.

Tonight, you thought, perhaps your mother would forgive you.

You moved toward them slowly, inching, the boards groaning under your crawling steps. The men did not move, only frozen, spellbound, watching the water drip from your hair, your mouth, the rise and fall of your supple breasts. Your skin shivered with need, pebbling everything, nipples hard under their stares. 

The darker one—Joel, the younger had called him, what a lovely name, really—sat rooted to the spot, as if he’d fallen back in his stupor. His jaw flexed once, trying to form words, but all that came was breath. You smiled, soft and patient, and placed a hand against his chest when you finally climbed on top of him. His heart thudded beneath your palm, wild and human and alive.

“Do not be afraid,” you whispered, though you wanted him to be. Fear tasted like salt and copper, so very close to love.

He didn’t resist when you seated yourself atop him, his hands hovering over your sides. The wood was cold and wet beneath him where it dripped off of you, his clothes clinging to his skin where your lap and his connected. You straddled him easily, knees pressing to his hips, your already slick skin sliding against his denim.

His eyes were every color of the woods around you: muddied brown, the gold of autumn, the blue of the water in which you came. He was so pretty. Your hands—gentle, remember to be gentle—came up to trace where hair sprouted around his jaw, over his lips. It tickled, and you let your instincts rule you, dipping your head to press your lips to the wiry hair there. 

The choice had you suddenly awoken by a molten need, your mouth soon finding his, connecting, melding, and he groaned, oh, oh, what a beautiful sound. The meeting of mouths was clumsy at first, his firm and dry against yours, but you softened him quickly, coaxed him open with your tongue. And his taste. Gods above, he was the most divine thing you’d ever tasted. Something bitter and aged, a hint of almost an oakiness you’d never felt on your tongue before. His hands came up without thought, gripping at your thighs, your waist, anchoring himself in the illusion of you.

You felt the hunger rise sharp and sudden between the two of you: an ache in your teeth, in your belly, in the place between your legs where your body thrummed with need. His was the same, though thick and pulsing beneath you, his throat vibrating with the prettiest sounds you wanted more of. And you realized then, you wanted to feed, yes, to drag him beneath and taste the life that burned inside him, but something else clawed higher. A deeper craving, an almost human hunger.

You broke the kiss only to breathe him in. His scent filled you, all earth, sweat, the faint tang of some thick drink on his lips. Your hips rolled forward on instinct again, and his breath hitched, his head tipping against the boards as he fully laid back, succumbing to your temptation. He was so warm beneath you, the heat of him seeping through the wet fabric, the hardness of his body pressing against you where you were undulating against him. His breath came rougher with each passing moment, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper, his hands nearly shaking where they held at your waist. You felt the pulse of him beneath you, the drum of a human heart that wanted and wanted and wanted.

You leaned forward, catching his mouth again, tasting the salt of sweat and the sweetness of desire. His lips parted under yours, pliant, hungrier now, less hesitant, his tongue meeting yours with a heat that made your skin tremble. You swallowed the sound he made, felt it vibrate through both of you like something alive.

The other one was still crouched, watching, his chest rising quick, pupils wide and dark as the deep. You unlatched from the man beneath you to turn your head just enough to see the other. His name was unknown, and yet somehow through you like a song half remembered. You reached out your hand toward him, fingers dripping with the water that still clung to you.

“Come,” you said softly.

He did. 

They always did.

He knelt beside you, close enough for the heat of his body to touch your arm. His eyes moved over you in disbelief, over your cold, bare breast and sopping hair, and then his eyes changed with need, then finally, surrender. When your hand found the back of his neck and drew him closer, he didn’t resist. His lips met yours, softer than his brother’s, still tentative, tasting of breath and rain. You kissed him until he forgot what he feared, until he sighed against you like a man sinking into a dream.

Joel’s hands were on you, on your chest made of softness against his thick calloused hands. So human in their make, as if he’d worked with them often. They cupped you, kneaded your skin until you were arching into them as your mouth opened fully for the other.

“Tommy, stop hoggin’ ‘er,” Joel said beneath you. Tommy, yes, Tommy. His tongue was too deep in your mouth to answer, and only released you when Joel pinched your nipples just hard enough to make you moan, saliva still stringing between your lips as you gasped for air.

“Holy shit,” Tommy moaned, his hand cupping the back of your head as you arched into the older one’s hands, a spark of heat zipping to your belly and into the core of your desire, “That feel good, don’t it, darlin’? Like the way my brother is touchin’ yer perky little tits, huh?”

What a nasty mouth on this one.

“Oh, she loves it,” Joel groaned, and when you turned to him, the hunger in your gaze startled him—too much, too much like your true form. He froze for a heartbeat before you smiled, catching his hands and bringing them back to your chest. You rolled your hips, grinding until he held on tighter, twisting and pulling at your breasts as you whimpered.

You reached for his belt, cursing the layers he wore—such ridiculous human contraptions, hiding the very thing you wanted most. Joel laughed under his breath and helped, unfastening the leather as his brother stripped beside you.

Tommy was standing now and halfway bare, his cock thick and glistening, a bead of pleasure pearled at the head. Your mouth watered. You leaned forward without thinking, lips parting around him.

His groan tore through the air as your tongue slid along him, the heat of his skin searing your mouth. The sound of it, wet and dirty, only stirred something deeper in you. You could have taken him whole, could have finished what instinct demanded of you—but not yet. You wanted to draw it out, to savor the taste, the power, the sheer animal delight of it all.

Because you were enjoying yourself. 

Joel’s hands didn’t stay idle long. They wandered from your chest down your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips as if trying to anchor you. His breath was heavy, hot and heavy, the sound of it trembling between want and restraint.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, “look at you.”

You hummed around Tommy’s length, the vibration pulling a shudder from his throat. He was gripping your hair now, guiding your rhythm, not too rough but enough to remind you that he wanted—no, needed, that was need—you to keep going. Joel’s touch slid lower, fingers grazing the wet heat between your legs, and you gasped around his brother, your moan sending a pulse through both of them.

Tommy’s hand flexed in your hair. “Bet she’s fuckin’ wet already,” he rasped, looking down at you with something between awe and greed. “She drippin’ all over your hand, brother?”

Joel only grunted in reply, eyes dark, lips parted. His fingers teased, spreading your lower lips, testing how ready you were. And as you looked down out of the corner of your eye, watching as his hand buried between your thighs, his brother’s cock buried in your mouth, it was almost holy in its depravity. You felt their eyes on you, one above and one below, their shared breath thick with heat and want.

When Joel finally pushed a thick, calloused finger inside, you arched, pulling off Tommy with a gasp. Your lips were swollen, chin wet with spit, the mess trailing down your chest in sticky streaks. Tommy groaned at the loss, his hand still tangled in your hair.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted, “Fuck. Yeah, yeah she’s ready, Jesus.” he was using his other hand to notch his cock against your entrance, the slick gushing around his finger and into his palm wetting the head of him as he pulled his finger away. 

You whined at the loss, and he only chuckled, “I know, I know. S’comin, baby, look at this, here you go—oh fuck—” he choked as his hand fell away and his cock caught around the ring of your velvet keep, and your eyes rolled back, mouth gaping open at the stretch of him. 

Obscene, heavy like the rest of him, and bigger than his brother beside you, he was nearly splitting you in half as you straddled over his lap. 

“Ohhh, ain’t that so good, sugar?” Joel groaned, eyes glued to where he was disappearing inside you, his mouth open, panting.

You were mewling and moaning, nearly sobbing as you landed full seated around his cock, your walls clenching and pulsing at the intrusion. 

Tommy’s hand in your hair tightened, turning your face to him, your mouth perfectly open for him to resume his assault of your wet, awaiting mouth. 

“Make her choke, Tommy. Gotta feel it. Wanna feel her clamp down,” Joel ground out through his teeth.

Tommy moved harder now, using your mouth without shame. His fingers dug into your scalp as he fucked your throat, cock dragging over your tongue and down deep, tightening skin of his balls slapping your chin over and over. Joel's hips rolled beneath you, meeting your bounce with steady thrusts, his pace relentless and rising.

There was no space or emptiness, one of them always inside you, filling your throat or your cunt, both thick and perfect, working in rhythm until you were nothing but sound and sensation.

The need in you was clawing, feral, gnashing its teeth against your ribs. You were caught between two hungers now—one human, one not—both desperate to consume, to be fed. The molten fire in your belly, the one of the human maybe you once were, back before you were cursed to be this thing, this river dweller, was rapidly glowing and churning. Your hips felt as if they were tightening, your throat filled so hard you were gagging, spit drooling from your mouth without thought. 

And the sounds. The sounds were the most depraved, the thing that made you cry out and gag and gasp around Tommy’s cock the most. Wet and slick and slapping, the men’s groans and grunts had your orgasm sending bursts of flames and starlight through your body, eyes burning with white light as your back bowed and you gripped his thighs. He felt your throat constrict as waves crashed through you, his cock tightening and pulsing in your throat until he was moaning like nothing you’d heard before, feeding you, filling your throat with his spend. 

You fell then, boneless, once Tommy released you. Joel was still moving beneath you, fucking up into your spent body like he couldn’t stop himself. His thick arms wrapped around you, banded with muscle, slick with sweat, and held you close. You gasped against his neck, lungs stuttering, spit and come sticking to your lips as you coughed through the mess. His coarse chest hair scraped your breasts, every breath from him pushing heat into your skin as he kept rutting, fast and deep. 

But as your thoughts came back to you, as the human need and hunger abated, you could smell it now. Nearly tasted it. Salt and copper, warm and close as you leaned into his neck. Your mouth watered before you even moved. You imagined the flesh giving way—soft, tender, wet and divine. You knew it would be sweet. You knew. And still, he whispered into your ear, gentle and filthy, calling you a dirty little thing, saying this was what you were made for. That no good girl takes two men at once, lets them use her like this. But you were his now. His to split open. His to fill.

He buried himself to the hilt one last time, your mouth opened, tongue peeking out to taste that beautiful, thick artery at the column of his neck, and he spilled into you, marking you from the inside.

But it was all fuzzy, all static in your ears, because that hunger in you, the creature that needed to consume, was licking at the sweat dripping down his throat, mixing with the river water, shining like a trail meant for your mouth to follow. And suddenly your jaw was tightening, the muscles in your face pulling as something sharp and old pressed against the inside of your mouth. Sharp teeth sprouted from your flat human-honed incisors, nails growing as the instinct flared to a bright impending doom.

You wanted to bite. 

Needed to.

How delicious his flesh would taste—

“Oh, no you don’t—” Tommy’s voice came from behind you, fast and close.

Your mouth was opening wide, teeth gleaming wet in the dark, no longer human, so so close to that divine flesh. And then you were being pulled off of Joel, warmth gone completely as something jammed between your jaws. Metal and leather and cold, it forced your mouth wide and locked it there. The noise that tore out of you was guttural, a half snarl, half scream, echoing off the water and sending ripples through the black surface.

You thrashed, hands flying to the straps, but Tommy was strong behind you, holding tight, forcing the buckle into place. Joel moved with a quick determination, reaching across the dock for the pack beside him. From it he pulled a length of rope, thick and coarse, and in a few swift motions he had it wound around you, binding your arms to your sides and your legs together as you were laid out on the dock, until you could do little more than writhe. The effort left him breathing hard, the sound of it rough in the night air.

“Got her,” he said, his voice low and strained.

You were breathing hard, fury sharpening your eyes to cold shards of glass as you watched them. They stayed like that for a long moment—both of them still bare skinned and spent from the struggle, their chests rising and falling in the damp air—too drained to move, too cautious to release their holds.

“Thought you could trick us that easy, huh?” Tommy muttered, his laugh short and disbelieving as he looked down at you from above. 

Joel let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh too, something more breath than voice. He was kneeling now, catching his breath, rubbing the sweat from his brow. “Dumb little thing thought she had us.” He clicked his tongue, then glanced over at his brother. “How ’bout we get her to the truck, see what her blood can do. Think that witch had been talkin’—says it burns out the sickness, turns the rot clean.”

Tommy huffed, tightening the binding around your head. “If that don’t do it, not sure what will. Could always sell her, though. Heard the Fireflies pay high for things like this. Hell, anyone with half a lab left would.”

You jerked at the way they spoke of you, the sound muffled behind the gag, but Joel only smirked.

“Say though…” he grunted, shifting beside you. You felt the movement, the betrayal of your own body, answering the feeling of this thick hand on you as he cupped your skin at your ribs—still trembling, still slick with the remnants of what they’d drawn out of you. “She sure was a hell of a ride, huh?”

Tommy barked a laugh, petting your wet hair, fingers dragging along your lip before pushing into your mouth. The open gag made it easy, his fingertips pressing down on your tongue like he was testing your reflex again, “Perks of the job, if you think about it.”

Joel stood, zipping his jeans, his eyes already on the treeline where the truck was parked.

“And listen,” he said, voice flat, “if it don’t go like we hope, we’ll just bring her back and throw her back in the lake.”

Tommy gave a dry snort as he kept inspecting your mouth. “Oh yeah. That’ll go real well.”

Joel paused. He looked down at you for a beat, unreadable.

“Or,” he said, tone easy, “we keep her.”

Tommy didn’t even hesitate.

 “Yeah,” he said, patting your cheek. “I like that idea better.”

[madmusenavigator]

Barely still standing. Jesus christ.

[chu16a-blog]

Severus Snape x Reader - Accidental Kiss

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Summary: Touch-starved Severus kisses you by accident while you are healing his scars on his face.

Part 2 : here

Accidental Kiss

The dungeon corridor was quiet in the way only the dungeons could be, a damp, echoing hush that pressed against the ears. Torchlight flickered along the stone, catching on the black of Severus Snape’s robes as he pushed open the door to his private chambers with more force than strictly necessary.

You followed a step behind him, fingers tightening around your wand when you finally saw his face properly.

Merlin.

Scratches marred his pale skin, thin red lines slashed across his cheekbone and temple, some dangerously close to his eye. His lower lip was split, dried blood dark against the sharp line of his mouth. One mark curved just beside his eye, angry and raw, as if whoever or whatever had done this had come far too close to blinding him.

“Sit,” you said, sharper than you intended.

He obeyed, stiffly, lowering himself into the chair by his desk. His black eyes flicked to you, then away again, jaw tightening.

“I am perfectly capable of treating myself,” he muttered.

You ignored that. You always did when he retreated into that tone, the one meant to keep the world at bay. You stepped closer, setting your bag down, heart pounding far harder than the situation alone warranted.

This was not the first time you had healed him. It was, however, the first time the wounds were on his face.

And far too close to his lips.

“Hold still,” you said more softly.

He scoffed. “I am not a child.”

I know, you thought. That’s the problem.

You raised your wand, hands steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. Healing spells were second nature to you, muscle memory and intent woven together. Still, this felt different. Intimate, somehow, in a way that made your chest ache.

Severus felt it too.

He could feel everything. The closeness, the faint warmth of your magic, the way you leaned in without hesitation. He fixed his gaze on a distant shelf, on a vial he desperately pretended was fascinating.

Get a grip, he told himself. This is absurd. She is merely doing her duty.

And yet.

Her breath brushed his cheek as she murmured the incantation, cool magic sinking into the first scratch. His shoulders went rigid.

Too close. She is far too close.

He had not been touched gently in years. Not without pain, not without expectation. Certainly not like this, careful and focused, your brow furrowed in concentration as if his wounds mattered.

As if he mattered.

You watched the cut fade beneath your spell, skin knitting together smoothly. Relief washed through you, followed by a nervous flutter when you realized just how close you were. His face was inches from yours, his features sharp and familiar and unreadable.

His eyes flicked to you then, dark and intense.

You froze.

“I need to heal the ones near your eye,” you said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “If you can just… look at me.”

He inhaled sharply, then did as you asked.

Big mistake.

Do not look at her, his mind screamed uselessly, even as his gaze locked onto yours. Your eyes were gentle, concerned, so achingly kind it made something twist painfully in his chest.

He could feel his pulse racing, traitorous and loud. Merlin help him, he could see the faint curve of your lips, still pressed together in concentration.

Stop thinking about her mouth.

You lifted your hand, fingers hovering near his temple to steady him. You hesitated, then gently rested your fingertips against his skin.

He nearly lost his composure entirely.

The contact was light, barely there, yet it sent a shock through him. He held his breath, terrified that if he exhaled he would do something catastrophically foolish.

You healed the scratch near his eye, then another along his cheek. Each spell brought you closer to his mouth.

You noticed his tension then, the way his hands curled into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

“Are you in pain?” you asked, worried.

“No,” he snapped, then winced. “I mean, no. Continue.”

You nodded, swallowing, and angled your wand toward his lips.

This one was delicate. You leaned in, focusing intently, aware of how close your faces were now. Your noses nearly brushed. You could see the faint scar at the corner of his mouth, the one you had noticed a hundred times and never dared comment on.

Severus could not look away.

Her lips, his mind whispered, traitorously. So close. Too close.

Your concentration faltered as you became acutely aware of his gaze, heavy and burning. You glanced up, breath catching when you realized just how intently he was watching you.

“Severus ?” you murmured.

That was the breaking point.

Something in him snapped, weeks of exhaustion, years of longing, the unbearable intimacy of this moment crashing together. Before he could stop himself, before his mind could reassert control, he leaned forward.

His lips brushed yours.

The kiss was brief, startled, unplanned, but undeniably real.

You froze, eyes wide, shock coursing through you. For half a second, the world seemed to stop.

Severus pulled back as if burned.

Merlin. What had he done.

“I,” he stammered, horror flooding his features. “I apologize. That was entirely inappropriate. I do not know what came over me. You must think me a complete fool, I assure you I never intended, that is, I would never presume, please understand, I—”

He was spiraling, words tumbling over each other in a rare, unguarded panic. He stood abruptly, pacing once, running a hand through his hair.

“I am deeply sorry. This will not happen again. I value your professionalism and your trust and I have jeopardized both and—”

“Severus.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“I will accept any consequences,” he continued tightly. “If you wish to leave, I understand. I should never have allowed myself to—”

You grabbed his robes and kissed him.

Harder this time.

It shut him up instantly.

His eyes widened in pure disbelief, body going completely still. You pulled back after a heartbeat, face burning, heart hammering so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

“Please,” you said softly. “Stop talking.”

He stared at you, stunned.

Silence stretched between you, thick and electric.

Then, clearing your throat, you lifted your wand again.

“You’re still bleeding,” you said, gesturing to his lip. “Sit down.”

He obeyed, dazed.

You resumed healing his wounds as if nothing had happened, though everything had. Your hands were steadier now, your magic warm and sure. His lip healed beneath your spell, skin smoothing perfectly.

Severus watched you with something dangerously close to awe.

She kissed me back, he thought faintly. Merlin help me.

When you finished, you stepped back, finally meeting his eyes.

“All done,” you said, shy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed hard, nodding.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

----

Do you want a part 2?

[madmusenavigator]

They are so cute and lovely!!

[callsign-arson]

So, I imagine that Soap is fucking RAMPANT for your pussy.

The first time that you get intimate with each other beyond making out, he immediately moves between your legs and says "ive wanted to know what ye taste like for so fuckin long, lass."

Anyway, he ends up cumming in his pants without any stimulation other than eating your pussy out.

I also imagine that he'll just randomly crave you throughout the day, come up behind you and whisper in your ear "I wanna stuff my tongue in yer cunt, baby."

How about that one time you go clothes shopping together and pick out a pair of tight leggings. As soon as you come out of the changing room, Johnny's eyes dart down to the very very obvious camel toe, and licks his lips.

Next thing you know, he's ushering you into the changing room, shoving the leggings down and bending you over. You can see him drop to his knees in the mirror and use his hands to spread your cheeks before diving in. You have to bite your hand to keep from moaning too loud.

Oh, also, he LOVES a nice healthy bush. If you even mention wanting to shave or wax it, he'll hide your razors and forbaid you from going to the appointment. He nearly sobs when you get away with it anyway.

"You smell so fucking good with the hair, dove. I don't know why in the hell you would want to get rid of it.. you've got such a pretty pussy."

Anyway, I love my pussy drunk Soap.

Forgot to mention, he totally mentions how good you taste and sound when he eats you out to his best mate Ghost.

Part 2 here

[ibelongtoseverussnape]

“You’re getting old, Sev, you’re losing your power in bed.”

“What a lie from the pits of hell, woman.” He answered as he organizing his potions cupboard that was over the stove, his back to you “I could’ve sworn I make you shake just like when we were prefects back in the day just this morning.”

“Now that’s a lie.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands rested on the stove, movements stopping and his back still to you “Seventeen years deep in marriage, four kids and seven grandkids deep and you wish to tell me now, that I’m so ‘getting old?’ Old where?”

You smile, knowing the rage baiting was working “I think I heard you in the bathroom this morning. What, baby, were you trying to get it up?”

He scoffed, smiled, then bursted out laughing. “You’re on for a joyride, my sweet.” He turned finally, heading to you

“I got some viagra for you in the cabinet-“ you laugh as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder “Severus put me down!”

“Oh, no, darling. I’ll show you what your old husband can still do.”

[madmusenavigator]

[liv2post]

Professor Yearner

(Cross-posted on AO3)

Summary: A one-shot of Severus Snape being an absolute yearner for you

~2k words

Cold. Intimidating. Surly. 

Those were the words commonly used to describe Severus Snape. 

So imagine one’s surprise when it was found out he was married. 

“What?” 

“You’re barkin’…”

“There’s no way anyone would marry that git.’

How could anyone marry, let alone tolerate someone with his personality? Could such a person really exist?

Well…yes.

You, his former classmate and someone he hadn’t reconnected with until ten years after graduation, had managed it. His friend, one of the few classmates at Hogwarts he tolerated, who had been there for his trials and triumphs, who still made time for him despite their nearly opposite schedules, managed to chip away at the ice and severity he projected towards those he was wary of. His mask. His protection.

And beneath it, he was a certified yearner.

It felt like an invisible, aching pull toward you when you were in the room that made his hands clench and unclench in desperation. And it drove him mad. 

His eyes would lock onto you like you were a crystal ball that could tell him all the secrets of the universe. They’d trace your face, your fingers, the curve of your clothed back, memorizing every inch of your being. The things he wanted to touch. Hold. Kiss.

But he never allowed himself the luxury so easily. That is to say, he never initiated. 

If you had ever come up behind him and wrapped your arms around him or placed a kiss on his cheek while he was making tea, then by all means, he would return it tenfold. But taking the initial step to begin with was something he never did. 

Severus had the lesson beaten, quite literally, into his head that men who showed vulnerability and a need for the softer things made them weak. Made them pathetic. That it didn’t make him a man. It was a different story with sex. Society perpetuated that demanding and taking it, as dubious as that was, attributed masculine value to him. Of course, he never exercised such brutish behavior, nor agreed with it. 

When it came to wanting your affections in general, however, the shame he had learned from a young age had always overpowered his want for it. He often suffered in silence, vibrating with the desire to swaddle you in his cloak-clad arms and litter your face and neck with kisses. So when you’d floo into his office to stay with him in the evenings and on the weekends, he felt he was forced to stand there and wait for you to give him that lovely smile, set your things down, and draw him into a hug and a kiss rather than approach you himself.

Then, it happened. 

A business excursion. 

You weren’t originally meant to go, but someone had fallen ill, and you were their substitute. You’d be gone for a week in Italy. Italy. A country where men were raised to be very demonstrative with their affections. Where you could, quite possibly, be stolen away from him by someone with well-groomed hair and sinful compliments. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was see you off and murmur words of encouragement to you before he would be officially deprived of your presence for seven gruelling days.

***

The shift was immediate. 

Severus was more curt to his colleagues and harsher in his classes, his frustration mounting with every day that passed. Dumbledore had assumed something had happened between the two of you, a disagreement or fight of some kind that left him more brooding than usual. When Severus was questioned on it and answered that you were to be away in a different country for a week, the two older staff members shared a knowing look of amusement. The man was merely missing you.

Every evening, by himself, he spent in front of the fireplace, a book he would attempt to read discarded in his lap, and his head propped up on his fist, staring into the flames. You being gone forced him to think about how many moments in the span of your relationship he had wasted when he could’ve pressed his lips to yours or when you had finished organizing a cabinet, and he could’ve turned you around and slipped his arms between yours and held you close. He would never tell you this, but he missed you so badly that by day two, he had enlarged a pillow to be your size, wrapped it with one of your cloaks you had left behind that smelled strongly of you, and spooned it at night during the entirety of your absence.

On the last day of your planned trip, he had spent the entire evening after his final class pacing about his office, unnecessarily rearranging books and decorations for the millionth time, anything to keep his mind off the impatience that ate at him like termites on wood. He was acting ridiculously, and he knew it. Surely, he was not this needy, that he wasn’t creating indents in the stone floors from how intensely agitated his footfalls were. But he was at his breaking point.

Damn propriety. He needed you.

When his floo crackled with green sparks, his head snapped toward the childed masonry. There were a few more firm pops, and suddenly, WHOOSH! Green fire erupted upwards for just a second before vanishing, and in its place stood you. 

It took him no longer than two seconds to cross the room. 

You stepped out of the floo, hardly having a moment to set your suitcase down and look for your partner, before you were wrapped in warm black cloth and a pair of lips pressed firmly against yours. 

You gasped against the kiss, taken aback by the abruptness of it until you realized it was Severus, but then your brain short-circuited further, that this was also Severus initiating. You had never minded that he didn’t, as he was always receptive to you, and his nature with most other people was more reserved, but this was still a pleasant surprise. 

His mouth moved against yours passionately, his movements desperate, yet devastatingly precise in how his lips molded against yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing your back and the other threading in your hair, keeping you right where he wanted for now. You melted cooperatively against him, a fact that greatly relieved Severus as you matched his mouth with pleasurable hums, arms looping around his neck. 

After a good minute or two, you just barely managed to separate from him to get a few gulps of much-needed air, pink-faced and panting the first syllable of his name before his mouth was back on yours, unwilling to separate for longer than even a moment. This time, while keeping his lips on you, his hands grabbed your waist and guided you hurriedly to the couch, where he hit the edge of the cushion and plopped down, dragging you with him, and manhandling your body to straddle his lap with your torso, pressing against his. 

You were stunned by this sudden bout of forwardness from him and subtly wondered if this would turn sexual at all, but his hands travelled no lower than your waist, and to your relief, as you were a bit tired and just wanted to relax despite missing him. 

You did your best to keep up with the way his mouth worked against yours, intoxicated by this desperate version of him that sought you without hesitation. You had noticed in the past the way he always seemed to wait for you to hug or kiss him, and not always easily; sometimes with great, visible restraint; his hands flexing at his sides were always the sign that he was trying very hard to contain the yearner in him he tried to hide deep down. But he wasn’t hiding it now. 

The next time you separated, it was he who eased you back by your shoulders. Both of you were practically heaving, pink in the face as you attempted to catch your breath. 

“That was a nice welcome home,” you chuckled breathlessly, cupping his face. It was an innocent statement, and really, just slipped out. Using humor to break the tension was always your go-to. However, it had the opposite effect.

Severus made an expression you could only label as him “clamming up.” His breath stilled, jaw tightening, and his eyes flicked down and away at some unknown point. It was the face he made when he was confronted over something he knew was his fault when the two of you argued. His throat bobbed a little, and his hands jumped from your shoulders to your waist with, you assumed, the intention of moving you off him.

Well, you weren’t going to have that.

Before he could apply any pressure, you caught him off guard and surged forward, pressing your body fully to his, your weight making him sink deeper back against the couch cushions as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. 

He froze.

“I missed you,” you had decidedly murmured into his ear, one arm resting on his shoulder, the other looping up so your fingers travelled up the base of his skull and scratched soothingly on his scalp, a move that never failed to make him relax. 

The tension in his body from his own self-doubt began to ease somewhat, his arms coming to hesitantly wrap around you once more.

“I thought about you every day,” you continued. “And uhm…I’m sorry if you missed any of your cloaks for the week.”

Severus found his voice again. “My cloaks?”

“Yes. I…I took one from your wardrobe before I left. Just to have at night.” You blushed furiously and added far more quietly. “It was awful not being able to feel you in the bed.”

Inside, he melted at the fact that you had missed him to such a degree. That the pull toward one another was very much reciprocated. He buried his nose into your hair, sighing and tightening his hold on you.

“I missed you as well. Your absence at night was…similarly torturous.”

“Oh? Did you do anything similar to what I did?” you asked jokingly. And yet, you had felt him flinch. It was subtle, but there. Enough to tell you the truth in place of his lack of response.

You began to lean back up. “Severus, if I go to your bedroom, will I find—” Your face met his shoulder again as your head was pressed unceremoniously back into place.

“Don’t,” Severus grunted, and you could feel the heat that blazed up his neck against your forehead. He was embarrassed enough as it is. “You already know. Just…stay here,” he beseeched quietly. “Please…”

“Of course,” you whispered, with a slight laugh. “At least until my knees go numb.”

You had meant it as a joke, but Severus took such things very seriously, especially if he intended to keep you pressed against him for as long as he could. He encouraged you to sit back a little before helping you move into a more comfortable position with you sitting sideways in his lap with your head still coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Your fingers played with his hand, bringing it up to your mouth and kissing his knuckles individually. 

“I know it was torturous for you,” you said quietly. “I know you have these…reservations when you want to love up on me physically. That you feel the need to wait until I do it to you.” You kissed the back of his palm and let his hand come to rest in your grasp. “And that’s alright, if it’s nerves…or you’re just self-conscious. I get it. I still love you all the same. As long as I never make you uncomfortable with my spontaneity—”

“You don’t,” Severus muttered against your hair, placing a soft kiss on your head. “You never do. Don’t ever stop. Otherwise…” 

He leaned his chin against your head. 

“I might go mad.”

[courteous-otter]

details! 👀

[softundermoonlight]

Texting Andrew Cody be like…

Bonus: texting Deran.

(Yes, I’m still in the middle of a heatwave. It’s 43 degrees outside so…a few more days before I open my computer to write my new story. Until then, let’s enjoy that.)

[filthyygirl1ogs]

heh :))

[unmarlou]

taking screenshots while on ft with sugar daddy!jack abbot to show ur friends who ur yachting for. telling him, oh my friend asked for your number, she said she’d be a sugar baby for you too! while giggling, curled up in his crisp white sheets, right at his side despite him having a california king. he just roll his eyes—his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed though—while his glasses sit on the tip of his nose, playing solitaire on his phone. “give her robby’s number, i’m closed off,” he mutters, taking just a second away from his game to reach over and smack your ass, making you squeal on purpose. “got my hands full already, don’t want anyone else, baby”

[ridgeflaw]

18+, MDNI (cw: soft femdom, pussy eating, puppy play)

andrew pope cody who opens car doors for you and will immediately sweep you up in a bridal carry when you drop a glass on the floor that shatters. who brings in all the groceries and wheels your luggage at the airport and pulls out your chair for you at restaurants. just endlessly chivalrous in that casual, dominant way men are expected to be with their partners. and then you get him into bed for the first time and it’s like a switch flips inside his brain because he’s on his belly between your legs and staring up at you with those big puppy dog eyes. begging without words to give him what he wants.

when you trail your fingers down your bare stomach, tease the waistband of your panties, he actually whines a little.

‘sorry, did you need something?’ you ask, pinching the fabric and letting it snap back against your skin.

you watch him swallow, a slow, painful-looking bob of his throat, before he says, ‘please, let me.’

you reach out and fix an absent curl on his head. ‘let you what, andrew? i can’t give you something unless i know what it is.’

andrew’s neck and shoulders are flushed warm and pink beneath his freckles, and the muscles in his ass clench for a second when he presses his hips into the mattress beneath him.

‘your pussy, please,’ he rasps, ‘let me eat your pussy.’

you hum, sliding your fingers over your cunt, feeling the warmth bleed through the fabric. there’s a little damp spot near your entrance. you rub it slowly with the pads of two fingers, then slip those same two fingers into andrew’s mouth.

‘only good boys get to eat my pussy,’ you say sweetly as he moans, sucking on your fingers. ‘have you been a good boy, andrew?’

he nods, hips jerking against the mattress.

you hum again, considering, and slip your fingers out of his mouth. you bring them back down and rub your cunt again, his spit mixing in with what’s already there, turning the fabric dark.

andrew is watching your fingers like a starved man, pupils blown so wide he couldn’t possibly miss a single detail.

‘i don’t know,’ you say, slipping your fingers into your panties, gasping a little when they glide over your wet clit, ‘my fingers feel really good. i might just rub myself until i come.’

‘no,’ andrew whines, eyebrows drawn together like he’s in acute distress, ‘no, please, i’ll make it so good for you, i will. i’ll make you come. please.’

you rub your clit in slow circles. ‘yeah? you gonna shove your tongue in my cunt, andrew?’

‘yes,’ he says emphatically, tracking your fingers like a predator with their prey.

you prop your foot on his shoulder, knee bending to spread yourself open. ‘you gonna lap at this wet pussy like a dog?’

‘yes,’ he says, and he’s almost panting like this, chest moving in time with his breath.

you slip your fingers out of your panties and slide them into his hair, tugging on his roots until his eyelashes flutter.

‘okay, puppy,’ you finally relent, ‘you can lick,’ and shove his face in your cunt.

andrew groans, inhaling the scent of your pussy like an aphrodisiac before going to town. tonguing and sucking through the fabric until it’s so wet it’s another color altogether. you help him along, rolling your hips up into his mouth and he seems to really like that, groans even louder and you can feel the vibration roll through you, rumbly against your clit.

he gets a hand beneath his chin to tug the gusset of your panties to the side, and licks deep between your folds, looking up at you when you make a noise, pulling off your clit with a soft, wet pop! then he does it again and again, flat dragging tongue that ends with a teasing suck at the top.

‘that taste good, puppy?’ you ask him.

andrew buries his face against you in response and wiggles his tongue all the way inside your hole.

‘mnn—fuck,’ you moan, cupping the back of andrew’s head as he starts to tongue-fuck your pussy, lick you from the inside.

you press your hips up, trying to get him impossibly deeper, and you might be suffocating him a little like this because his eyes roll back and he starts actively humping the bed.

‘oh, you like that?’ your voice a little high and reedy from your pleasure, ‘like when i use you like this?’

andrew moans deep into your cunt, only slipping out his tongue to suck on your clit. he’s sucks like he enjoys the feeling maybe more than you do, like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing with his mouth.

you tug the curls at the crown of his head. ‘mm, a good boy who likes being useful, wants to give me a reason to keep him around.’

andrew’s hips are continuously rolling now, thighs spread wide to drag his dick against the mattress, desperate noises muffled against your pussy.

‘you gonna let me keep you, puppy?’

andrew lets out an unintelligible noise and sucks on your clit firm enough that your hips jerk. it makes you stutter out a surprised laugh, delighted, as he goes back to softly licking you.

‘i can get you a handsome collar,’ you tell him, breathless, ‘with my name on it, of course, so everyone knows who you belong to.’

andrew’s eyes find yours and they’re mostly pupil, irises barely a thin ring that wraps around their circumference. you take a moment to enjoy how pussy-drunk he looks like this, save it in your memory.

‘you want that? you want to be my dog?’

he takes a single second to pull off your clit and rasp, ‘yes,’ and then doubles down on his efforts until intense pleasure is shooting up from your cunt into your belly.

you buy him a collar the very next day, hook a finger beneath it to drag him in for a filthy kiss.

‘my good boy,’ you murmur against his mouth, kissing him once, twice, ‘good just for me.’