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tobeholyistobeempty · 4 months ago

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joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it’s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

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progooner123 · 13 days ago

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Until the bed breaks (it does)

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: After a day full of teasing and playful torment, Bucky finally snaps while you’re sitting together on the couch, wearing something revealing. What starts as slow, deliberate teasing quickly explodes into a fierce and urgent need. He pins you down, kissing and caressing you with a rough hunger, then carries you to the bedroom where things escalate. The intensity breaks the bed, but neither of you care. also some fluff?

Warnings: 18+/ NSFW/ smut, established relationship, power dynamics (consensual), praise kink, degradation kink, edging, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex with tenderness, overstimulation, bed-breaking (literal), aftercare, fluff, mutual emotional connection, use of pet names, possessive language, p in v (unprotected)

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: I wrote this super fast and I’m also not good at writing smut . I’m just horny

You’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone like you’re not doing it on purpose, like you don’t know exactly what you're doing to him.

The thin silk camisole you’re wearing rides up just a little too high on your thighs. No bra. Just soft curves and bare skin, warm and glowing in the evening light. Every time you shift, the fabric clings in new places. Every time you stretch, it reveals more than it hides.

Bucky's been trying to focus on the movie, arms crossed, jaw tight. But he hasn’t turned his head toward the screen in over fifteen minutes. His eyes are locked on you tracking every little smirk, every not-so-innocent adjustment, every goddamn breath you take.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low. Dangerous.

You glance over, lips twitching with mock innocence. “Mmhm. Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. His sleeves rolled to his forearms, and that twitch in his jaw says he’s one second from snapping. You can feel it, the tension in the air tightening.

You shift again, this time more deliberately, letting one leg fall open just a little wider. The hem of your shirt creeps higher on your thigh. You don’t even look at him. That’s what finally breaks him.

He moves fast.

In a blur, the remote hits the floor. You let out a surprised gasp as he grabs your ankle and yanks you toward him, not rough but not gentle either, like he’s been holding back all day and he’s just now letting go.

His body is between your legs in a flash, palms on either side of your thighs, caging you in. His face is right there, hovering just inches from yours, his breath hot and shallow.

“I’ve been patient,” he growls, voice like gravel and thunder. “You’ve been testing me since this morning. Parading around like that, lookin’ at me like you don’t want me to snap.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you whisper, smiling.

His eyes narrow.

“Didn’t do anything, huh?” he echoes darkly.

He leans in, ghosting his lips over your jaw, then to your neck, barely brushing skin. You shiver. His metal hand slides up your bare thigh, cool and smooth, the touch so light it almost tickles. Teasing. Tormenting.

He doesn't kiss you. Not yet. Just stays there, breath hot, lips barely grazing your skin as he moves lower. Across your collarbone. Down the dip between your breasts. He drags his nose across the swell, not touching with anything else. Then lower, still not kissing, just hovering, making you feel every heartbeat, every breath, every second he’s not giving you what you want.

“You wanna tease me?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice nearly a growl. “You wanna act like this pretty little thing ain’t begging for me?”

You whimper, back arching. His hand wraps around your waist suddenly, pulling you tighter under him.

“Too bad,” he growls. “Now you wait.”

Then he stops.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss you. Just smirks, lips brushing your sternum like a dare.

And that, that makes you whine.

Your hips twitch up toward him and you finally whisper, desperate, “Please.”

That’s what does it.

His eyes darken like a switch got flipped. And then he snaps.

With a low growl, he grabs your face and kisses you hard, no more teasing. Tongue and teeth and need, like he’s starving for you. He presses you into the couch, grinding down between your legs, his hand already sliding beneath your shirt.

“You wanna tease me?” he pants against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He lifts you suddenly, like you weigh nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

“Bed,” you gasp.

He smirks, carrying you like he owns you. “Not before I make you beg.”

His lips ghost down your neck, painfully slow.

“You think it’s funny?” he murmurs against your skin. “Walkin’ around all day in that little outfit. Touchin’ me when you knew I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

You smile, smug. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb now.” His grip tightens on your thighs where you're straddling him. “You were grindin’ on me in the kitchen. Then that little show on the couch? You were askin’ for it.”

His mouth trails to your collarbone, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, lips just barely brushing, teasing you back. One hand slides under your shirt, palm rough, slow as he drags it up over your ribs.

"You’ve been a fuckin' brat all day."

You rock your hips forward, grinding down. “So do something about it.”

That’s what breaks him.

He growls, low and feral, and in one swift motion, grabs your ass and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, hands clinging to his shoulders as he carries you with purpose. His boots thunder down the hall. Kicking the door open.

You’re tossed onto the bed, the air ripped from your lungs with a sharp gasp and he’s on you like he’s starved. There’s no time to recover. No time to think. His mouth is everywhere, feverish and desperately kissing, biting, sucking like he’s trying to brand you. Across your chest, your stomach, the softest parts of your thighs. His teeth sink in just hard enough to leave a mark, to make you remember.

“Gonna make you pay for it,” he growls, voice thick with need, breath hot against your skin. His fingers hook into your panties and yank them down in one brutal pull, the elastic snapping at your hips. “Made me wait all fuckin’ day. Parade around like that, smilin’, actin’ all innocent? You knew exactly what you were doing. Now you come when I say. How I say. You understand me?”

You nod frantically, body trembling, eyes wide. “Yes, Bucky.”

He laughs, low and rough. It vibrates in his chest, against your bare skin. There’s a look in his eyes are wild, starved. He’s barely holding it together.

“Oh, baby…” His smile is all teeth. “You’re not fuckin’ ready for me.”

He kneels between your legs and there's no softness left in him. His hands shove your thighs open with zero patience, palms spanning the width of your legs like they were made to ruin you. He stares down, eyes flashing like a man possessed.

“You’re already soaked,” he mutters, like it’s an insult and a fucking gift. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “You’re drippin’, baby. Filthy little thing. What, you got off on makin’ me wait?”

His mouth crashes down like punishment.

One slow, flat lick that makes your hips buck. Then another this time heavier, hungrier. His tongue fucks into you, sloppy and deep, then slides up to your clit where he sucks hard, tongue flicking mercilessly.

You cry out, legs trembling, but his metal arm shoots across your hips and locks you down. He moans into your cunt, low and guttural, grinding his hips into the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping him from splitting open.

“You tease me just so I’ll break like this, huh?” he growls against you, voice raw and ruined. “You like gettin’ fucked like a toy?”

You nod through the gasps, back arching into his mouth. “Yes—yes, Bucky—”

He pulls back just long enough to slap the inside of your thigh. It’s sharp, stinging, and makes you jolt.

“Then fuckin’ take it. Keep those legs open. I didn’t say you could move.”

He drags two thick fingers through the mess between your legs, covered in slick and dripping heat. He groans when they come back soaked. “Goddamn. You’re fuckin’ obscene. I haven’t even started and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

And then he starts ruining you for real.

Two fingers slide inside, deep and curling, pressing against that spot that makes your vision go blurry. His mouth stays locked to your clit sucking, licking, working you with all the control of a man who’s completely lost his mind.

He doesn’t let you cum.

Not once.

Three times he pulls back, just as your legs start to shake, just as your orgasm starts to crest. You’re gasping, trembling, thighs clenching on nothing as he backs off with a cruel smirk.

“You don’t cum without my permission,” he growls. “Not after actin’ like that. Brats don’t get to finish when they want.”

By the fourth time, you’re crying. Not from pain but from the aching, burning need between your legs. From the cruel, delicious torment of being so close you can taste it.

And then he breaks you.

“You wanna cum?” he pants, voice wrecked, lips slick with you. “Then fuckin’ cum.”

His mouth clamps down, tongue flattening and flicking fast, and those thick fingers thrust in deep, relentless, hitting that spot so perfectly it makes you scream.

It’s not an orgasm.

It’s a full-body surrender.

You sob as you squirt, thighs trembling violently, back arching as white-hot pleasure explodes through you. It’s overwhelming, so intense you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

Bucky groans into your cunt, grinding into the mattress, tongue working you through it like a man possessed.

“Fuck yes,” he snarls, dark and proud. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Look at you. So fuckin’ messy for me.”

You’re still twitching, brain melting, when he climbs up your body. His pupils are blown wide, hair wild, breath ragged.

“You think I’m done?” he growls. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you so hard we’ll owe the neighbors an apology.”

He flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up into position.

“Ass up. Face down. That’s how brats get fucked.”

He yanks his pants down in one rough motion, cock springing free. Thick, hard, and already leaking.

He slams in with a guttural growl, thick and deep, splitting you open in one ruthless stroke that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

The bed jerks violently beneath you, the mattress creaking in protest, and you scream half from the shock of it, half from how fucking good it feels to be filled like this. Your fingers twist into the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto as he sets a brutal rhythm with no warning, no buildup. Just need.

Just hunger.

“Fuck, Bucky!” you gasp, the words punched out of you with every rough thrust.

There’s no mercy in him now. No teasing. No holding back. He’s fucking you like it’s been years. Like he’s trying to bury something in you. rage, lust, love. whatever it is, it’s all-consuming. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, wet and filthy, and the headboard slams the wall with every vicious snap of his hips.

One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arches for him, forcing you to take every thrust deeper, harder.

“You feel that?” he growls into your ear, voice shaking with how close he is to the edge. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me. You drive me insane, you brat. You make me lose control.”

His other palm lands on your ass, hard enough to leave a print. Once. Twice. The sting mixes with the pleasure until you’re gasping, a whimpering mess beneath him.

“You wanted this,” he snarls, fucking into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. “You fuckin’ begged for it all day with those looks. With that mouth.”

The wood beneath you groans.

And then crack.

The bedframe splits beneath the force of his thrusts, collapsing partially to the side with a loud creak of splintered wood. The mattress tilts, dragging both of you with it but he doesn’t stop. He just grabs your hips harder, uses the leverage, and keeps driving into you like a man possessed.

Neither of you care.

He’s gritting his teeth now, sweat dripping down his temples, his grip bruising. “You hear that?” he pants. “That’s what happens when you get me fuckin’ feral.”

You’re gone. Absolutely ruined. Words are nothing but static in your head. Just moans and gasps and half-sobbed praises that tumble from your lips like prayers.

And he loves it.

He leans forward, his chest pressed to your back, the heat of him wrapping around you, caging you in.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls, his voice ragged and cracking with need.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yours,” you cry, wrecked and breathless. “Yours, Bucky—only yours—”

That’s it. That’s the final spark.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stays, his entire body shaking as he spills into you, forehead pressed to your spine, breath stuttering against your skin.

He groans, low and wrecked, and you feel his body lock up behind you. shoulders taut, thighs trembling, one last thrust grinding so deep inside it knocks another moan from your throat as you cum, hard.

Then stillness.

You collapse together in a tangled heap, both of you gasping for breath, the broken bed tilted beneath you, the air thick with heat and sweat and the scent of sex.

He’s still inside you, softening slowly, one hand still wrapped in your hair as the other slides gently up your back. His voice comes soft now. Barely a whisper.

“Good girl. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You hum weakly, eyes fluttering closed, cheek pressed to the sheets. Your thighs are still twitching. Your body feels like it’s glowing and unraveling all at once.

He pulls out with a soft groan, cum dripping out of you. He sits back on his heels. You hear the rip of a tissue, the soft rustle of movement, and then warm hands are on you again, gentle this time. Wiping you clean, kissing the sore curve of your ass, rubbing soft circles into your hips like he’s trying to bring you back to earth.

You peek over your shoulder at him, dazed.

“You okay?” he murmurs, eyes suddenly soft, brushing hair from your face.

You nod, smiling hazy and slow.

“I’m amazing,” you breathe. “And sore. And ruined.”

His grin is pure trouble.

“Good. That was the goal.”

Then you feel him laugh.

Not a cruel one this time it’s soft, breathless, warm against your shoulder. He rolls onto his side with a groan, the mattress tilting with the slant of the frame.

“I think we broke the damn bed,” he mumbles into your skin, lips pressed just beneath your shoulder blade.

You lift your head and look back, hair sticking to your damp cheeks. “We?”

He smirks, brushing your hair from your face. “Okay…I broke the bed.”

You both burst into laughter. It’s sleepy, messy, breathless joy. Your body still buzzes, but the tension is gone, wrung out of you completely.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. Slow. Gentle. So different from how he touched you just minutes ago.

His hand trails down your spine, soothing now, stroking gently. “Did so good for me,” he whispers. “Took it all like a fuckin’ champ.”

You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath. He shifts beneath you, maneuvering you both so you don’t roll into the slanted part of the mattress.

“New bed tomorrow,” he mutters.

“Maybe something reinforced?” you tease sleepily.

He pulls the blanket over both of you and sighs. “Or maybe we just start using the couch more.”

You giggle into his chest. “That’s where this all started.”

“Might as well finish what we started.” He kisses your forehead. “Just not tonight. Tonight you rest. I’ll hold you.”

And he does.

Strong arms wrapped around you, skin still warm, the air filled with the faint scent of sex. The chaos of before dissolves into comfort, into calm.

And despite the busted bed and the ache between your thighs, you’ve never felt more safe.

I haven't stopped laughing I REALLY DONT KNOW WHAT TO TITLE THIS... anyways, I hope you enjoyed! ^-^

I also wrote this really fast LIKEEE lightening fast, I was thinking with my kitty not my head. sorry if it doesn't make sense...idk.

#bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan

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loveinhawkins · 4 months ago

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Eddie could pretend that he only says it because fear and adrenaline—a lethal combination—have destroyed his brain to mouth filter. Which, sure, there’s something in that; all things considered, he’d say that’s a reasonable reaction to the whole cursed Hawkins experience.

But he knows it’s not just that. And he knows that if he really dug deep, he’d find exhilaration lurking underneath all the fear, and maybe that’s weird, but he can’t help it—can’t help thinking, as the RV speeds out of Forest Hills, God, if we’re all actually having fun now, imagine what we’d be like with a normal Spring Break.

He grabs a moment alone with Steve, sat in the field, and the conversation turns to confessions, stupid minor things like what they sing in the shower, but they’re on a tightrope nevertheless, one wrong move pitching them into morbid territory, and Eddie has a vested interest in avoiding that, if only so Steve doesn’t look so goddamn worried—

And so, studiously casual, Eddie admits that in the halcyon summer of ‘85, he started a club. At Steve’s confused look, he adds that he was the only member, because the club existed only in his head.

“Okay…” Steve says slowly. “What was the club?”

No matter what happens next, Eddie tells himself, at least it’s gotten Steve’s mind off recounting flambé supplies.

He takes a deep breath and says that the club of one was the Homosexuals Doomed by Steve Harrington’s Legs Society.

And Steve… laughs. Lies back in the grass, full-bodied, genuine, and Eddie’s heard cruel laughter, and he knows deep in his heart that this is not it.

He laughs too, relief soon giving way to joy. “You dick,” he says, beaming, “stop laughing! I just bared my soul, Harrington.”

Steve tries to speak several times, overcome with giggling. Eventually he gets out, “I hated that goddamn uniform,” which makes them both laugh harder, and then Steve’s sitting up, and he grabs onto Eddie’s wrist, and Eddie suddenly feels the heat of summer in the touch, and maybe finally dares to hope.

“But, Eddie,” Steve says—teasing and sincere all at once, Eddie can hear it—“you just made the shorts worthwhile.”

#finding joy and hope despite it all #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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jeonette · 6 days ago

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say you're mine - jjk 18+

in which Jungkook sees Y/n's ex getting a little too touchy and talkative for his liking. And he's not having any of it. So he takes her home and fucks her silly.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : possesive romance. jealous!koo

The bass thumped through the floor, vibrating up your legs as you stood near the drink table, laughing politely at something your ex just said.

He was too close. Leaning in like he used to. Fingers brushing your arm casually. Like he hadn’t completely fumbled you months ago.

You stepped back slightly—subtle, but enough.

But not enough for Jungkook.

He was across the room, drink in hand, eyes locked on the two of you. And he wasn’t smiling.

Jaw clenched. Chest rising slow and heavy. That unreadable look he always got when something inside him was burning. You knew it too well by now.

You offered a small smile when you caught his eye—trying to silently say It’s fine, I’m okay. But he was already moving.

He stalked across the room like gravity didn’t touch him, like the air parted just for his rage. You felt it before you saw it—his hand around your waist, pulling you close.

“Time to go,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and sharp. “Now.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not here. Don’t argue.”

You barely had time to register anything before he was steering you out the door, his grip never loosening. As soon as you hit the cold night air, he walked you straight to the car, opening the door like a gentleman—if only his fingers weren’t so tight on the handle.

The second he slid in beside you and shut the door, silence filled the space like smoke.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even start the car. His hands were on the wheel, knuckles white.

You shifted in your seat. “Koo—”

He turned to you slowly, and that was worse than yelling.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His voice was soft. Controlled. But his eyes were wild.

“I didn’t—”

“You let him touch you,” he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. “You laughed.”

“He was being friendly,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

“Too friendly.”

You reached for his hand. “Are you jealous?”

He finally looked at you—and fuck, that look. He wasn’t just jealous. He was seething.

“No,” he said. “I’m pissed. And I’m hard.”

That shut you up.

“You’re mine,” he added quietly. “You let him talk to you like that, touch you like that? I don’t care if he’s your ex. I should remind you who you belong to.”

He started the car.

And you didn’t say a word the whole way home.

You didn’t even remember getting inside.

One moment he was slamming the door to the apartment shut behind you.

The next—your back hit the wall, hard, but safe. His hands everywhere.

“You don’t get it,” he breathed between kisses. “That fucking look on his face when he touched you? Like he still had something over me?”

He pulled back just enough to yank your top over your head, tossing it aside.

“He doesn’t know a goddamn thing about you. He didn’t even deserve to look at you.”

You gasped when his hands slipped under your skirt, dragging your panties down in one swift motion.

“He didn’t deserve to breathe next to you.”

His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees.

“But I do.”

And then he devoured you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishment—for every second that man got to stand next to you. For every look. Every word. Every breath he dared to take in your space.

You cried out his name—again and again—and each time only made him hungrier.

“Jungkook, please—”

He stood so fast it made your head spin. His lips shiny, chin slick. He wiped it with the back of his hand, staring down at you like he wanted to ruin you for good.

“Bed. Now.”

You scrambled backward, legs shaky, heart pounding.

He was already unbuttoning his jeans as he stalked after you.

When your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you in seconds.

“This body,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “This mouth. These fucking eyes. They’re all mine.”

His cock quickly being set free, slamming in hard, and you gasped—nails raking down his back.

“Tell me.”

You could barely breathe. “I’m—fuck, I’m yours, Koo.”

“That’s right.” He slammed into you again. “No one else gets you.”

“I didn’t want him—only you—”

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight—just enough to make your pulse race.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

You moaned. “I’m yours, Koo. Only yours.”

He growled against your skin, snapping his hips harder, deeper.

“You’re the only thing I care about,” he panted. “The only thing I’ll ever fucking protect like this. You don’t get it, baby. I’d burn the world down for you.”

Your vision blurred.

"Thought you were all giggly with him an hour ago, what happened now?" He slowed down, only to snap his hips harder into you without warning.

"Ohhhh my godddd, shit koo." You were starting to see stars at this point.

"Yeah? Right there? C'mon tell me. Does he fuck you like I do?" He practically growls.

"Nghh- Noo! S-hit soo big in me koo." Your words started to slur.

"Fucckk, yeah? Too big for you mama?" He teases.

"N-no, can take it."

He quickly stops and flips you over before you can comprehend what's happening.

Plunging into you again, this time he's animalistic.

"Shit, such a good girl, taking my dick like it's nothing." He groans out.

"Koo, so- close." You were able to make out.

"Yeah? Gonna cream my cock right now? Fucckkk- if you keep clenching like that I'm gonna nut in you princess." He picks up his pace, feeling you clench every milisecond.

"Wanna- Want youu to fill me up- ohh goddd."

"Yeah? Shit gonna give you want you want princess."

He kissed your tears away as he fucked you into the mattress, every movement raw and unrelenting.

“Shit kook—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he whispered. “Right here. While you’re mine.”

You shattered around him, moaning his name like a plea.

And when he followed—deep, hard, possessive—he wrapped both arms around you like a shield.

You were trembling when it was over.

Not from fear.

From everything he made you feel.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, and kissed your temple so softly it made your eyes sting.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it scares me.”

You buried your face in his neck.

“I love you too.”

His arms tightened.

“He won’t ever come near you again,” he murmured. “I promise.”

You smiled.

Because in Jungkook’s world— His promises were war.

a/n : low-key wayyy too terrified about posting this. I have not written a smut in a whileeeeee. Butttt lowkey fuckin w it?? [ insert laughing emoji cus my fuckass computer doesn't have one ] anywayyyy....hope you lovelies fuck w it as well! mwah mwah lmk what you guys thought hehe xx

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook ff #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts army

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jjmeii · 14 days ago

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♡ — older boyfriend toji ! who never leaves you out of his sight when he’s around; rough, calloused hands touching any part of you they can, pressing firmly on your shoulder as he guides you away from anything he deems dangerous, possessive as they grip your wrist whenever he craves your attention, violent as they dig into the nape of your neck, cradling your face when he buries deep inside your soaking cunt in the privacy of your bedroom.

your very own guard dog, and he’d gladly lay his useless, pathetic life down for you. he’ll kneel between your legs and feast on the saints table, sacrilege be damned, because he’s never had anything as soft as you, has never deserved it, should’ve never had it in the first place, and he’s going to do it right, he’s going to take care of you.

he’s terrified of what he is against you. how he holds your thighs apart as his tongue licks between your folds, and leaves bruises even when he doesn’t mean to, even when you’re begging for more, reassuring him you want this, harder, rougher, even as he takes and takes, and takes, sucking greedily on your sensitive clit, fingers plunging your tight hole, your broken moans filling the empty void in his chest, surrounding him entirely, irrevocably.

toji wants to get fucking lost in you. wants you to render him unable to return to himself, whatever semblance has survived after a thousand forsaken deaths. he wants to tell you he’s never lost a fight, but he’s never won a goddamn thing either. he’s old, much older than you, and shouldn’t you be running for the fucking mountains? you should want nothing to do with someone like him—if you knew what’s good for you. if you cared.

but you don’t. and toji’s never been a good person, not decent, not kind—hell, some days he’s barely even considered human. he’s not going to start now. he’s keeping you, you’re not going anywhere.

♡ — older boyfriend toji ! that comes home soaked in blood that’s not his own, not a scratch suffered, and growls at the sight of you, so pure, so clean, so . . . untouched by the big bad world out there, and all he does to make sure it will never reach you, his sweet, gentle girl.

but the monster within rages. he wants to get you dirty, wants to fucking defile you, make you understand even a fraction of what’s going on inside, how ugly it is, how hollow and abandoned. possess her, it roars. make her like us. like you.

toji, standing at six-feet-God only knows, and freakishly massive opposed to you, nears you like a wild beast starving and takes your mouth for his own, tongue ripping your lips apart, crimson arms hauling you against his chest then traveling down, hooking under your ass and lifting, close to him, closer, closer, until you are him and he is you, and still not nearly fucking enough—

your back slams against concrete, and then his big hand curves around the shape of your jaw, holding you steady as he plunders and steals and does not let you breathe, his scent strong, mixed; copper, sweat and something dark, much darker than the thought of human blood on your boyfriend’s skin. on you.

you don’t pull away, no matter how scared you are. he needs something from you, and you’re going to give it to him. of course you will. but he’s unrelenting and his grip hurts.

still, you endure.

“open,” he squeezes your cheeks together and spits in your mouth, tongue shoving back in, interlocking with yours filthily. “good girl,” he praises darkly, irises blown out, blacker than tar.

you dare a question when his kisses trail down your neck. “d-did something happen?”

his hold tightens, cock coming alive underneath you. a sinister smile is forming against your skin, cruel and punishing, full of irony and fear. he could never hurt you. there’s not an ounce of him that would truly allow such a thing.

“you,” he replies defenselessly. “you fucking did.”

#‧₊˚⊹﹕ 🐚 ࿐ miu writes.#jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk toji smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you

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waitforyrlove · 10 days ago

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it as was supossed to be a business talk on his yacht, but things took a turn.

tw. dom!rafe, yacht sex ??, slapping and all that stuff.

the yacht is massive. sleek. black like oil under the moonlight. it cuts through the water with a quiet authority, just like him.

you knew this meeting was going to spiral the second rafe cameron looked at you from across that long marble table, drink in one hand, blouse already undone like he hadn’t even tried to play it clean. he’s all sharp edges and money and menace, and you know that look in his eye. not business. not anymore.

“You came all this way for a contract?” he asks, voice rough, low. there’s amusement in it. something darker too. “Or was it for me?”

you should say it’s for the deal. for the power. for the merger.

but your legs cross under the table and you don’t answer fast enough.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, already standing. already coming around the table like this is his yacht, his world, and you’re just something to conquer in it.

he doesn’t ask permission. just presses in close behind you, warm hand wrapping around your jaw, tilting your head so your lips part on instinct. “All those boardrooms. all that power. but here?” his voice dips, lips brushing your ear, “you’re nothing here.”

you shouldn’t let him do this. you’re a fucking business woman who has limits.

but your back arches when he bends you over the table, cheek pressing to cold marble. the glass of whiskey he was drinking from clinks nearby, still sweating from the night air. the low thrum of music from the yacht’s speakers vibrates through your spine.

his hands are everywhere—pulling up your dress, pushing aside your panties. rings cold as they drag along your thighs, parting them with obscene ease.

“Look at you,” he mutters, kneeling behind you, breath hot as it ghosts over your soaked heat. “you’re fuckin’ dripping. all that power, and yet you’re still so fuckin’ needy for me.”

you gasp when his tongue meets your clit, slow at first, like a dare. his grip bruises your thighs as he holds you still, licking you like he owns you, like you’re not his equal, like you’re just some pretty little thing that stumbled into his world.

you try to stifle a moan. he slaps your thigh for it, sharp and fast.

“Don’t hold back now,” rafe growls. “let them hear you. let the whole fuckin’ marina know who’s making you fall apart.”

you can’t breathe. can’t think. his mouth is relentless, tongue fucking into you, lips sucking on your clit, and it’s too much—too hot—too filthy on this goddamn yacht with the city lights glinting off the water and his name in your mouth like a prayer.

you come undone with a cry, legs trembling, core pulsing around nothing, and still—he doesn’t stop. licks you through it, eats you like he’s starving.

when he finally pulls back, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“Deal’s off,” he says.

you blink, dizzy. “What?”

“Don’t need a contract to own you.”

and when he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down, you don’t protest.

not when he pins your wrists behind your back.

not when he fucks you like the deal already belonged to him.

not when you moan his name so loud the whole damn harbor hears it.

he’s already inside you before your mind catches up.

your legs are shaking, wrists pinned behind your back with one hand like you’re nothing more than a plaything he’s decided to ruin. and rafe? he doesn’t go slow. he doesn’t ask. he thrusts into you like he’s got a point to prove—deep, rough, fast—and the obscene slap of skin echoes louder than the waves outside.

“Fuck—listen to that,” he grits out, hand tightening on your wrists, pulling you back to meet every thrust. “so fuckin’ wet for me. and you’re supposed to be what, my competition?”

you try to form a sentence. try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a moan. a messy, broken thing that makes his smirk stretch wider.

“Yeah, that’s what i thought.”

his other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head up so you’re forced to look at the reflection in the massive glass window in front of you. the city lights shimmer behind it, but all you can see is you—bent, ruined, flushed—his body behind yours like a shadow, like a monster made of silk and teeth.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-deep in your ear. “so pretty when you’re being used.”

he angles his hips just right, and suddenly your knees nearly give. your pussy clenches hard around him and he groans, sharp and low.

“Fuck—there it is,” he breathes, “right there, huh? that’s your spot, baby? this little pussy was made to take me.”

you’re babbling now. gasping, whining, begging for something you can’t even name. the stretch of him. the sting. the brutal pace. it’s too much and not enough, all at once.

“You gonna cum again on my cock?” he whispers, fucking you harder now, chasing it. “gonna let go like a good fuckin’ girl?”

your yes is barely a whisper, barely a sound at all, and it earns you a slap to the ass so sharp it echoes.

“Say it louder. let everyone know who this pussy belongs to.”

“You—fuck, rafe—it’s yours,” you cry, voice cracking, thighs trembling. “all yours.”

that’s all he needed. he drives into you harder, rougher, and suddenly you’re tipping over, cumming around him with a scream, body arching, legs giving out—but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow. not even when you twitch and whimper and beg.

“Too much?” he taunts, breath hot on your neck. “nah. i think you can take it.”

he keeps fucking you through it, and you don’t even know what’s real anymore. only that his name is the only thing in your mouth. only that his hands feel like chains, and his cock feels like heaven. only that you’d sign away every deal you’ve ever closed if it meant he’d keep breaking you like this.

and when he finally spills inside you, groaning your name like it’s the last thing he’ll ever say, you realize—

you didn’t just lose the deal.

you lost the whole game.

taglist: @fawnquette @et6rnalsun @mattscoquette @mattslolita @flouvela @bella-loveschris @lovingregulusblack @sarosfilms @annsx03 @eliana-4200 @wakeupitschrizz @emely9274 @sturniolossss @sturnslutz @sturnlsstuff @sweetcowboycollection @sturnioloangell @xoxoshanelle-blog @marrykisskilled @wastelandzella @inspiredangel

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— well tumblr, feels really good to be back! even feel a little corny writing this after a long time

#waitforyrlove #rafe obx 4 #obx 4 #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks rafe #rafe smut #rafe #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe fic #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 1 month ago

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─✧ 𝒞𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂 𝒐𝒓 𝑹𝒐𝒕 ✧═

Pairing: Retro!Mark Grayson x fReader

Warnings: None

Tags: Slow burn

Word Count: 2,007

Synopsis: You were the glossed-up, diamond-dripping queen of his empire—the only thing he ever treated gently in a world he tore to shreds. But lately? You’ve been feeling more like an afterthought than royalty. So after two many fights, you finally do what no one else in the multiverse dares: You leave.

You don’t slam the door.

You don’t scream.

You just roll your tiny suitcase across the marble floor like it’s a runway and you’re doing a final walkout in six-inch heels and Chanel gloss. And he—he—is standing there in the doorway like the apocalypse showed up early.

“Where the hell are you going?”

You adjust your sunglasses. Indoors. “Out.”

His jaw clenches. That stupid perfect jaw, carved like it was meant to be clenched. The goggles are still on his face even though he’s home now, but you can feel his eyes boring into you like lasers through your mini skirt.

“Out,” he repeats, voice low. Dangerous. “You’re not serious.”

You scoop your Pomeranian into one arm, brush a fleck of lint off your jacket. “Baby, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he says, low and cold, like the threat isn’t in his words but buried under them. “What are you even mad about?”

You pivot halfway, just enough to flash him a smile so sweet it curdles.

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe the fact that I haven’t seen you in eight days? Maybe the part where I had to Google whether you were dead or dismembered because you’re too busy playing Mortal Kombat with alternate versions of yourself to answer a damn text?”

He flinches. Just barely. But you catch it. And it gives you just enough juice to keep going.

“Or maybe,” you hum, adjusting your grip on your suitcase handle, “it’s the fact that the only person who touches me lately is my nail tech.”

His jaw tightens so hard it pops.

You step into the elevator like it’s a throne room. Gaze straight ahead. Not giving him the dignity of one last look. Not until—

“Stop.”

His voice hits you like a gunshot.

You turn, slowly.

He’s halfway to you. Gloved hands clenched at his sides, goggles still hiding everything but the rage. That seething, helpless, desperate fury that only ever comes out when you remind him you’re not his possession.

“You leave,” he says through his teeth, “and I’ll find you. Doesn’t matter where you go. Doesn’t matter who you’re with. You think someone else can give you what I can?”

You shrug. Innocent. Airy. Theatrical.

“I mean… maybe not the private jet,” you say, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “But, like, I don’t need that. I could be happy with something simple.”

He laughs. Short, bitter, and sharp. The goggles tilt as he shakes his head.

“Oh, sure. Something simple.” His tone is mocking at this point. “Like what? A two-bedroom condo in the suburbs? Sunday Target runs with some guy named Brad who drives a hybrid and calls you ‘babe’ while he loads organic groceries into the back of his Prius?”

Your smile widens. “Sounds kinda cute.”

His hands curl into fists.

You press on, basking in it now. “Maybe I’ll get a desk job. Something stable. Quiet. We’ll get a golden retriever. Host wine nights. I’ll get really into throw pillows.”

He steps forward. One slow, heavy footfall that makes the elevator creak.

“You. Wouldn’t. Last. A week.”

You giggle, like he’s complimented you. “You think I’m too high maintenance?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” he snaps. “You wake up in silk sheets. You don’t even own a microwave. You once cried because a hotel didn’t have truffle fries on the room service menu.”

“That was an emotionally vulnerable day,” you sniff, wounded. “And I missed lunch.”

He’s pacing now. Eyes blazing behind the goggles. Voice rising just enough to make the little dog in your arm tuck its ears.

“You don’t want ‘normal.’ You want worship. You want someone to carry your bags and buy you diamonds and treat you like a goddamn princess every minute of the day.”

You tilt your head, batting your lashes. “And yet here I am—unloved, underfucked, and walking out the door.”

The elevator shudders when he slams a hand against the wall.

You don’t flinch.

Because you know him. You built this man. And you’re the only thing in this universe he’d never lay a hand on—except to hold.

His voice is lower now. Hoarse.

“Tell me what you want.”

You meet his gaze, your own voice suddenly smaller. But not weak.

“Just you,” you whisper. “All of you. Not this half-assed, war-hungry ghost version that flies in and out like I’m some layover between battles.”

And that’s when you see it. The crack. Right behind the lenses. In his posture. In his chest. Like someone just took a crowbar to the armor and he didn’t even try to stop it.

His shoulders drop, just slightly. A breath punches out of him, and you can see it all now—the fear. The confusion. The twisted little knot of boyhood grief and grown man rage all tangled up behind those stupid silver goggles.

You’d feel bad for him, maybe. If it weren’t always you left holding the pieces.

“If you want me,” you say, soft but sure, “then act like it.”

You wait. He doesn’t move. So you nod. Just once. Like you’re sealing something off inside yourself.

Then you step back, gripping the handle of your suitcase before rolling it over the threshold of that elevator like it’s the closing shot of a music video.

“You’re not really going,” he says.

You pause. Turn just enough for him to see your beautiful lips curve upward—quiet, worn, and finally tired.

“I wasn’t really staying.”

The elevator doors begin to slide shut.

He lunges again—but it’s too late.

Too slow. It had to be intentional, didn’t?

The last thing you see is his silhouette.

Tall. Still. Lost.

The last thing he sees is you.

Gloss poppin’. Heels sharp. Gone.

—

TWO WEEKS LATER…

The walls are beige. The countertops? Granite. There’s a bowl of decorative lemons on the table and a man named Kevin humming while he washes wine glasses.

You’re in hell.

You sip from your oversized glass of “locally sourced” white wine and stare out the patio window of Kevin’s perfectly normal condo. It’s got a view of the community pool and a sad little grill he’s “meaning to use more often.” There’s an HOA newsletter on the fridge.

You’ve made a huge mistake.

Kevin walks up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist like he’s done it a million times (it’s been four days), and nuzzles into your hair.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’ve been thinking... maybe we could hit that couples’ painting class I told you about. You said you like art, right?”

You smile. The kind that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That sounds… sweet.”

Kill me, you think.

And outside? Just out of view? Hovering mid-air in a hoodie and not even a shirt?

Mark is watching. More wrecked than ever.

He’s been watching.

Every date.

Every dinner.

Every saccharine little handhold.

At first, he figured you'd come running back. Wait it out. Miss the lifestyle. Miss him.

But now?

You're wearing sundresses. Laughing at jokes. Acting like some housewife version of the woman he built a goddamn empire around.

It was driving him insane.

And tonight, you see him.

It’s subtle—a flicker of movement past the glass, a shadow too fast to be a bird. And you know. You feel it.

He’s here.

You straighten.

Fix your gloss.

And turn around like a woman with a mission.

“Kev, babe?”

He perks up immediately. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You straddle his lap with the type of pointed purpose that would be obvious to anyone but him. Slow. Sultry. Ridiculous.

His eyes go wide.

“Thought you said you wanted art,” you purr, cupping his face. “Wanna paint a memory?”

Outside?

Mark’s already punched through the side of the building.

CRASH.

The drywall explodes in a burst of dust and splinters, sending Kevin yelping backwards so fast the recliner tips over. Your Pomeranian screams like a tea kettle from his little bed in the corner.

You stay exactly where you are—legs crossed on the couch, unbothered.

“Oh,” you say casually, blowing gently on your wine. “You found me.”

Mark steps through the wreckage like he owns it. Sweats flapping. Hair tousled. Chest bare and dusted with drywall. He doesn’t look at Kevin. Doesn’t even acknowledge him.

Just stares at you.

“You done playing house?” he says, low.

You raise your glass. “You gonna pick up the tab for the wall?”

He’s at your side in a blink. Not touching—but close enough that the air between you goes electric.

“You think this is funny?”

You sip. “A little.”

Kevin, somehow still alive, makes a sound like he’s trying to find his spine. “Hey—what the hell is your problem, man?! You can’t just—”

Mark turns his head once.

One slow, deliberate look.

Kevin’s mouth snaps shut so fast his teeth click.

“Go take a walk,” Mark says without even looking at him again. “Take your lemons with you.”

Kevin doesn’t argue.

The door shuts behind him a second later, and now it’s just the two of you. Well—three, counting the dog, who is absolutely trembling under a decorative throw pillow.

Mark doesn’t sit. Doesn’t pace. Just stands there like he might self-combust.

“You wanted me here,” he says. “Didn’t you?”

You set your wine down. Smooth your skirt. Meet his eyes. “I wanted you to care.”

“I’ve always cared.”

“Then show it.” Silence hangs for a moment, and you’re looking at him with an expectation to deliver.

He doesn’t disappoint,

“I tore a guy’s face off last week because he used your name like he knew you.”

You smirk. So pretty.

“...hot.”

Mark’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like a threat disguised as one.

“Come home,” he says.

You lean back, slow and deliberate. Cross your legs. Rest an arm on the couch behind you like this was just a casual discussion.

“And what happens if I don’t?”

He takes one step forward. Still not touching. But close enough for you to feel the warmth rolling off his skin.

“Then I stay,” he says. “I’ll sit right here. Watch every night you kiss him like you mean it. Watch every fake little laugh. I’ll rot this whole building if I have to.”

You stare at him, a quiet moment passing before you feel your nostrils flare. You explode.

“NO!” Your hands fling up, all but levitating off the couch as you stomp your heel into the ground.

“NO, no, no, no, NO—what the actual hell, Mark?! That’s not what I wanted!”

His brows knit under the goggles. “You just said—”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID,” you screech, jumping to your feet and pacing in tiny rage laps. “But you’re supposed to be, like… mister tough guy!!” You whirl around and jab a finger into his bare chest. “CLAIM ME, DAMN IT! I’m not your ex, your coworker, your emotional support idiot—I’m the love of your psychotic little LIFE and you’re over here acting like I’m furniture you’re emotionally attached to!!”

He opens his mouth, but you barrel on before he can get anything out. “I left so you’d get MAD! So you’d come tear the sky apart looking for me! So you’d crash through a window and kiss me like you own me! Not sit in my ugly little rental like a depressed raccoon with boundary issues!”

“I broke the wall—”

“THAT’S BASELINE BEHAVIOR FOR YOU.”

Mark just stares at you. Then, slowly… that deranged little smile starts to stretch. “You wanted me to drag you back by your hair,” he says, low.

You throw your hands up. “YES!! Preferably onto a private jet, but I would’ve settled for a rooftop!”

He takes one step forward.

You step back.

He steps again.

You back up right into the arm of the couch—and stop.

“You really want that?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “You want… the worst of it?”

You swallow. “…Yes.”

Then his hands are on you.

#invincible #invincible fanfic #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #invincible show #variant mark grayson #retro invincible #retro mark #retro mark x reader #retro invincible x reader #variant mark x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n

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lilislegacy · 4 months ago

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So here’s the thing: Percy is my guy. I’ll defend him till the day I die. I adore everything about him, and you guys know that. So this post might shock you because I’m about to call the fuck out of him.

I am so SICK of receiving ask after ask after comment after ask about Annabeth being the only goddamn issue in their relationship, meanwhile Percy gets made out to be some saint. You want to call out Percabeth? You want to be all heroic and talk about bad behavior? Allow me to join you! Let’s fucking talk about it!

The number one thing people complain about in their relationship: Annabeth making jokes about his intelligence. But let’s actually talk about this: we all know Percy is extremely intelligent, but why are we so hellbent on denying it when he DOES act like an idiot most of the time? Like, why is Percy saying things like he can’t tie his shoes or phrasing stuff to Annabeth like an 8-year-old when he’s nearly a grown adult? And now tell me this. Why is it always on ANNABETH to translate and explain everything when we know Percy can figure stuff out for himself? Why is it always on ANNABETH to make the plan? Why is it always on ANNABETH to figure out how to fix things that Percy and Grover usually messed up?

After Wrath of the Triple Goddess, I spent so much time being angry at how Rick wrote Annabeth bossing Percy around. But then I took a step back and realized: it’s because he also writes Percy as always being so heavily reliant on Annabeth when she’s there. Instead of asking, “Why is Annabeth acting like his mom?” why isn’t anyone ever fucking asking, “Why does Annabeth feel like she HAS to act like his mom?” Because she doesn’t act that way with people like Thalia, Jason, or Reyna. So why is her boyfriend putting her in a position where she feels like she has to explain everything to him and tell him what to do?

You know, in The Demigod Diaries, Annabeth says she’s always known Percy isn’t dumb and that he’s actually very intelligent—but that he just ACTS super dumb. Then she says she thinks Percy does it just to annoy her. Annabeth has called Percy smart on several occasions—including one of my favorite moments in MoA where she calls him brilliant and kisses him—and yet she still makes those comments about his intelligence. So considering all that, let's think about it. Have you ever met someone who’s super smart but acts so dumb that they actually convince themselves they’re dumb? It’s infuriating. So imagine how that must feel to a daughter of Athena. And don’t you dare go, “Well, it’s because of Percy’s childhood and his abuse…” because Annabeth is ALSO fucked up from her childhood and suffered from abuse, but that doesn’t ever excuse HER, I guess. So why does Percy get a pass?

Oh right, I forgot: because we must always blame the woman for “nagging” and “being controlling.” Silly me for forgetting.

It’s ALWAYS “God Annabeth is so controlling all the time” and NEVER “how come Percy puts Annabeth in a position where she always HAS to take charge and keep things under control?” How come he low-key DOES act dumb and useless (and then complains about it) when they both know damn well he can be smart and resourceful when he wants to? Let me guess. “He’s insecure 😔😔.” YEAH, NO SHIT, SHERLOCK. So being insecure makes it all okay? Because Annabeth NEVER gets that benefit of the doubt. Or let me guess, “It’s Rick’s fault for writing him that way” okay cool, well then it’s ALSO Rick’s fault for writing Annabeth the way she is. You don’t get to pick and choose.

(Quick pause—does anyone else feel like Rick finally started writing Percy as a confident, secure, and assertive person in Heroes of Olympus—and found it so refreshing—only for Percy to regress back into his self-hating, insecure 12-year-old self again in the new books? Because it’s infuriating to me that he lost that character development. Anyway… resuming discussion.)

People are always so worried about Percy feeling inferior in their relationship, but never about Annabeth feeling frustrated when Percy doesn't act like the equally contributing partner that she knows he can be (and that he is a lot of the time). I mean, we know from her POV in MoA that Annabeth tends to feel like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders and has to figure things out for everyone else. And that she feels useless sometimes because everyone else, especially Percy, has all these amazing powers, and all Annabeth has to contribute is her knowledge. And yet, when she "shows off" with her intelligence, it's a "superiority complex?"

And another hot topic: Anti-Percabethers are always talking about Annabeth “bullying” and “physically abusing” Percy. (Despite him never feeling pain, flinching, or even expressing an ounce of discontent—in fact after she judo-flipped him, he laughed and smiled). And yet they never seem to want to talk about the fact that Percy has made Annabeth cry and been extremely insensitive to her on several occasions. And you wanna talk about physical violence? Let’s talk about how Sally, Paul, and Annabeth were all extremely nervous and tense when telling Percy that Sally was pregnant. You know why? It’s explained that they’re scared because his temper is brutal and they never know how he’s going to react—because he previously blew out the pipes of the entire apartment building when he got upset about something. How come everybody is SO worried about Annabeth playfully smacking his shoulder and him not caring, but NOBODY wants to talk about the fact that Annabeth is scared of making Percy mad because he can’t fucking control his temper or keep the world around him from blowing up? This is the guy who’s been kicked out of military schools for fighting. This is the guy who’s thrown his skateboard into a wall out of rage. This is the guy who got so mad at a goddess that he got pleasure out of torturing her. I’m not saying he’s wrong for any of that, but I am saying that Annabeth has never once done something like that.

Let’s talk about Piper’s perspective of him. I used to hate Piper because she was critical of Percy, but then I grew up. She is one of the few people who actually gives us an unbiased view of him, and you know what she says? She says she doesn’t know how Annabeth deals with Percy because Annabeth is constantly having to keep him under control. Annabeth keeps him from attacking/yelling at Leo after the canon incident. She has to diffuse his stupid, pointless “who’s is bigger” competition with Jason. She’s not there to keep him from pissing off Bacchus, and Percy rapidly escalates the situation and nearly screws them all over. I mean, in Wrath of the Triple Goddess, she had to tactfully handle him after Grover drank the strawberry potion because Percy was so angry that he was literally shaking (and btw Annabeth had to figure out the plan to fix everything that time, too). When she’s not there, Percy talks back to gods and superiors and gets everyone around him into bad situations with his temper and disobedience. Annabeth CONSTANTLY has to calm him down and keep him from losing his shit. Do you know how exhausting that must be??

So tell me—why is the blame ALWAYS on the woman here? Why is Percy made out to be some poor, abused wittle baby being picked on by big bad Annabeth? He’s a big boy. A grown man now, even. He is the most powerful demigod alive. He can fucking take care of himself, and so can Annabeth.

If you don’t want to like Percabeth? That’s fine. If you don’t want to like Annabeth? That’s fine. But STOP making it out as if Annabeth is the only one who causes problems in their relationship and Percy is completely innocent. Percy is just as bad—arguably worse, actually. Because despite everyone saying how bad Annabeth is to Percy, he never actually gets hurt, scared, or offended by her. Meanwhile, Annabeth HAS cried because of Percy’s words AND has been scared of him and his temper. So… what the FUCK?? How is Annabeth the one being villainized here??

Now, I can actively defend every single thing Percy has done. I love him for his flaws and they make him such a complex character. And I can do and say the same thing about Annabeth, but for some reason that’s “excusing bad behavior.” I love them both and think they are extraordinary people who’ve been dealt really crappy hands. They deal with things the best way that they can in the moment. But they BOTH mess up and hurt each other, and they BOTH have things to work on. They are very flawed characters, and we can point out and discuss those flaws while also being fond of those flaws because it makes them more realistic.

Now, some of you might be thinking, “Lili, I thought you loved Percy and Percabeth.” I do. I love them so much that I pretty much have a whole blog dedicated to them. But I don’t love them because I think they’re perfect. I love them because, despite being extremely flawed, they make each other better. They love each other unconditionally. They build each other up and protect each other in the darkest of times.

They are best friends. They are battle partners. They are lovers. They are warriors. They are heroes. They are EQUALS. But they are NOT perfect. Not even a little. And their ability to overcome and work through those imperfections together is what makes them so extraordinary.

And yet, when Percy plays dumb, it’s blamed on Rick’s bad writing and excused as him being insecure because of his abuse. When Annabeth calls him out for it and jokes about it, she gets called an awful person who doesn’t value him. And when Percy loses his temper and acts out and gets everyone into bad situations, he’s excused because he inherited Poseidon’s temper and he can’t help it. But when Annabeth is extremely prideful and acts like she’s smarter than other people (which she inherited from Athena) she’s a selfish bitch who thinks she’s better than anyone else?

How does that make any fucking sense?

If you want to criticize Percabeth, criticize both of them. But don’t keep doing this “selective reading” bullshit so you can see Annabeth as the villain when she spends half her life cleaning up Percy’s messes and taking care of him. Percy is extraordinary and I adore him, but he is not a “saint” for “dealing with Annabeth.” He is damn lucky to have her, just like she's damn lucky to have him.

Either be honest about both their flaws and cut it out with the double standards, or don’t bother pretending you care about the truth at all.

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celuere · 2 months ago

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„When are you planning on coming home? And don’t tell me you have to work overtime again.“, the hologram displaying your name flickered up with the sound of your voice. A Friday night and your wife was nowhere to be found, especially not in your shared bed like she promised you to. Only option left was to call her workplace.

Yet, Zani was strictly sat inside the security office of Averardo Vault. Pen in hand as she went through the stacks of paper burying her desk while she opened yet another can of her favorite energy drink, „I fear I have to disappoint you, my love… Boss called me just as I was about to clock out, something about a bunch of messages threatening to steal a certain echo of the Calamity Class that’s been stored in the Underground. I-”

„Zani, if you don’t put that goddamned energy drink down I will personally clock you out. Your last forte examination clearly advised you to start eating more healthy! Did you even touch the salad I packed up for you? Be honest.“, despite you separating several miles, the Montelli Employee couldn’t help but flinch slightly at your threat. But what kind of spouse doesn’t eat their wives homemade meals? Right. Bad ones. And Zani was anything but a bad spouse. „Of course, I did… the dressing was certainly delicious but I still need something to keep me up throughout my shift, darling…“

„You wouldn’t need these if you stopped agreeing to do overtime. What about the wife that‘s dreading her husband‘s return back home…? Freshly showered… with her hair and makeup done… wearing your favorite set of lingerie. You can’t possibly expect me to take care of myself again…“, your sultry voice echoed through the office, ringing in Zani‘s ears as she takes in your words like a starving wolf. Suddenly, her pants started to feel awfully tight and if she hates one thing more than doing overtime- it‘s being sexually frustrated during work. She can handle being tired while dragging herself through her workload but tired and her dick wanting to burst through her pants? She doesn’t get paid enough for this.

After moments of silence passed, you dared to speak up „Zani…? Are you still th-”

„I‘m coming home. I‘ll be there in 20.“, there was a certain roughness to edge of her voice, something that forced the ache between your legs to grow painfully intense.

„20…? D-Doesn’t it usually take you 40 minutes to get home from the Vault…? And the thieves-“

„It does. But you know what they always say. Energy drinks give you wings. And worry more about the bed instead of a bunch of idiots once I get home.“, her sentence was followed by a long beep.

She hung up.

Well, time to put said lingerie set on. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her, right?

#albathirsts #GAWD I NEED HER SO BAD #ZANI JENSKRBWNNELE #24 HOURS UNTIL I CAN STARE AT HER 24/7 #I need to be her housewife.#zani x reader #zani x fem!reader #wuthering waves #wuwa #wuthering waves x reader #x reader #mdni

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disillusionedllove · 11 months ago

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It means everything to me.

Summary: The team decides to play a truth or dare game to end the night after one of Tony’s parties. Throughout the game, reader felt eyes on her, but she doesn’t know that they came from a certain redhead. Would something grow between them once the night falls?

Warnings: G!P Nat, SMUT, hair-pulling, back shots against door, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, Nat jus bein rough n jealous, 18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,154

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Rogers!Reader

————♡————

Stark parties at the compound were so very often hosted, it could have been for any occasion. As long as Tony thought it was a good time to celebrate, he’d host a party for that night. Today just happened to be one of those nights.

You, your brother Steve, Bucky, and Wanda were sent out on a mission four days ago. You four came back to the compound and deemed the mission successful, which made Tony practically jump up and exclaim that he’d host a party for tonight for another mission gone well.

You were definitely a party person, the life of a party whether you were drunk or not. But goddamn? The last party the team hosted felt like yesterday to you, when it was actually last week, but that was still close enough right?

As of right now, you were getting ready for his party, as you take a quick glance at your phone, it was 5:45 and the party was at six, so you definitely had enough time to be ready by then. You set down your phone as you went straight to your closet, your makeup already done.

After rummaging through your dresses, it took you a few minutes before you came across your dress of the night and put it on. It was a backless maroon dress with a slit that went dangerously high on your upper thigh, the back of the dress incredibly accentuated your ass to which you appreciated.

Overall it was a great dress, who were you going to impress? You weren’t sure but you had an idea though. You strolled out of your closet and heard a knock echo through your bedroom, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You still had way more time you wondered as you went to open the door.

There stood Bucky clad in a dark blue suit, hand still raised in the air as if he was going to open the door. Regaining his composure instantly, he drops the hand and leans against your doorway.

“You clean up nice, Buck. Didn’t think you still knew how to groom yourself with all that time you were up in the ice.” You tease lightly as you step back from your door and heading over to your vanity, putting in shiny gold earrings to complement the red.

“Hey… Don’t get used to it though.” He acts slightly hurt before switching to a joking manner. “But do hurry up, doll. At this point the party will be waiting up on you.”

“I’m done, was just putting in earrings. Now cmon, I need a drink.” You slip on your red bottomed heels and brush past Bucky as you head down the corridor of the elevator, laughing slightly as he tries to catch up before the doors close.

As soon as the elevators open to where the party was being held, you went straight to the bar, in desperate need for a drink. Your eyes widen slightly before you smirk, realizing that Natasha had been put on bar duty.

Natasha was glammed up, hair curled down to her back, a long fitted emerald dress that showed off all her curves, it ran down to her knees and glimmered in the light. Her bright red lipstick complimenting it as she also has on some emerald earrings.

You approach the bar, surprised Natasha hadn’t caught sight of you yet, until you stood right in front of her eyes, smirking.

“Hey Nat, what got you doing bar duty tonight?” You lean against the bar counter, your arms crossed. The action making Natasha stare down at your breasts hungrily before she snaps her attention back onto you.

The thing was that you and Nat had this thing going on, where you’d both go back and forth with trying to flirt with each other. You never knew when exactly it started, Nat just started calling you pet names and being more touchy one day.

But what she didn’t know was that the game got real on your side. You didn’t know what changed but you started becoming more flustered with her advances and even started blushing, something you never did. Until you realized, you liked her.

It had come a shock to you at first but as time passed, you came to terms with it and just played along with Natasha. It wasn’t like she liked you back, you doubt it, hell she might even be cuddling it up with Bruce.

“Fella did me wrong.”

“You got a real weird taste when it comes to your people Nat.” You laugh as you sat upon one of the many stools in front of the counter.

“It’s not all bad, and my taste in people are quite immaculate if you asked me, Y/n” She raised an eyebrow as she prepared your usual whiskey neat, before sliding it over to you as you laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll catch you later, Red” You stood up, your whiskey in hand as you go out to the couches and plopped yourself right next to Sam.

————♡————

You had completely lost track of what time it was, the party was long over and the after party had just started.

You were sat in between Sam and Bucky with Tony on the far side of the couch. Across from you had been Bruce Natasha and Clint, while to the couch on the right of you was Wanda, Vision. The couch left of you consisted of Tony, Thor, and Steve.

The team was so drunk they could barely uphold their conversations with one another. Thats how bad it was, and it was embarrassing that you were especially drunk too.

Soon after, Tony stood up from his side of the couch and stepped forward while raising both of his arms. He proposed a game of truth or dare, refuse to do it, you take a shot. Your lips curled up into a smirk, you honestly couldn’t tell if you were too drunk or not but you did know that you wanted to play.

After hearing the majority of the team agree, Tony had prepared a line of shots, just enough for the first few people before starting off the game.

“Truth or dare, Capsicle.” Tony stared at Steve, a smug smirk planted on his face as he awaits Steves answer.

“Truth.”

“Is it true that Bucky was the cause of those “mosquito bites” when you came out to breakfast the other day?”

Bucky shifted in his seat at the mention of his name which made you shake in laughter as he playfully smacks your arm, catching the eye of Natasha.

“Yes.” Steve admitted, his face flushing a deep color of red as he leans back into the couch, before regaining his composure and picking his victim. “Wanda, Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” She raised an eyebrow as a slight smirk plays on her face.

“I dare you to give somebody in this room a lapdance. EXCEPT Vision.” Making Wanda widen her eyes slightly as she turns her head to look at Vision, to which he nods in confirmation, letting her know its alright.

Wanda stands from her seat, slightly surveying the area before her eyes land on Sam, she approaches you with a torturously slow walk as she pretends to walk to Sam, before snapping her head to you and finding her place on your lap.

Your eyes widen in shock as Tony tells Friday to dim the lights and play a song. You didn’t know what song it was, you were hyper focused with Wanda on your lap. You thought she was going to pick Sam, why you?

Across from you sat Natasha, you noticed she was fuming in her seat as she watched Wanda’s little show. Her knuckles turned white due to her deathly grip on the couch while a scowl was firmly planted on her face. If Natasha had been put into a cartoon, she would have definitely had smoke coming out of her ears.

Natasha was on her last straw when it came to the dance, all she wanted to do was stand up and rip Wanda off of you and take you for herself. As soon as she brushed away those thoughts, Wanda’s dance had already ended. But what she didn’t see was you sighing in relief after she retreated to her seat.

————♡————

You and the team got a few more rounds in and this round ended up having Natasha as the victim.

“Truth or dare, Natasha.” Clint said as he bites his cheek to compose himself for her answer.

“Dare, arrowboy.” She smirks as she turns her whole body to face Clint as he begins cackling.

“Swap clothes with the person you find most attractive in this room.” He grins, visibly proud at his dare.

Natasha stands wondering her next move as she looks towards Wanda, her best friend. “Just go for it, whats the worst that could happen.” Wanda says in her head while she subtly nods her head towards you.

Natasha thought it over once more before she strutted straight to you, her hips swaying as she walked, practically hypnotizing you. She held out a hand in your direction, her eyes meeting yours as they held an unspoken gentleness.

You took her hand as you lifted yourself up off the couch, you never realized how drunk you were until you were on your feet. You were slightly swaying as you tried to regain your balance, which was quick with the help of Natasha as she supported you with her other hand wrapped around your waist.

As you regained your balance, you noticed that you still were holding hands with her but you don’t find it in yourself to point it out. You move to take Natasha to another room nearby, her following behind you close by.

Once you both stumbled into an empty room, that was when you sobered up a little, but Natasha seemed drunker than ever.

“Are you sure you still want to do the dare? I could get Wanda to take you to your room.” You whisper, as you look up to meet Natashas gaze.

You saw something change in Natasha’s eyes, from a drunken look to what you think is hunger?

The emotions that were brewing up within Natasha during the lapdance burst out of her as she shoved you against the door of the room, trapping your body between her and the door.

“Nat!” You yelp, not expecting a reaction like this from Natasha.

“Ya know, I didn’t really like how Wanda was just grinding up on you..” She husks, her face inching towards yours as your gazes to each other never faltered. You can feel her hand hovering over your waist, soon stopping to rest there on the curve of your hips.

“But you wouldn’t really mind that would you, huh?” She smirked as she buried her head into your neck and kissing it slightly, leaving back bright red lipstick marks, she had also left some hickeys unbeknownst to you.

You sigh, leaning into her touch unknowingly and running your hands through her fiery hair before you pull her up gently and crash your lips onto hers.

Natasha’s lips were as soft like they looked, you could have honestly gotten obsessed with them right then and there. You deepened the kiss as one of your hands slid down to her waist to pull her impossibly closer.

You were so focused on Natasha’s lips kissing you that you didn’t feel a hard bulge pressing up against your upper thigh. But soon enough was when Natasha started getting slightly desperate, subtly grinding against you as you felt the bulge become more insistent.

That was when you pulled away, slightly concerned. “Are you sure, Nat? You’re drunker than I am.” You ask, your eyes flickering between hers and her lips.

“Yes baby, I’m sure. Plus I was at the bar handing out drinks, not downing shots with you and Wanda.” She whispered, her attitude rising with the added mention of Wanda. Her teeth grazing the skin of your neck as she nips at it before she pulls away entirely, making you whine.

“Awe detka, so desperate already? Did you get so desperate because of Wanda?” She snarled, as she flips you around by your hips, pushing your face into the door as she kept a deathly grip on you.

“Mphm! No, Nat. It’s all you.” Your voice is muffled against the door as she sternly keeps you pinned there. Your hands flat on the door to keep you stabilized as Natasha starts grinding her clothed bulge on you.

“Damn right it is.” She mumbled as she gave a harsh slap to your ass making you jolt forward into the door as you yelp. Before she continues grinding up on you.

Soon enough, Natasha reaches over to your front and over to your breasts as she gave them a quick squeeze before she trailed her hands to the straps of your dress. You peeled your hands away from the door to allow Natasha to practically rip the dress off of you.

The sight of you braless with a lacy red thong might as well make Natasha drool as her hands went straight to your ass, massaging the flesh and pulling a quiet whimper from you.

With quick efficiency, her dress was off in the blink of an eye, her boxers had an insanely large tent forming, to which you could already assume was by you.

She takes off her boxers as quickly as her dress as she positions herself behind you on the door. Leaning down, her hands find themselves on your waist as her lips find the shell of your ear, her cock just centimeters away from your dripping heat as her breasts press against your back.

“I can tell you want this as much as I do, detka. You’re practically leaking onto the floor.” She husks into your ear, she doesn’t wait for an answer as she stands up straight and slams her cock into your wet cunt making you press your cheek against the door as you moan out.

Natasha begins to pound herself into you, the sound of skin slapping, your moans, and Natasha’s grunts echo the quiet room as she ruts into your tight cunt.

“You’re so fucking tight, detka. Я не могу насытиться тобой. (I can’t get enough of you.)”She growls as she lifts her hand from your waist to pull at your hair, pulling you up to meet her front, her breasts brushing against your back once more as your back completely arches.

The new position allowed Natasha’s cock to thrust even deeper into your cunt, her thrusts were powerful, each movement drove you up the door trembling with pleasure.

She started pounding up into you at a more intense pace, making you moan in shock, the action making you push back against her cock. Her hand that wasn’t in your hair lifted from your hip, and came down on your ass once again, sending a hard slap to it as she massaged the flesh immediately after.

“Ah! Fuck!!” You cried, the pleasure was too much to even suppress your moans as you kept pushing your hips back to meet Natasha’s relentless pace. “Oh, please Nat!!” You scream as she drove into you.

“Nat, I’m gon..gonna cum, please can I cum.” You begged, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Natasha fucked you dumb.

“Go ahead and cum, baby.”

To which you complied, your release had been intense but yet so full of pleasure. You trembled at reaching your climax, but to your surprise. Natasha kept rutting her cock into you as her thrusts got more and more sloppy as the seconds passed, her grunts turning into whines.

“One more baby, just for me, c’mon. I know you’ve got another in you, please.” She pleaded as her thrusts grew more sloppier as she leaned her head down into your neck, placing delicate kisses on it as she tries to muffle her whimpers.

You give her a loud moan in response, the overstimulation soon turning into overwhelming pleasure as you feel your second orgasm of the night building up in your lower belly.

“Fuck..Im gonna cum detka. I can feel you clenching around me,” She babbled slightly, her red hair fluttering over the expanse of your back as she sets a faster pace for her relentless pounding, now nibbling on your neck to prevent her moans from spilling, her hand gliding in front of you as it frantically rubs at your clit.

“Fuck!!” “Cmon baby, cum, cum on my cock.” You and Natasha cried out as you reached your second climax of the night, your tight cunt clenching impossibly more around her shaft as your juices flow out of your pussy.

The action made Natasha cum directly after you, the clenching of your soft velvety walls around her dick made her burst her seed into your womb as she let out a loud moan into the juncture of your neck.

Natasha waited a minute before pulling out slowly, the overstimulation strong as she trembled slightly. She knew you were terribly overstimulated too with the way your legs were shaking.

She watched as the both of your combined juices leak out of your cunt, a little bit of it landing on the floor as she fingered it back into you, making you moan once more.

You rested your forehead against the door in front of you before slowly turning around to face Natasha, all while still leaning on the door. Natasha had always been a beautiful sight, especially now.

Her hair was slightly tousled up, her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red, her lips were smudged off of her lipstick, and her eyes held a deep softness and slight lust in them. You could always get lost in Natasha’s gorgeous eyes any day.

“Natasha, I just want to ask if this will mean anything to you. I wouldn’t want to have you like this with it not meaning anything.” You ask in a soft whisper, afraid of hearing the answer you dreaded the most.

Natasha saw the genuine sadness in your eyes as you whispered the question, the sight made her heart crack. It took her a second to respond as she gathered her words.

“I’ve loved you ever since Steve showed up with you in the living room. I always hoped that you returned those feelings I had for you. What happened between us right now, means everything to me, Y/n.” Natasha spoke softly, as if she were going to break a porcelain doll if she was any louder.

“I love you too, Nat. So much” You admit, walking up to Natasha and instantly closing the distance between you both. The kiss wasn’t lust filled at all, it was full of love and passion, something that you and Natasha always had for each other.

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha smut #natasha x reader #natasha romanov #marvel #the avengers #black widow x reader #mcu #natalia romanova #black widow smut

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tobeholyistobeempty · 2 days ago

Text

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

taglist: @ilovesoapandnotthebar @ricabobbie @venus111sworld @nanamisboobies @delusionsofgrandeur13 @x3rox @genericpenname @lovemymustache @sweetybuzz25 @asiavvv @jazz-cat-on-a-broom @violetisheresworld @depornable @sugarandserum @emilyyyyyys-stuff @julesneedshelp @rene-with-an-e @caramelsundaysstuff @adeptua @beautifuleaglealpaca@chronicallyicky @s-void @trulovekay @mary-magdaline @moongir99 @goldiesoaked @backtotheintro @ribbitribbitquack @matumogs @xjustxlookingx @prettgirlwhoreadsatnite @angielove07 @olives10 @zzzz20d @greylykaylee @suikasweetheart @deliciouslydisturbed365 @british-ppl-scare-me @bless-my-demons @tofunoodlesoup @rafaelcallinybbay @blahox @dethspllz @casual-darkness @lem-hhn @astridminsstuffie21 @xdcgfvh @viviansvault3 @mygsbin @booboobear-12 @pink-hufflepuff @just-lilita @succulambb

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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frat!gooner!rafe who just can’t help himself from groping you :(

it was casual drinks at a friends house, and of course your favourite mutual friend, rafe cameron had to be there. you sort of had a thing, a super sexual, probably toxic, unhealthy thing going on — but you’d told yourself, not tonight. tonight, you’d have class. it was about your friends, and that’s who you were here to see. you weren’t here to do… whatever, with him.

he doesn’t hide his lecherous gaze through the evening — but you expect nothing less. hell, at one point you’re even sure you see him adjust his bulge whilst staring. that man had no shame.

but you supposed neither did you.

because as soon as you wander off into the next room alone, a little tipsy and needing to walk off the tension — you’re gasping out a high pitched squeal as a hand slots itself over your mouth and you’re dragged to a dark corner. in any other instance, you might be afraid. but you knew exactly who it was.

rafe is suddenly infront of you, that slicked back greasy mop a little dishevelled from his own actions, hand still over your mouth as he shoves another up your top, groping your tits as much as he can.

you mewl against his hand, half in irritation that you’d been caught, half in arousal.

“yeah, like this little outfit you got on. knew what you were goddamn doin’.” he breathes out through his mouth. he takes his hand off your mouth, trusting you won’t make a fuss and you weakly go to push him off. irate, he brushes your hands away, yanking your skirt up. “‘make this quick a’ight? don’t need you makin’ it a whole thing.” he drawls as he unzips himself.

you think you’re gonna fuck, maybe you can get something out of this too— but no, once pulling out his fully hard cock, he’s yanking your panties down just enough for him to start jerking off into them, widening his stance to lower himself more to your level. it’s obscene.

you let out a pathetic little cry, and it is pathetic because you shouldn’t be whining over not getting fucked when he practically forced himself on you— and when you go to grab at him needily he shoves you against the wall more firmly with an arm across your shoulders to keep you pinned. “shuuut up… okay, just—just shut up.” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut as he pants. occasionally he indulges you by sliding his tip through your folds, collecting the increasing wetness — the fat mushroom tip catching on your clit making you buck.

“someones gonna see.” you whisper, barely audible, but your eyes screw shut as you try and catch his dick again. his tongue is slot between his lips in concentration as he brings the hand that’s holding you down up to your mouth again, lazily sliding two fingers passed your lips knuckle deep to shut you up.

“yeah doesnt — doesn’t seem like you actually care too much, so…” he sarks, before the pleasure consumes him and he’s shuddering, jaw dropping as he watches you choke on his fingers, shooting his hot seed into your pretty delicate panties. you whimper pathetically, and once catching his breath — he slides his fingers from your mouth and yanks your panties up with such a casual strength he almost takes your feet off the ground for a moment.

rafe rubs a big ringed hand over your panties, making sure the squelchy release is all contained within the fabric and you sniffle, knowing you’ll need to fix your makeup somehow after this. “there you go.” he mutters, like he did you a favour — before taking a step back, clearing his throat as he watches you fix your clothes like hes suddenly regaining consciousness. “gonna head back out there ‘fore they suspect something or some shit. don’t be too long, a’ight?” there’s a slight softness, dare you even say fondness to his tone and expression before he departs, hands in his cargo pockets, the sound of him zipping his flies back up as he leaves the room following.

with his cum still warm in your panties you shudder, wondering how someone could treat you like this and still leave you wanting more.

#frat!gooner!rafe #gooner!rafe #frat!rafe #fratboy!rafe #rafe cameron prompt

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 4 months ago

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(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You’re back in the bunker, and Dean’s in a bar in Missouri. Thank God for modern technology. CWs Sexting. Dean being a good boyfriend. Phone sex. Sneaking around. 18+. 1.3k words.

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Dean drags his phone out of his back pocket and opens the message from you without even thinking twice about it. His phone is set to downloading pictures automatically, which he later on thinks he might have to change, because the picture that greets him is of your tits and your hand between your legs.

He immediately locks the screen and pushes his hand with the phone in it under the table, taking a careful look around if anyone saw. Sam’s deep in conversation with Jody, Donna and Doug, so Dean grabs his beer with his free hand, takes a sip, tries to act very casual.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and although he knows he shouldn’t, knows that the conversation could turn back to him any second, that anyone could walk past him and look at his screen, he opens the message.

Thinking of you…

Dean needs to clear his throat, takes another sip. Another message.

Wish you were here to do that thing with the thing.

Well, right about now, Dean wishes he was too. He scrolls up a little, takes a quick peak at the picture you sent. Nipples hard, chest flushed. Goddamn, you look just about good enough to eat.

Still. He’s in the middle of a bar, game on in the back, about half of Missouri traipsing around him, his brother and closest friends (and Doug) right next to him. The only reason you stayed behind is because you got banged up pretty good on the last case, and since this looked like a simple salt and burn, Dean put you on bedrest.

He’s really regretting that right about now. If you were here and in this kind of mood, he’d be dragging you back to the motel like a caveman. But you’re not, so he starts typing.

At the bar with the guys. Call you later? Love you, get some re

Another photo comes in. It’s a close-up, your middle and ring finger pressed into your mouth, tongue curling up, lips pink and wet. Dean deletes what he wrote, writes something new.

Hot

Thinking of me?

He looks at the sent words. They don’t look very sexy, but maybe it’s just cause it’s weird to see them typed out. He would say them to you usually, of course. Well, not those exact words, but—

Need your beautiful cock inside me.

O-kay. You’re way better at this than him. That beautiful cock you’re texting about heard the wake-up call, is figuratively rubbing sleep from its eyes. Again, surrounded by most of Missouri. Well, he can’t half-ass this now.

Wish I could be inside you, baby girl. Feel how wet you are.

Yeah, that’s better, Dean thinks. He’s almost proud of himself, takes another sip of beer.

“What do you think, Dean?” he hears and his head shoots up. It’s Jody, turned all the way towards him, and he has no idea what she’s talking about. He clears his throat again.

“Uh, uhm,” he says, eloquently. Well, the best lies contain half the truth, so he motions to his phone. “Sorry, wasn’t listening, just checking in with the homebase.”

“Aw,” Donna says, laying her head to the side. “Give her our best. How is she?” Dean looks at his screen.

Want you here with me, fucking me so hard and deep I can feel you in my throat.

“Good, all good,” Dean stutters, reassuring smile forced onto his lips. “Real good.” He feels his phone vibrate again, but he doesn’t dare look down. And then Doug has a great idea.

“Hey, why don’t we send a nice picture?” he pipes up. Everyone else at the table thinks it’s a great idea too.

“Sure,” Dean says, quickly switches to the camera. He turns, stretches his arm out. Everyone leans in, smiling. Snap. Done. Merriment around the table and Dean can turn back to your messages, pretend he’s sending the picture.

Want to take all of you, baby, feel you open me up.

He quickly starts typing.

Wish I could taste you right now. Taste your delicious pussy. Eat you until you’re screaming my name.

Well, how about that, he is good at this, which of course, he isn’t surprised at, not really.

Oh God, Dean, I need you

Dean reads the text proudly. He loosens up his elbows, puts both hands on the phone. Game mode. You’re gonna get what you’re asking for, cause Dean is a giver through and through.

Use your fingers, imagine they’re mine. Think you can take three?

Dean grins. If they’re yours, you probably can, with how sweet and dainty they are. Immediately he’s rewarded with the mental image of three of his fingers pressed into you, making you full while you’re moaning his name over and over. Oh, he needs to be careful. He is getting himself to a place of no return quickly. So he decides to concentrate on what he’s writing.

Wanna make you come until you can’t move and then fuck you

Make you come one more time on my cock

Then let you lick what’s left off of me

Jesus, he doesn’t know where that came from, but it’s out there now, and the image of it… it’s making things difficult. Your pretty eyes blinking up at him, heavy lids and swollen lips, while you clean him up with your tongue.

I’ll let you sleep for a bit and then we go again

Over and over

All night baby

Dean suddenly notices you’re not answering anymore. Which means you’re either dead or otherwise busy. He’s still staring down at his screen when he sees Sam get up out of his periphery.

“Another one?” Sam asks, pointing at Dean’s nearly empty beer. Dean nods, and then his phone vibrates and doesn’t stop vibrating. He looks down. You’re calling him.

He stands up, no regard for his situation, mumbles some excuse and moves towards the bathrooms. He picks up at the same time. He nearly trips over his own feet when he hears your voice on the other end.

“Dean…” you moan, and he knows that tone so well. The one that tells him you’re… “I’m about to come.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Dean says, hurrying now. He finds the men’s room, pushes in. It’s empty as far as he can see, so he goes to the cubicle in the back, pushes in and locks the door. He presses his fist against the cool material to steady himself.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, now fully concentrated on you.

“I wanna, mmh, wanna hear your voice.”

��I’m right here, okay?” he says, a smile going over his lips. “I hear you, hear how good you sound.”

He hears small gasps from your end, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against his fist. Imagines you in your shared bed, covers pushed to the side, your naked body writhing while you make yourself come to his words and voice.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “Wish I could feel you, could see you move, make you feel good. God, I would fucking take you and—“

“Yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Let me hear you, beautiful,” Dean says.

The rest is a long moan, breathy and intense and perfect. Dean’s eyelids flutter like a young maid’s at your sounds. He listens to your breathing calm down, content little sighs leaving you. He wonders if you can hear his breathing as well.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he says and it comes from so deep inside him it shocks him a little.

“I miss you, baby,” you reply, still a little breathless. “I love you so much.”

The smile spreading on Dean’s face is broad. “I love you too.”

“Where are you right now?” you ask.

“Restroom,” Dean replies. He hears a small chuckle come from you that he knows is gonna get him in trouble.

“And how’s your… situation?” you ask, voice an act of innocence. Dean looks down at himself. His situation is pretty obvious.

“’bout as hard as a rock,” he replies casually, making you chuckle again.

“Well,” you reply. “Maybe we can do something about that?”

#dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #fanfic #fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #smut #sorry's fics #sorry's kinktober 2024 #sorry's kinktober

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hauntedfawnn · 4 months ago

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rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

#idk how this is gonna be received but this is my fav troupe and I’ve been thirsting to write it with rafe for a whole yearrr #so here it is #bambii writes #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #rafe smut #rafe x you #rafe x reader smut #alpha!rafe #alpha!Rafe Cameron #omegaverse

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