#f/m dd | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sidemari · 2 months ago

Text

• After Dark •

A NSFW compilation of short texts (not so short) about their kinks. This could also be called "1 character, 1 kink".

Characters included: Childe, Diluc Ragnvindr, Dottore, Kaeya Alberich, Kamisato Ayato, Ningguang, Scaramouche, Wriothesley and Zhongli [separately] x Fem/AFAB/GN!Reader

TW: Aphrodisiacs; BDSM dynamics; bondage; brat taming; breeding kink; consensual non-con; creampie; DD/LG; dirty talk; edging; exhibitionism; fingering; masturbation; oral sex (F/M receiving); overstimulation; praise kink; sub/dom dynamics; vibrators; unprotected sex. Let me know if I missed any.

WC: 10k+ (all of the stories together, of course).

Forgive me for any mistakes, I'm exhausted, and I won't read this giant post over again for the next few weeks, lol.

Childe

Consensual non-con. (Fem!Reader)

You were lying on the sheets, your wrists tied above your head with a bow he had tied himself — tight enough to keep the fantasy alive, but soft enough not to hurt you.

“Look what we have here…” Tartaglia’s voice sounded deep and theatrical, as if he were playing a character. He was looking down at you with a wild glint in his eyes, the crooked smile of someone who was having fun — but with his heart pounding with desire and zeal for you. You squirmed, trying hard to look scared, even though you knew that was exactly what he wanted.

“P-Please… Don’t do this…” You whispered, trembling on purpose, playing the role perfectly.

“You should know that you can’t tease someone like me and still get away with it, princess…” He growled, pulling your legs to the edge of the bed. The way his eyes bored into yours, even when he was playing his role, was still full of adoration. “It’s too late to regret it now.”

The sheets under you were damp with some of the essence that insisted on seeping from you, due to your anticipation. Your nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown, and he noticed every reaction — every little sign that you wanted this as much as he did.

“You’re so wet…” He commented as he slid his fingers between your legs. “You’re begging me with that little body, even though you’re saying ‘no’ with your mouth.” He leaned in and whispered against your ear, “But I know your body better than anyone, my love. I know when it’s desperate for me.”

“P-Please, don’t do this to m-me… I’m… so sorry for—” But he didn’t let you finish. He thrust into you hard, in one motion, eliciting a scream from you that was a mix of shock and pleasure. You arched your body, pulling at the sheets, feeling the heat rise like an overwhelming wave.

“Beg me.” He ordered, his voice hoarse with lust. “Tell me you need it. That you can’t live without my cock ravishing your cunt.”

“Ajax, please, use me… Fuck me until I can’t think anymore…” You moaned, your eyes moist, no longer from pretense, but from real, deep pleasure. His hips moved with rhythm and strength, your name escaping between his lips. The act had already given way to surrender — the game was exciting, but what made it all intense was the trust between you.

He leaned in, his red hair wet with sweat, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Is everything okay?” He asked softly, breaking character for a moment, just to be sure.

You nodded with a lascivious smile. “I can still take much more, love…”

And he provided that to you, until your legs were trembling, until your eyes watered with pleasure, until your voice broke. And when it was all over, he released you with loving hands, kissing each mark and scratch, wrapping you in his arms as if you were fragile.

“It was perfect.” He whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Diluc Ragnvindr

Bondage. (Fem!Reader)

The flames in the fireplace cast warm shadows over the stone walls of the room. The unmistakable aroma of wine and wood filled the room, and the silence was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire. You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing, your eyes attentive to Diluc’s every move as he walked back towards you.

He looked even more imposing under the golden light, his red hair loose over his shoulders and an expression that mixed concentration with restrained desire. In his hands, he held the red satin strips that you had timidly suggested the night before.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked in a low, husky voice, kneeling before you. His hands caressed your thighs gently, reverently, as if preparing the ground for something deeper. “I only want this if you want it too.” You nodded, your face hot, your breath shallow.

“Yes. I do. Just… just take care of me.” A small smile appeared on his lips — a rare, intimate smile that made your chest tighten.

“Always.”

Patiently, Diluc led you to the center of the bed. His kisses came slow, intense, as he took his time to undress you, piece by piece, as if each button and strap were a ritual. When you were naked beneath the fine linen sheets, he pulled away just enough to tie your wrists with the satin, crossing them over your head and securing them firmly to the headboard.

“Let me know if it’s too tight.” He said, caressing the skin of your arms, his dark eyes assessing your expression every second. You felt the knot tighten securely, but it didn’t hurt. It was firm… comforting, even. You trusted him. You always had.

Diluc lay back down beside you, his fingers gliding over the curves of your bound body, his eyes exploring every detail as if he were memorizing the landscape of the woman he loved. He leaned in, kissing your collarbone, your jaw, until your lips parted reflexively.

“You’re so beautiful like this…” He murmured against your skin. “Surrendered, only mine.”

His words made something inside you melt, even more so when his hand went down between your legs and found you already wet, hot and pulsing.

“Already so wet… I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled softly, a deep, satisfied sound, before pressing his thumb against your clit and making slow, teasing circles. Your hips moved instinctively, but he held them back with his other hand, holding you in place.

“No.” The word was spoken tenderly, but full of command. “I’m the one in control here.”

You bit your lip, arching your back with a restrained moan. Tied up and exposed, each touch felt more intense. Diluc knew that. He knew your body like no one else. His fingers danced between torture and pleasure, making you writhe under the delicate control he masterfully exercised. His breathing was also heavier, his dark eyes fixed on your face, capturing every reaction. He alternated soft caresses with firmer touches, sometimes leaning in to kiss your breasts, sometimes whispering praises in your ear:

“You endure so much for me… so obedient…”

“You’re driving me crazy like this…”

“I need to hear you beg, love.”

You felt yourself getting close. Your body trembled, your muscles contracted, your orgasm building like an inevitable storm. But then, just as the wave began to rise, he stopped. He removed his fingers, went back to kissing your neck, leaving you on the edge — dragging your pleasure with refinement and intention.

“D-Diluc, please…” You whimpered, your eyes watering, your body arching toward him. “Don’t stop…”

“You haven’t reached your limit yet,” He replied quietly, his voice low and husky, his fingertips tracing your abdomen. “I want you to need this. To really beg for me.” You panted, your body too hot and sensitive. Each pause was sweet torture, a flame that burned without consuming — until the desire became something deeper, more urgent. And then, when you finally moaned his name, begging without pride or shame, he smiled.

“Good girl.” He positioned himself between your legs, kissing you hungrily, his entire body pressing against yours. The heat of his skin, his weight, the firmness with which he held your hips — everything about him was absolute. When he finally entered you, slow, deep, your body cried out in relief. It was as if everything fell into place — as if the universe were spinning on its axis again. He groaned softly, his lips against your neck, his hips moving with a rhythm that was torturous, but felt so good.

“You’re perfect. So tight… You take me so well…” His voice was hoarse from pleasure. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this… about you, trapped, moaning my name…”

The restraints kept you from touching him, but that only made everything more intense. You felt vulnerable and adored at the same time. His thrusts became harder, but the bed creaked in protest as he lost himself in you.

“Look at me.” He pulled your face with one hand. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me.” And you obeyed. There was no other choice, no other destiny, no other name to say but his as your body shattered with pleasure — the orgasm ripping through every inch of you hot, overwhelming. Diluc continued for a few more seconds, until he spilled himself inside you, trembling, his face hidden in your neck.

When your breathing returned to normal, he carefully untied your wrists, kissing every red mark left by the satin. His fingers caressed your arms, your hair, your waist.

“You were wonderful,” He murmured, pulling you to his chest. “Thank you for trusting me.” You smiled, tired, satisfied, whole. In the flames dancing in the fireplace, everything seemed safe. Everything was love.

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader)

You were sitting on the couch in Diluc’s private library, wrapped in a light robe, your body still tingling from the wine he had brought. But it wasn’t just any wine. It tasted exotic, sweet and spicy — with something that made you feel warm from the first sip.

Your heart beated faster, your skin felt more sensitive, and every glance Diluc made in your direction made your breath falter. He was there, standing in front of the bookshelf, watching you with those intense red eyes, like embers about to catch fire. There was a small smile on the corner of his lips — a smile that betrayed that he knew exactly what he had done.

“This wine…” You began, your voice lower than you expected. “There’s something more to it, isn’t there?” Diluc approached slowly, his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes fixed on yours.

“It’s a special batch. Made from a rare variety of fruits grown in the fertile soil of Sumeru. Some say it… stimulates the senses.” He stopped in front of you, leaning down just enough to touch your chin with two fingers. “Do you feel it?”

You nodded, your lips parted, the heat growing in your lower belly like a fire slowly spreading. He gently removed the robe from your shoulders, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room.

“You look so beautiful like this… all flushed, breathless…” He knelt between your legs, his fingers sliding up your bare thigh. “Sensitive.” His lips brushed against your skin, each kiss sending electric waves to the core of your body. It was as if each touch of his tripled in intensity. The wine, or whatever it was, made your body beg for more — made you writhe under the softest caresses, yearning for something that had yet to come.

He pulled your legs up to his shoulders with ease and buried his face between your thighs, his hot tongue sliding inside you with precision, firmness, and calculated pleasure. It was almost cruel, the way he used his mouth — as if he studied your reaction to every movement. You moaned, your hands going to his hair out of reflex, but he held them with one of his large hands, keeping you in place.

“Stay still,” He murmured against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

And you tried. But it was impossible not to writhe, not to moan, not to beg. The heat was too much. Your body throbbed, hungry, desperate for release. And when you were finally on the edge, arching your back and gripping the seat under you, Diluc stopped. His red eyes rose to yours, hungry, and a little cruel.

He stripped off his own clothes, revealing the strength contained beneath his formal attire, his muscles defined in the firelight. When he lay down on top of you, the heat of your two bodies met like a spark in gunpowder. He entered you slowly, filling you completely, and you both gasped in unison.

“You’re… tight,” he whispered through his teeth. “Like you’ve been waiting for me for days.” His movements began slowly, deeply, and you felt every inch of him as if it were the first time. The aphrodisiac made your body vibrate, your skin tingle, your senses plunge into a pleasurable torpor. It was impossible to control your moans, the way your body trembled beneath him, the way your hips sought more. Diluc bent down, kissing your neck, your shoulder, biting carefully.

“Are you this sensitive because of me? Because I filled you with that wine, knowing what I would do to you later?” The answer escaped like a sob of pleasure.

“Yes…” He increased his pace, his movements more intense, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the muffled room. His hands held your waist firmly, keeping you in place as your body was taken deeper, faster, harder.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth. “Only mine. I want you like this… writhing in pleasure, calling my name, begging for more.” You couldn’t think, speak or breathe properly. The pleasure came like violent waves, and when it arrived, it was overwhelming. Your body arched, your eyes rolled back, your moans were lost in Diluc’s mouth as he also spilled himself inside you, with a low, hoarse grunt, full of pleasure.

He stayed there for a while, still on top of you, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair. Then, he pulled you to his chest, covering the two of you with a blanket.

“Next time,” He said with a satisfied smile, “I’ll use a smaller dose. Or maybe not.”

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader)

The night had started slowly. Calm kisses, hands exploring patiently, and tender whispers exchanged under the soft light that entered through the mansion’s windows. Diluc was always meticulous with everything he did, and with you it was no different. He made love like someone who appreciates a rare wine — slowly, savoring your every reaction, every sigh.

But that night, there was something more. A glint in his eyes, something hungry, that made your entire body react even before the first most intimate touch. He wanted more — and he wanted you to feel more.

Your eyes met his for a moment, and all you could do was nod, already feeling the heat begin to pulse in your belly. Diluc smiled — not that gentle smile of his usual, but a slower one, full of dangerous promises.

The sheets were rumpled beneath you, your hair spread across the pillow as he settled himself between your legs again. You had already gotten there — not once, but twice. Your body was trembling, sensitive, a little fragile under the touch of his hands… but still hungry.

“Look how wet you still are for me,” He whispered, sliding two fingers inside you, slowly, almost reverently. You gasped, your body reacting with small spasms, as if you were on edge — and you were.

“Diluc…” Your voice was broken, pleading, but he just smiled and lay back down between your thighs. The first touches of his tongue were almost unbearable. Your skin reacted with small tremors, the pleasure coming fast, too aggressive, as if every nerve was screaming with the accumulated intensity. You tried to close your legs, instinctively, but he held them firmly.

“Don’t run away now, my dear,” He said in an almost serious tone, looking at you with his red eyes burning with desire. “You can handle it. I know you can.”

And he went back to licking, slow and deep, exploring you with the precision that only he had. His hands held your thighs open, pinning you to the bed as if he wouldn’t let you escape for even a second. Your head threw back on the pillow, moans escaping loudly, uninhibited, because you could no longer control anything.

It was too much. Everything was too much. His mouth, the heat, the perfect and cruel rhythm, the feeling of being consumed entirely. Your entire body trembled, and when the orgasm arrived — a third, overwhelming one — he didn’t even give you time to breathe.

“Diluc, please… I… I can’t take it…” You whimpered, almost sobbing, your body contracting as if you were running away and searching for more at the same time.

“Of course you can,” He murmured, his fingers now replacing his mouth. Two firm fingers, thrusting in and out of you at a torturous pace, while his other hand caressed your clit with soft, rhythmic circular strokes. “You’re so good for me… you always give me everything.”

You whimpered fearlessly, shamelessly — your moans mixing with disjointed words, your eyes watering. Each wave of pleasure was more intense than the last, each one stealing a piece of your air, your strength. And yet… you didn’t want him to stop.

Diluc was visibly aroused by your surrender. His eyes were glued to your body, to the way you trembled and moaned and begged. He climbed on top of you, pressing your body against his, and aligned himself with your entrance again — hot, hard, hungry.

“One more,” He whispered against your mouth, his lips crashing to yours in a searing kiss. “Just one more for me, love…” And when he entered you, everything went blank for a second. Your body, which already seemed about to collapse. He moved with force, with need, each thrust deep and accurate. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, his moans mixing with yours as he held your face, his eyes fixed on yours.

Your entire body exploded in pleasure once more, with such intensity that tears escaped your eyes. You moaned loudly, your whole body arching, your hands gripping the sheets as if you were going to come undone.

Diluc hugged you tightly, burying his face in your neck when he came too, with a hoarse moan. His body shuddered against yours, and then everything was quiet for a moment — just your hearts beating fast, your breathless, sweaty, and exhausted.

He kissed your forehead gently, running his fingers through your heat-soaked hair.

You smiled against his chest, your body still trembling, but completely sated.

Dottore

Sleepy sex. (Fem!Reader)

The lab finally fell silent. Vials still pulsed with faint blue glows, remnants of some unstable mixture he had decided to leave for the next day. For the first time in hours — maybe days — Dottore was without his mask and his impenetrable posture. Just a man with heavy eyes and slow breathing, slumped on the couch in the next room, his shirt half open and his hair still a little messy from the last time he ran his hands through it.

You approach him silently. He knows it’s you even before he opens his eyes, and he murmurs something hoarse, low, almost swallowed by fatigue.

“You should be sleeping…” But his arms open anyway, as if his body were defying its own order.

When you lie down next to him, he immediately pulls you onto his lap, burying his face in your neck as if he were trying to hide from the world. There’s something curious there — he seems more fragile than you’re used to seeing. The defenses that always make him so hard to read were now slowly melting away in the heat of your skin.

“You calm me down.” He confesses softly, between warm kisses on your shoulder. His voice is still slurred, half-sleepy, but the desire… that was already starting to boil beneath the surface. His hands slide down your thighs more slowly than usual, as if he were too lazy to let go of his control — but also without the slightest desire to resist you. Each touch of his is a little more needy than technical. You see him without any armor, and yet so sure of himself, even tired.

Your lips meet slowly. It’s a lazy, slurred kiss… but full of that typical Dottore intensity. He murmurs against your mouth:

“Do you want this now?” And when you respond with a whispered yes, he sighs as if he already knows. “Of course you do. You always know how to make me weak…”

The excitement grows between kisses and touches exchanged in silence, almost respecting the tiredness that weighs on both bodies. Still, there is something delicious in losing yourself like this — in bodies intertwined without haste, in moans muffled by the pillow, in panting breaths that mix.

Dottore’s surrendered more than ever. With half-open eyes, he observes your every reaction, even as he moans softly as he feels you mount him with the calm of someone who knows all the shortcuts to your pleasure. His hands hold your hips, sometimes tightly, sometimes just caressing you with his fingertips, as if he wanted to prolong that moment as much as possible.

You move your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him, feeling how his body trembles beneath yours.

“You’re driving me crazy…” He says, his voice deep and broken.

“Then go crazy with me.” You reply. And he does exactly that.

There, between the rumpled sheets and the drowsy smell of experiments and desire, Dottore lets himself go. Cumming with you on top of him is almost cathartic, as if his own body were thanking you for letting him come undone like that — tired, vulnerable, but satisfied.

Then, he keeps you there, lying on his chest, fingers drawing circles on your spine. The drowsiness is now real, deep… but in the midst of the torpor, he still says with an almost choked voice:

“You are the only experiment I never want to end.”

Kaeya Alberich

You being on top. (Fem!Reader)

He loves to tease. You know that. Just look at him, with that crooked smile and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. But behind the sharp words and calculated charm, there is something else — something that only you know.

It is the Kaeya who moans softly when you hold his chin firmly and tell him to stay still and obey. It is the Kaeya who shudders when you push him against the bed and ride him at your own pace, making sure to control every moan, every sigh, every tremor of his body.

“Are you that sensitive already?” You ask, feigning innocence as you move over him, slowly burying his cock deep inside you, staying there for a few seconds, grinding your hips against his, before starting the movements all again. He bites his lip, his eyes moist with pleasure — that pleasure that burns in his chest, that almost hurts because it feels so good.

“You’re going to kill me, love… I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you will. You’ll take it because I want you to.” And he obeys. Always.

He loves seeing you on top — literally and emotionally. He loves when you hold his wrists against the mattress and straddle him with a sweet, dangerous smile on your lips. He loves feeling his entire body begging for release, while you deny it, only to see him begging for more.

“Touch me… Please, just a little—” His voice breaks, choking, and he turns his face away, ashamed of his own weakness. But you hold his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Or else… At least let me touch you…” His hands struggle against yours, winning and lifting one of them to touch your breast, squeezing it devotedly. You pull his hand away, preventing him from touching your body under the threat that you wouldn’t let him cum if he did.

“Look how beautiful you are like this… Whimpering and almost crying just because I’m giving you pleasure in my own way.” The moan that escapes him is almost a sob. A muffled sound, drenched in emotion and desire. You don't need to do anything else — just exist, and he's already surrendered.

“Can I?” He bit his lip, trying to hold your hips only to have you slap his hands away.

“Can you what? Use your words, Alberich.” Heavens, iit was so good to see him like this, escaping his dominant and sharp personality.

“C-Can I cum? I'm so close, p-please…” Your movements became faster and your own hands guided his so that one of them stimulated your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts, teasing your nipple every now and then. That was your way of saying — without words — that he could cum. And he did, becoming a whimpering mess under you.

“Remind me to tease you more often if you're going to treat me like this.” He murmured, before pulling you off of him so that you two could switch positions. “Now I need some revenge, right?”

Bondage. (Fem!Reader)

You were there, your wrists tied above your head, your back against the mattress, your body exposed and heated by his voice. Kaeya was an expert at seduction, but with you… he sometimes left a little teasing aside, just to show how much he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t worry, love,” He whispered, adjusting the tie on your wrists with surprising care. “If you want me to stop, just say so. But something tells me you won’t.”

The fabric he used to restrain you was soft, allowing it to be firm enough to impede most of your movements. His kisses spread like slow fire — down your neck, against your collarbone, across the curve of your breasts. Your eyes returned to his for a second, and Kaeya gave you that mischievous and affectionate smile, his fingers sliding between your legs, teasing you just enough to make you gasp.

“Look at you… You’re already so ready, and I barely touched you.” His fingers penetrated your folds, curving to reach your g-spot with ease and mastery. It was almost as if he had memorized your body: every curve, every sensitive spot. Teasing was a game he mastered.

Then he bent down and devoured you with his mouth while his fingers didn't stop their movements. His tongue lapped at you with a precision that made you writhe, tied up, completely helpless in the face of the pleasure he administered with dedication.

"Stay still for me, darling," He murmured against your sex, his dark blue eyes fixed on yours. "Let me take care of everything." And you let him.

The world was reduced to his hands, his mouth, the weight of his body on yours. He made you ask — not beg, because he knew the difference. He wanted to see you surrendered, but with pride, surrendered to him because you trusted him, not because you were forced. And that made him crazy with desire.

When he finally entered you, your moans mingled with his, muffled by deep kisses. The thrusts were firm, constant, followed by sweet and dirty words in equal measure.

"Just like that… You're mine, all mine. I'm going to remind you of that every time you cum around me." And you both came, strong and overwhelming, the waves of pleasure washing over your bodies. He released you afterwards, with gentle hands, worried eyes, covering you with kisses and caresses.

"Did I tie you up too tightly?" He asked, caressing your cheek affectionately.

"No, I like it when you do that." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "Can we go again?"

"Always."

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader)

You didn’t know exactly what he had put in that wine — but you knew he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want. Kaeya was a tease, but he loved you. He loved the way you trusted him even when your eyes were clouded with desire, even when your body trembled for more.

“Just a touch of something special,” He whispered against your lips, holding the glass that was still between his fingers. “Something to... ignite what’s already burning.”

The drink tasted sweet, almost fruity, but the effect was immediate: your skin tingled, every heartbeat seemed to echo between your legs, and Kaeya’s presence, with his scent, his smile, and his cool fingers against your warm skin, became unbearably addictive.

He noticed the effect, of course he did. He sat behind you, pulling you onto his lap calmly, his chest against your back, his hands traveling over your body, mapping it with care and intention.

“It’s hot, hm? It’s the aphrodisiac... But it’s also me.” He chuckled softly, kissing the side of your neck. “Your body knows who it wants.”

You moaned softly when his hands reached your breasts, squeezing them gently, his thumbs playing with your nipples through your thin clothing. Your hips moved unintentionally, seeking friction, relief — and Kaeya guided you with pleasure.

“You’re sensitive... So beautiful like this. I could make you cum with a touch.”

He laid you down with all the care in the world, removing each piece of clothing with lingering kisses. His fingers stimulated your sex just enough to make you shiver, and he smiled, fascinated by the intensity of your reaction.

The aphrodisiac pulsed in your blood like fire, and Kaeya enjoyed every second — with patience, with precision, with desire. His touch was the final dose: you came with just his fingers and tongue, your entire body arching in response.

“That’s it...” He whispered, between kisses on your belly, moving up to your lips. “I want to make you come like this again and again.” And he really did.

With his body pressed against yours, his eyes fixed on yours, Kaeya penetrated you slowly, moaning with the pleasure of being inside you — and feeling how hot, tight, desperate you were. You scratched his back, and he moaned back, asking for more.

“It’s my fault,” He murmured with a dirty smile. “I left you like this... and now I’m going to fix it.”

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader)

He had already made you cum once. Then twice. And now your body felt like it was about to collapse under his every new touch.

“Kaeya… P-Please…” You moaned, your voice broken by the excess of pleasure, by the tremors that ran through your open legs, still exposed to him.

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue moved slowly over your clit, as if savoring your every reaction, every involuntary spasm, every breathless sob that escaped your lips.

“You can still take more, can’t you?” He asked in a low voice, his lips wet with your essence, his eyes half-closed and hungry. “Your body is begging me even if your mouth says otherwise.”

You tried to close your legs, but his arms were firm, keeping them apart. Kaeya was gentle, but determined. The pleasure was already unbearable — and yet, you wanted more.

“You look so beautiful when you crumble like that,” He whispered, before lapping at you again more firmly, his fingers sliding inside you with ease, curling at the exact spot that made you gasp. Your back arched once more, the orgasm ripping through your body with force. He felt it and smiled, because he knew there was more to come.

“How many times can I make you cum before you pass out in my arms?” He murmured against your skin, kissing your inner thigh, his fingers still inside you, moving slowly, as if he was testing the limits of your sensitivity.

You whimpered, struggling weakly, your body already too sensitive, your clit throbbing, your mind clouded by so much pleasure.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He whispered, moving up to your lips and kissing you tenderly. “You’re doing so well...” Kaeya entered you slowly, feeling how you trembled, how your body pulsed around him, completely surrendered. He moaned against your mouth, pleasure consuming him too.

“Let me take you to the edge… Just one more time.” He asked, his voice choking with desire and affection. “I’ll take care of you later, I promise.”

And you let him. Because there, even in the midst of the chaos of absolute pleasure, Kaeya was your safe haven — even when he made you forget your own name with yet another orgasm that made you see stars.

Kamisato Ayato

Bondage. (Fem!Reader)

You had lost count of how many times Ayato had told you that he loved seeing you surrendered to him. But there was something in the way he said it — with that serene smile, his clear eyes fixed on yours — that made everything inside you warm. With him, even submission was wrapped in elegance and reverence. And that night, the touch of the silk tying your wrists only confirmed that.

The softness of the sheets contrasted with the gentle tension of the ribbons that held your arms above your head, firmly on the back of the bed. Your legs, equally spread and immobilized with delicacy, made you feel vulnerable... and deeply desired.

Ayato was kneeling between your legs, impeccable even in that intimate moment. No part of him seemed out of control — everything was calculated, refined, even the way he ran his fingers through the ties to check if they were tight enough without hurting your skin.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He asked softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your lips sweetly.

“Of course I do.” You replied, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Good girl.” He whispered with a crooked smile that made your stomach turn. “Then let me guide you tonight.” His hands were as gentle as they were firm. He began exploring your skin with light touches, trailing his fingers along the curves of your body, slowly moving downward. He kissed each spot patiently, with a silent adoration that made your skin shiver from head to toe. And then he stopped, observing your bound body as if it were the most precious of works of art.

“You look so beautiful like this... exposed just for me.” He said in a low tone, almost like a prayer. “Every sigh you take, every shiver... it’s all mine.”

You gasped as you felt the tip of his tongue slide down your belly, rising to the base of your breasts, where he stopped to nibble lightly. The restraints made it impossible for you to try to squirm, and that only made each touch intensify. You were surrendered, and he knew it.

Ayato brought his fingers to your intimacy, touching slowly, exploratively. Your hips moved, an involuntary reaction to the growing pleasure, but he held you firmly.

And with that, he bent down, his tongue taking the place of his fingers. Ayato’s tongue was a precision weapon. He knew exactly where to lick, where to suck, when to speed up and when to stop just to watch you writhe, begging for more.

The tension of the tapes on your wrists made each sensation even more vivid. Your senses were heightened, your body reacting to each stimulus as if it were the first. Your moans became pleas, and when the first orgasm came, you practically cried out in pleasure, trembling under his touch.

He climbed up your body, his chest pressed against yours, his eyes staring into yours with a glow that was both hungry and calm at the same time.

"You're not done yet," He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. "Not until I say so."

And then he positioned himself and penetrated you slowly, with an almost cruel slowness. You were so sensitive that the simple act of feeling him inside you drew a loud moan. He moved firmly, controlling each thrust, watching every expression on your face, as if memorizing every nuance of yours.

The silk ribbons held your arms in place, and that only intensified everything. You couldn't touch him, couldn't pull him closer, only feel — and obey.

“You’re mine.” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “So obedient, so perfect for me…” The climax came again, even stronger, making your vision blur for seconds. Your entire body trembled, sweat stuck the strands of hair to your forehead, and all you could do was call his name, as if it were all that mattered in the world.

And when he finally came undone on top of you, with a low, satisfied groan, Ayato wrapped his arms around you, whispering praises, loosening each bond with affection. His kisses were now tender, and he murmured between one touch and another:

“You were wonderful... as always.”

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader)

The evening began with a treat. Ayato appeared with a small, ornate wooden box adorned with the Yashiro Commission seal and a delicate silver-blue bow. He handed it to you with a restrained smile, but his eyes — always so serene — gleamed with something more mischievous.

“A special Sumeru delicacy.” He explained, sitting down next to you. “Sweets made from the nectar of a flower called the Nilotpala Lotus. They are known for their… stimulating properties.” You looked at him with a mix of curiosity and amused trepidation.

“Stimulating how?” Ayato smiled, taking one of the small candies with graceful fingers and bringing it to your mouth.

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” Your distrust didn’t last long. You always trusted him — and besides, the scent emanating from the little box was sweet, delicate, and enveloping, like jasmine with a hint of honey. When you bit into the first sweet, a warm wave ran through your body. It wasn’t just the taste — melting on your tongue like silk — but the sensation that was slowly spreading through your limbs. Heat. Sensitivity. A silent awakening in every spot of your skin. Ayato watched, enchanted by every expression that took over your face.

“It’s starting to take effect, isn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath.

“It’s like… my body is more alive.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He moved closer, his fingers gliding along your bare thigh with reverence. The contact made you hold your breath — a simple touch sending shivers that seemed to run down your spine. Ayato smiled with silent pleasure, as if appreciating the fruits of a carefully laid plan.

“You’re so sensitive… so receptive.” His lips touched your collarbone, then your neck. “Every part of you is begging for attention.”

Gently, he laid you down on the sheets, pulling the fabric of your robe with slowness. The cool air against your exposed skin contrasted with the heat building inside. Ayato took his time — he explored every inch of you with kisses and caresses that set you on fire. He knew your body like no one else and seemed determined to enjoy every second.

When his mouth found the curve between your legs, you gasped. His tongue was patient, meticulous, eliciting reactions heightened by the sweets. It was as if his every touch was magnified tenfold — and you couldn’t escape the sensation.

“Ayato—!” You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets.

“Yes,” He murmured between kisses, “I want you to say my name like that. I need to hear you come undone for me.” His fingers gripped your thigh more firmly, preventing any movement. Each lick was a delicious torture, each pause a subtle punishment. You felt the muscles in your stomach contract, the heat between your legs growing until it became unbearable.

“Please... more...”

“More?” He teased, looking up with that calm smile. “But I’ve barely begun.” When he finally entered you, with the same careful rhythm, your bodies fit together as they always did — perfectly. But now, with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins, it was all too much. Too intense. Too pleasurable. Each thrust was deep, calculated, and you whimpered in pleasure, completely surrendered to this man who never lost control — except when he wanted to make you lose yours.

“You’re so beautiful like this... all surrendered, all mine.” He whispered against your ear, the sound of his voice like velvet on your skin.

Your orgasms came in waves, shaking your body with force and he was there, steady, attentive, guiding you through it all, as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world. In the end, he held you against his chest, running his fingers through your sweat-dampened hair.

“Maybe we should bring more of those sweets home.” He whispered. “Or maybe… you only react like that to me.”

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader)

The night was silent inside the Kamisato residence, and the intimacy of Ayato’s room seemed separated from the rest of the world. Candles in thin holders cast soft shadows on the walls, and the light scent of sakura petals invaded the room through the half-open window. You knew him well — every subtle expression, every restrained gesture. And you knew exactly how to make him lose that control.

Ayato lay on his back on the futon, his hair slightly messed up by the silk pillow. The blue yukata he wore was loose, his chest partially exposed, rising and falling with his already irregular breathing.

“Are you comfortable?” You asked, your voice soft as you caressed his abdomen with your fingertips.

“Yes,” He replied, his tone low, almost a whisper. “But you… are playing a dangerous game, my dear.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss his collarbone.

“Maybe I am.” Your fingers slowly moved down, tracing the length of his cock before wrapping your hand around it with precision. The moan that escaped Ayato’s lips was suppressed, but you felt his body shudder.You started slow, almost lazy, and his eyes closed as his hips lifted, seeking more.

Your tongue collected the pre-cum that leaked from the tip of his cock, tasting it before taking his length into your mouth, sucking just the tip before sucking him completely — the head of his cock hitting your throat and making you choke on sinful sounds.

“You’re already so sensitive…” You murmured, watching his skin react, his entire body arch in response.

“You… always know how to disarm me, don’t you?” He said with a crooked smile, trying to maintain his composure even though his toes were already twitching.

The first time he came was quick: he’d been on edge since the very first touch of you — hot spurts of cum hitting your throat, and you drank all of him with need. But you didn’t stop. You continued to stimulate him, now with slower, delicately torturous movements from your hand, that stroked his cock with devotion. Ayato gasped, his neck and back arching.

“Wait… ah! You’re teasing me—”

“I’m taking care of you.” You whispered, caressing the side of his face. “You always take care of everyone and everything. Now it’s your turn to surrender, Ayato.”

The second time came with more difficulty. He groaned your name, his hips shaking as the pleasure coursed through him again, this time more intense, more desperate. His eyes were watering, and you leaned in to kiss away the silent tears that trickled from the corners of his eyes.

“You’re doing so well,” You praised, and he shivered all over at the compliment whispered in his ear. “So beautiful, so obedient.” Ayato smiled, his lips trembling, his cheeks flushed. “You’re cruel, love…” You just laughed softly.

“Cruel? Never. I am devoted. To your pleasure, at least.” And when he reached his third orgasm — shaking, sobbing, completely lost in the touch, in the words, in the suffocating intimacy of that room — you wrapped your arms around him, kissing his forehead tenderly.

“You were perfect,” You whispered, stroking his hair as he caught his breath. Ayato smiled, tired, satisfied.

“I love you.” He murmured against your neck.

“And I love seeing you like this… All mine.”

Ningguang

Exhibitionism. (GN!Reader)

It was night in Liyue, and the high moon was shedding its silvery light over the rooftops of the Jade Chamber, making everything even more luxurious and enchanting. You were there, alone with her, after a long day. Ningguang, as always, maintained her impeccable posture, sitting elegantly on the divan in the center of the hall with large windows, which offered a full view of the city below.

"Close the door." She said, her voice like silk, low and sure. "And stay where you are. Don't come any closer yet."

You obeyed, not understanding at first, but soon your eyes fixed on the way she stood up. The soft light illuminated her contours as she slowly dropped the white robe she was wearing, revealing the scarlet lingerie, convenient, tailored. It was delicate, lacy, with small provocative slits on the sides. She turned to the side, purposefully, knowing exactly how the curve of her waist and hips would steal your attention.

“I spend my days being admired by everyone. Desirous glances, restrained suggestions. But tonight,” She walked to the glass windows and stood there, facing the city, “Only you will see me like this... and only you will be able to touch me... When I allow it.”

The position was daring. Anyone with a well-positioned around that building could, in theory, see that enchanting silhouette through the windows. But Ningguang didn’t seem worried. She was in complete control of the situation — and you knew she wanted it that way.

She glanced over her shoulder, her red lipstick contrasting with her pale skin and her steady gaze.

“You like seeing me like this, don’t you?” You nodded, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, with calculated slowness, she reached for the clasp of her bra and unclasped it, letting the garment slide off her shoulders. Her exposed breasts were exposed under the moonlight, and the view was as mesmerizing as it was forbidden. She didn’t cover anything, showing herself with all the naturalness of someone who controls her own desires — and those of others.

“You’re so quiet…” She teased. “Did the image of me undressing for you in front of all of Liyue leave you speechless?” Her hands then went down her own thighs, until she reached her panties. She didn’t take them off right away. She just moved them a little to the side, revealing just enough to drive you crazy with desire. Her fingers slid there, and an almost silent moan escaped her lips. She touched herself in front of you, slowly, with evident pleasure. “Stay there. And just look. I want you to learn... that my lust is a gift I grant you.”

Little by little, her body began to move more rhythmically, her hips undulating slightly against her hand, her moans becoming more frequent, although muffled by her ladylike composure. She arched her back against the glass, knowing that this accentuated every curve, every tremor, every breath.

You wanted to touch her. You wanted to be part of it, but she hadn’t let you yet. Then she stopped all stimulation abruptly, earning a curious look from you. She turned slowly, her hair fanning out over her bare back as her gaze met yours — steady, warm, with a glow of victory.

“Come.” She said, holding out a hand. “You’ve endured my teasing well. Now you can worship me up close.”

Scaramouche (Wanderer)

BDSM, brat-taming. (AFAB!Reader)

You teased him. You knew exactly what you were doing — every defiant look, every insolent retort, every cheeky smile. You knew Scaramouche wouldn’t let you off the hook. And that was exactly what you wanted.

He sat cross-legged, watching you with feigned boredom and a sharp glint in his eyes. The silence was thick in the room, until he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and spoke in a low, harsh voice:

“Say one more word in that tone, and I’ll make you regret every syllable.” You smiled. Sweet, defiant.

“What if I want to be punished?” It was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet. You barely had time to step back before you were gently pushed back against the bed, your body restrained firmly. His fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t want punishment. You want attention. And you’re begging for it in the most childish way possible.” He growled. “But I’ll give you what you want. Only my way.” He tied you up with leather handcuffs attached to the corners of the bed. There was no rush. He made sure to maintain control over every movement, every touch. The straps tightened just right — security and submission. You bit your lip, already feeling the heat building between your legs, and he laughed mockingly.

“Look how you look just being restrained... so easy to read. So predictable.” He leaned down to your ear, his voice a whisper full of promise. “And you love it. You love challenging me just so I can bend you.” Scaramouche then slowly removed his blouse, letting you watch — like a small visual punishment. Without being able to touch, without even being able to brush your fingertips. He came closer again, his eyes sparkling, his fingers tracing your exposed body with a sharp caress.

“You’re going to beg today, you know?” He said, his hand squeezing your thigh firmly. “And I won’t give in until I hear you ask for it. No smiles. No sarcasm. Just you, little brat, surrendering.” You shivered under his touch, feeling his power wrap around you like an invisible chain. And for the first time that night, you were speechless. He smiled. A victorious smile, dark, hungry. “Good, you finally understand who’s in control here.”

Scaramouche pulled away just enough to let you feel the emptiness of his absence. The handcuffs forced you to stay exactly where he wanted you — exposed, vulnerable, irritatingly aware of your own arousal. His gaze slid over you like a cruel caress, and the smile that formed on his lips promised no relief, only torment.

“Did you really think you’d get what you wanted that easily?” He knelt between your legs, his fingertips sliding along the inside of your thigh but never reaching where you needed him most. “Not after all that petulance.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your skin — a touch that was almost chaste, almost pitiful. Almost. You arched your hips, desperate for more, but he pressed his hands against your thighs, keeping you still.

“Tsk.” His tongue ran a lazy path, too hot and too light at the same time. “So sensitive... Already shaking from that? And you think you’re strong.” You moaned softly, trying to press yourself against him, but the chains wouldn’t let you. And he smiled, cruel and calm.

“Not until you ask. Not with the boldness from before. I want your real voice. I want your surrender.” He then brought his hand between your legs, running his fingers over your sex without actually touching. Just the heat of the contact hovering there, making you cry out in frustration. Your body begged, throbbed, but he just watched. “Do you really think you’re going to cum before I let you?” He laughed, soft, contempt slipping through every syllable.

“You have no control here. I’m the one who decides when and if you deserve it.” Then he went down again, with his tongue, his fingers. The pleasure flared like fire. You arched, trembling, almost reaching… And he stopped. Nothing. Cold, suddenly. You gasped, desperate.

“N-no… please, Scara, don’t do this—” He looked at you, and his gaze was pure dominance.

“You’re going to beg for real. You’re going to moan my name and call me master in that sweet little voice. Or you’re going to spend the whole night like this — trembling, wet, and empty.” His finger came back, teasing. Another slow kiss, a warm breath. But it was all superficial. Punishment disguised as affection. And you were already starting to give in. You bit your lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Your entire body ached with need, and yet he hovered there, cruel and serene, as if your suffering was entertainment.

Scaramouche tilted his face, his eyes narrowed in pure delight as he watched you squirm.

“Almost, aren’t you? That cheeky little mouth has lost its power. Where did all that teasing go, hm?”

His fingers slid in again, this time touching exactly where you wanted it most — but only for a second. A warm, lingering touch and then emptiness again. You gasped, sobbing, your hips trying to follow the absent touch.

“P-Please…”

“Please what?” He murmured, with a satisfied smile. You hesitated, pride throbbing in your chest. But it was useless. You were already defeated.

“Master…” The word escaped in a broken voice. “Please, master… let me cum. I need…”

“Ah…” He sighed with pleasure, as if those words were sweeter than any moan. “Now my little brat knows how to behave.”

He returned with his fingers, his mouth, his body — all at once, without mercy. The touches came fast, intense, too skillful to resist. You moaned loudly, feeling the orgasm build up like a colossal wave. The tension made you tremble, the pleasure bordering on unbearable.

“Cum for me. Now.” He ordered, his voice low and hoarse. “Show me who you belong to.” And you broke: your body buckled, the chains rattling with the force of your climax. A hoarse cry escaped your lips, his name lost between sobs and moans. He held you tightly, whispering praise, guiding each spasm of your body.

“Look at you… So beautiful, begging and cumming like this, all mine…” When the tremor passed, you could barely breathe. But his smile said he wasn’t done with you yet. “Now that you’ve learned your lesson… let’s see how many more times you can obey.”

Wriothesley

Breeding kink, praise kink. (Fem!Reader)

There’s something about the way Wriothesley watches you that goes beyond lust. It’s control, care, and such a genuine desire to see you rendition to him — completely vulnerable — that makes it impossible not to surrender to him.

When he praises you, his voice is low, gravelly, almost a whisper as he explores your body with caresses, touches, and kisses. His cock brushes against the folds of your sex, which is crying out to receive him after so much teasing, but penetration doesn’t happen — he continues using the tip of his cock to stimulate your hard, swollen clit, occasionally putting just the tip inside you, but never penetrating you completely. Your sanity was running out. You needed him, you needed him to fill you, stretch you, mark you as his.

“Wriothesley… please!” You moaned in frustration, your hands gripping his biceps, your nails digging into the skin. “Fuck me already.”

“Patience… Didn’t you say you’d be a good girl for me?” His words silenced your desperation — you wanted his approval, his praise — even if it meant your frustration would only grow. You nodded, biting your lip and leaning your head back against the pillow as you felt your orgasm approaching. It was almost strange how just the act of grinding against each other could completely break you. More moans left your lips and he smiled.

“You’re perfect.” He murmured, thrusting into you without warning, reaching the deepest point inside you in seconds. That was enough to make you cum, your walls contracting against his cock, milking him. “Fuck, always so tight… and so warm…” He pulled you into an urgent kiss, his orgasm approaching as well.

“Cum inside me…” You begged against his lips, your nails scratching his back, your body jerking against the sheets with every thrust of his hips. “Please, I’ve been a good girl.”

“You look so beautiful like this, begging for me… Your body knows you belong to me, can you feel it too? It’s begging me to fill you completely, to plant my seed in your womb.”

“I…” You could barely speak, a second orgasm quickly approaching. “I want to feel you stay in me for hours, I want to feel you dripping out of me just so you can fill me up again.”

“So tight, s-so hot…” He bit his lip, his words failing and his eyebrows furrowing, a clear sign that he was about to cum. And he did: hot and deep. Spurt after spurt of his seed invaded your womb, marking you completely as his. “Good girl... My girl. So obedient, so perfect, so… mine.”

Zhongli

Edging, use of vibrators. (Fem!Reader)

The room was calm, silent, as if the world had stopped to watch you both. Zhongli always treated pleasure with reverence, as an art that required patience, study and devotion.

You were lying between the silk sheets, your body already covered in a thin layer of sweat, the sheets messy beneath you. Your legs trembled slightly, and your breathing came in ragged pants. The vibrator in your intimacy vibrated in a soft, continuous rhythm — but never enough.

Zhongli was beside you, on his knees, his golden eyes fixed on each of your reactions. His expression was calm, almost solemn. As if he were praying with his eyes, adoring each sigh that left your lips.

"You're doing so well, darling." He murmured, his voice deep and calm, almost a whisper that touched your core. "So sensitive... so obedient."

The vibrator was lightly pressed against your clitoris, and you gasped, your hips arching reflexively. But, as he had done before, he pulled the toy away before your climax. Again. Once more. You moaned in frustration, almost tearful, feeling your own essence drip down your thighs.

"Zhongli… Please…" Your voice was a raw, trembling plea. He smiled gently, caressing your face with his fingertips, as if you were made of porcelain.

"Patience, my dear. Pleasure must be built, polished… almost like a rare jewel." He slid the vibrator over you again, this time with a light circular motion, unhurriedly. "When I allow it, it will be the kind of pleasure that will completely break you. Isn't that what you want?"

You whimpered in response, feeling every inch of your body tremble under the touch of the toy and his words. The moans came low, almost desperate, your mind clouded between torment and ecstasy. And he watched, mesmerized by how beautiful you were as you lost control for him. And then he finally whispered those words against your ear.

“Come for me…” You knew you were lost — and at the same time, exactly where you wanted to be.

The permission came as a blessing, and you came hard, your body arching in pure bliss. The sounds that escaped your lips were hoarse, beautifully uncontrolled. And Zhongli didn’t look away for a second: he matched every spasm of your body with his firm hands on your thighs, keeping the vibrator gently pressed against your clit even as you shuddered in extreme sensitivity. You gasped, breathless, and yet… yet you wanted more.

“You look so lovely like this.” He murmured, tracing the contour of your belly with his fingertips. “So surrendered… So mine.”

You tried to push the toy away with trembling hands, but he held them easily, his fingers intertwined with yours. His gaze was calm, but there was a spark of raw desire burning behind the gold of his eyes.

“I’m not done with you yet.” And then he turned the vibrator back on — a lower intensity, but focused, insidious, teasing exactly where you were most vulnerable. You let out a sob of pleasure, your body convulsing in immediate response.

“Zhongli… It’s too much, I can’t—”

“Shh…” He leaned down, kissing your lips tenderly. “You can, I know you can. Trust me.”

He knew your body like he knew the stories of every era of Teyvat— deeply, with respect, with adoration. Every pause between moans, every quiver of your muscles, every new limit crossed was memorized by him — memorized with mastery, just like the stories he had once told you.

“You deserve every drop of this pleasure.” He whispered in your ear, as his cock finally replaced the vibrator. “And I will be here to guide you through it.” You whimpered — a beautiful, husky, indecent sound — as your second orgasm came fast, violently, stealing your breath, your strength. But he didn’t stop his thrusts, because Zhongli didn’t love in a hurry. He loved like a god who had all eternity to worship his favorite mortal.

Breeding kink, DD/LG and praise kink. (Fem!Reader)

The candles cast a soft amber light over the room, dancing over the contours of the antique furniture and heavy curtains. Zhongli was meticulous even in his intimate moments — everything around him seemed carefully prepared to make you feel adored. And it worked.

You lay between the silk sheets, your breath held as he knelt between your legs, his golden eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made your entire body shiver.

He leaned forward, his hands firm on your thighs, spreading heat wherever he touched. “You’re perfect like this, you know that?” His voice was deep, sweet, enveloping like a balm. “So receptive, so mine… Just like the good little girl you are.” His kisses began softly, almost reverently, on your abdomen, then below your navel, until he was inside you again — slowly, deeply, filling you as if each movement meant more than just physical pleasure.

“Zhongli, please…” You whimpered, your hands finding their way to his back.

"You drive me crazy." He murmured against your neck, his thrusts deep and slow, his hips pressed against yours as if he wanted to merge the two of you into one body. "Every time I feel you like this, so hot, so tight... All I can think about is filling you to the last drop." Your moans were interrupted only by the words he whispered in your ear, between kisses and caresses that left your skin on fire.

"I’ve been thinking about fucking a baby into you…" Zhongli brushed his lips against your ear. “Every single day, every now and then, I catch myself thinking about knocking you up, making you round with my child, tying your soul to mine because of our heir…” His thrusts became more rapid, almost violent as he continued his monologue. “Would you like me to do so, my girl?” Your eyes widened — you suspected he had some kind of breeding kink, but having him finally admit it… it made your heart warm up in adoration.

“I’ll happily nurture your heir inside my womb.” You reassured him.

"You deserve to be praised, adored… You deserve to be filled with me, like the good girl you are." You felt him grip your waist, keeping you in place, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t disappear. The pleasure was intense, pulsating — and he knew exactly how to handle every second of it. "Atta girl... Just like that, love, you're taking me so good.”

“Daddy… I’m…” That name slipped from your lips unintentionally, and you felt aroused by it. You had never called him that, even though you fulfilled the role of being his little girl. “I’m so close, please, daddy… Cum inside of me.”

When he finally reached his limit, his moan was muffled against your skin. His orgasm provoked yours: your cunt convulsing around his cock, milking every last drop of his cum out of him, the contractions of your walls helping his seed reach deep inside of you, invading your womb without warning.

The silence that followed the climax was thick and full of meaning. Zhongli didn’t pull away immediately — instead, he remained above you, his body still entwined with yours, his fingers slowly tracing your waist, as if he wanted to memorize every curve again.

Your breathing was irregular, your eyes half closed as you felt the heat of his body mixed with yours. There was still the sensation of his semen inside you, hot and abundant, as he had promised.

The kiss he placed on your forehead was slow, like a seal of care. Zhongli then pulled out of you calmly, carefully observing your reactions, as if any discomfort you felt was a crime he would never forgive himself for committing. He lowered his gaze to where your bodies separated, and the sight made him let out a heavy sigh — satisfied, possessive, enchanted. And even breathless, he still whispered with possessive caress:

“Look at you…” He murmured, his fingers tracing the inside of your thigh, where his cum dripped lazily. “So full of me…”

You moaned softly, shuddering at his touch, and Zhongli smiled. A small smile, but full of tenderness. He rested his forehead on yours, his nose lightly brushing against yours, before murmuring in the softest voice you had ever heard as his fingertips caressed the skin of your lower bell in an instinctive, protective way.

“You make me want a future.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head. “With you. With the two of you.”

1K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

Text

LITTLE JUICE | JJK

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut, pwp

rating: 18+

summary: when you get insecure about being constantly needy for your boyfriend, jungkook shows you that it's okay.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: the plot is TEENY TINYYYY in this one, pure filth, mirror sex, dd/lg, little space, new roles for the wine universe omg, jungkook is a caretaker, pet names, degradation kink, praise kink, dry humping, they're so in love it's sickening, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), fingering, squirting, daddy issues, heavy dom/sub dynamics, handjob, penetrative sex without condom, cowgirl, plushies used in a sexual situation.

luna's note: i'm so sorry i couldn't get this out for you on xmas day since i was so sick, but let this be a gift for the new year! i missed writing smut sooooo much, and i can't wait to get back to it starting january. this was so fun omg. i missed wine sm. my daddy issues be daddy issuing so this has something new in it, i'm super excited abt it!! i hope you like this and that you enjoy reading. make sure to let me know what you think in my ask box!! mommy luna is baaaaackkkkkkk. HAPPY NEW YEARRRRR. <3 (one day early but i felt like saying it idc) BIG MWAH.

luna's necessary side note: i missed u all so damn much wtf. OH, AND HAPPY BDAY TAEHYUNGGGGGG.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl,

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

The mirrors, lining the walls, are nearly all fogged up once you take a step inside the vast rehearsal room. A certain mellow, yet familiar song led you towards the right door—one that made your ears perk up in curiosity because it reminded you of something you’d heard a long time ago, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Not until you rearranged your bobas into the crook of your elbow and slid open the door.

The stuffiness of the room only added to the sensual aura of the song, and your legs nearly gave out on you.

No BS by Chris Brown.

The song that started it all.

Jungkook, clothed in black from head to toe, seems to be locked in his own world as he moves his body in the center of the room, his chest and feet hitting each beat without a singular mistake or a misstep. And when the chorus of the song flows in, his whole figure follows suit. It rolls into the rhythm like the slowest, most passionate wave of the sea that splits in the middle and begins to course down your sternum. Your cheeks darken with a feverish tint. You feel every inch of his movements inside you as if he were there, and when Jungkook spins and sinks to his knees, propping only one Nike-shod foot on the floor, and he hip-thrusts before he continues those rippling motions to the last beats, the muscles of your thighs quiver on reflex and your dampened private parts flutter.

You did not expect to see that when you texted Jungkook you were going to visit him just because you finished work early and you could get boba before your favorite shop closed. You feel as though you just got blessed twice.

TGIF, indeed. Never in your life had you ever thought you’d celebrate the work week ending like you are right now—with two bobas in your arm, cooling your heated skin, and with your eyes witnessing erotically angelic artistry in a humid room. And with your sensitive parts outright dripping, too, because the song ends, enveloping the room in a silence that welcomes in Jungkook’s heavy breathing as he slumps back onto his back, his chest lifting and falling in the air.

You feel fuzzily faint. He made you wet in record time and he hasn’t even touched you. Nor has he looked at you.

Instinctively, your hand grasps your mango boba and you press it against the side of your face. Smile to yourself as a lightbulb flicks to life in your mind.

Leaving behind your purse, you take both of the delightful treats and walk over to him. His eyes are closed as he’s absolutely unaware of your presence, your steps soft and sly. His round, sweat-splotched nose puffs out hard breaths that move through you and you coo to yourself silently before you place both of your feet on either side of him. You squat down, careful not to let your bum touch his lap, and you get his boba ready, placing your own on the ground. And with the loudest roar you can muster, you press the drink to his glistening cheek.

He yelps. His fear-filled eyes fly open, his hands quick to catch you as you tumble down on him in reaction, your lungs submerging the room in your obscenely loud giggles. Tears of laughter cloud your vision, preventing you from seeing the horror twisting his face, but the little you saw was enough to douse your body in extraordinary elation. The tapioca inside the long cup swirls as it swims ferociously in the thick, violet liquid, mimicking the roundness and the blackness of his pupils with utmost perfection.

You swipe a finger under your eye, speckles of your glitter smearing its pad. You lean down, your laughter subdued as it slowly fades out, and you can see the horror smoothing out and transforming, seamlessly, into a relieved adoration that taps against your heart. You kiss him with the boba now cooling your cheek as well. Leave behind a hard peck on his perspiration-coated mouth that makes him softly hum into this physical exchange of love, and just before you draw away, he breathes out against you with his nose. And that doesn’t just tap on your heart, it knocks on it most warmly.

You love him so much. Too much. So much that the simplest of his body and human reactions make you feel things. Things that normal girls don’t normally feel.

Good thing you’re not a normal girl.

You’re a messed up girl. And you’re a girl in love. Have been for the past year.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

Your mouth widens into a pleased grin, and the light bulb that shone in a bright yellow melts into a warm, dusky pink tinge that floods your spine—only because he squeezes the dip of your waist that you’ve been working hard at carving out. A new thing you’ve implemented into your daily routine after you’ve gotten a new job that doesn’t allow you to fuck him all day long like you used to. The sex has gotten even better with time as the wine of his love ripened and matured. To such an extent that you found yourself craving it more than you had in those times when you were just seeing him for sex. Two rounds aren’t enough for you—and you remember well that after two rounds you were usually too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. Now, because you have matured too, your vessel for his love and his liquid stars has grown, needing more to feel satisfied to the fullest. The new job kept you away from him, the long hours teased you. So much that your bathroom breaks were too frequent and obvious and you spent them locked in a bathroom stall with one hand in your panties and your other holding your phone to your ear while Jungkook guided you, his hand, too, in his pants, locked in the same place on the other side of the line, whispering encouraging, lewd instructions that sent you shaking over the edge in mere minutes.

Instructions that got him in trouble at his workplace, hence why he had to come up with a solution. Because your thirst was never quenched in minutes. His voice was too pretty, and too soft.

Gym five times a week for you, dance lessons for him, physical distance for the both of you. A perfect solution for a perfect problem. All that sexual frustration was released during those exercises filled with delicious pain and you went to work the next day free of that carnal lust swishing in your veins. You focused on your work, and you didn’t have to take long bathroom breaks. You didn’t even need a spare pair of panties in your purse anymore.

It worked—and it’s completely crazy to you that all it took for you to break your public purity streak was seeing him dance like that.

You sit up and with your swift movement, the squelching sound of your cunt rubbing up against your juices sounds out across the room. Your cheeks heat up with a different shade of red as embarrassment runs down your spine, especially as Jungkook’s brows twitch upwards and his eyes widen, his large hands lowering down a little, following the curve of your figure that leads to his favorite part of you.

Your hips.

A blush scatters upon his cheeks, too. He heard it.

He calls out your name, sweeping his tongue across his abruptly dry and chapped bottom lip. Your name, not princess, not baby. Your government name without any embellishment of adoration.

You’re in trouble.

Your embarrassment pinches you at the two dimples on the small of your back. “Y-yeah?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, but he pauses for a moment. As if he could sense where the emotion touched you, his long and warm fingers find its icy traces that it left behind while still keeping the crooks of his thumb anchored on your hip bones.

“Did you get wet for me?”

A shiver cascades down the slender column of your back, a visible one for his eyes to see that coax out his softness for you, evident in the roundness of his bottom lip that he juts out, triggering your unprecedented shyness. What a drastic shift of dynamic in your relationship you perceive this to be. All along, for a year long, the atmosphere of your shared love has been nothing but an environment of safety, where you could unfold your sexuality as naturally and confidently as you wanted to without an ounce of coyness. Introduce an unyielding desire and a well-meaning solution for it into the equation and watch the change bloom.

For some reason, you’re reminded of his past, now distant, liking of a certain degradation kink that once grew like vines across your intimate relations with him. The memories travel along your veins—the vulgar pet names, the calling out, the rough handling—and crest at your core, moistening the center of your panties even more as your walls pull in. And the way Jungkook takes that bottom lip between his teeth divulges to you quite clearly that he feels it.

Which is a bad thing because you can’t lie about it.

But… you can’t divert his attention from it.

You slosh his drink in your hand. “I got you your favorite,” you chirp, the boba twirling beneath your hand while his identical pupils remain unmoving, unblinking, fixed on you. You manage a smile, but its staticness crumbles as soon as you realize that Jungkook isn’t really influenced by your change of topic. “Taro boba. I got a milk one, too. Mango. You wan—”

His hands descend down to your thighs, squeezing, halting the tide of your words, the progression of your trick. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your skirt and before you know it, he lifts you just a little bit to maneuver you and make you sit on the shaft of his semi. A low gasp gushes out of your throat as well as a leak of your dew not only onto the fabric of your underwear but onto the material that now clings to his manhood.

He twitches, hardening beneath your pussy, and gooseflesh pricks your skin.

“Mango? You always get Taro with me.”

The glitter from your eye make-up that you smeared across his cheek during your kiss twinkles underneath the dimmed light and he doesn’t guide your hips to move against him. No, he rolls his own—ever so slowly, ever so discreetly. His hands merely hold you down, but nothing about it is forceful. Subdued pleasure springs up your sternum, pooling in your head, making you woozy as quickly as if he were pouring booze down your throat. And when he heightens the pressure enough that he twitches again, you recognize he’s doing the same move that is a part of the choreo he was practicing.

Your heart hammers against your chest. Your nipples pebble against your cotton top, and Jungkook’s eyes fly to them, catching and taking in their aroused state, perhaps even coaxing it out of them.

A sigh leaves his mouth. He fists the hem of your skirt, dipping his head into the current of the pleasure he’s giving both of you, and so do you.

You just can’t help it; you can’t fight it. When your toe touches the surface of the wine of your shared love, nothing can keep you from taking a dip. And the same applies to Jungkook, too. In this case, he’s dripping in red, having slipped entirely into the current, one arm out of the water, fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you into the water.

And something about his desire lessens your strange coyness. His lack of solution offering brings down the stigma, setting you free. And you missed him. You missed him terribly. Haven’t felt his dick in five fucking days.

You place your hands on top of his.

A small fire begins to burn within the snug blackness of his eyes. All of a sudden, the noises he stifled come out in soft, almost inaudible growls that cause your clit to throb and your nails to dig half-moons into the skin of his hands. A green light from you for him to enjoy this—and he does. Jungkook throws his head back, his pretty chin pointing to the ceiling, and his big chest heaves.

It is only at this moment that his eyes leave yours just to bask in this forbidden pleasure.

Anyone could walk in—the doors aren’t locked, nor are they shut at all. Anyone could think the practice room is available for personal use, without a single soul present. And anyone could see you riding the horsey because the sight of him lost in the vivacity of it all forces you most carnally to give him more.

You hump him.

“My friend got it the other day and she said it was delicious,” you breathe out, speaking of your unordinary choice of boba. The movements of your hips are small, minuscule, but hard enough that his knuckles get painted with a shade of ivory that sprinkle your chest with little shocks of joy and pride. A thick vein bulges on the side of his throat as Jungkook tries his best not to let out the entirety of his noises that his body is brimming with—and for that very reason, you grab his hands and place them very brattily on your perked, full breasts. “I wanted to try it and see for myself.”

This feels good. This feels like the time before you got older and greedy. And the feeling is validated when Jungkook whisks his eyes back at you and grapples your tits, squeezing them so hard that it’s you who bites their bottom lip until you nearly draw blood, your body set on fire with a blue desire that kisses his big hands with such roughness that he whimpers.

But the moment is ruined all too soon.

A myriad of high-pitched voices is carried through the thick air, accompanied by giggles. You gasp, looking behind you, and before you know it, you’re up on your feet and Jungkook’s unopened boba is knocked to the side, now rolling sideways towards the mirror.

You go to fetch it, but a strong hand on your arm prevents you from doing so. You spring back to your place in front of him and you glance up at him in confusion just to see him frowning down at you.

Sweat drips down his temple. The tips of his brows almost meet in the middle, but swim away and relax at the sight of your puzzlement. The voices grow louder, your breath hitches in your throat and Jungkook’s hand lifts and pets down the back of your head, awakening the butterflies in your tummy as if he’s done it for the first time in your life.

A yearning to kiss him consumes you.

“Stay here,” Jungkook murmurs, keeping his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. “If they see us like this, they’ll walk away.”

You nod, understanding if you were to do as you wished, the girls would’ve taken it as a sign to enter the room and perhaps mingle. But if they see you stuck in an intimate moment like this, they quietly and quickly leave without any unnecessary fuss.

Smart man.

“I’m also so fucking hard that I can’t even hide it,” he continues, lowering his tone even more. It penetrates you, making your clit thrum, and as your grin blossoms, so does a romantic shade of blush across your cheeks. You envelop your arms around his torso, propping your chin on his chest, radiate your love up to him, and Jungkook smiles down at you. “As per usual.”

He kisses your forehead, lingering there for a beat longer before he lifts his head and focuses his gaze at the situation at the door. You don’t care much because you dwell on the hot and cold sensation he left in his wake from the warmth of his mouth and the iciness of his lip ring—something you’ll never get used to and something that will always ruin your panties.

“They’re gone.”

And so is he. Off to shut the door and lock it, peeking through the little rectangular window to check if anyone is around. Once the coast is clear, you sense him behind you as you bend to pick up his knocked off boba and you stumble upon his gaze in the mirror as soon as you straighten your spine.

A hungry look is wrung into his features.

The corners of his eyes droop in arousal, narrowed as they are. His pupils are blacker than the tapioca in your hands. His teeth nibble on his bottom lip impatiently and you flutter all over, taking in his state and his large stature towering above you. You could melt into him and never be found again, hidden in the crevices of his body that you still believe are there for you. Hidden forever, safe and sound.

He’s delicious through and through—and it’s been five days since you last had a taste of him.

Five torturous days.

“You must be thirsty after all that dancing,” you say, breathless and thirsty yourself. His chest heaves, colliding into your back, and all those soft crevices of him touching you brings you back into that ravenous, greedy state you can’t get out of so easily. Dangerous, he is. Utterly, utterly dangerous. Erasing your clean streak like that. “Let me open it for you.”

You go to turn around and fetch his straw from your purse, but he doesn’t let you. He encages you where you are by a mere placement of his hand on your hip, fingers back to gripping the fabric of your skirt. He can rip it off if he likes—he can buy you a new one and make your heart elated anytime.

The idea hardens your nipples, making a show for him all over again.

He pushes you flush against him, earning a sultry gasp from you. The fingers that gripped your skirt elongate across your mound while the other graze your chin, elevating it a little, ensuring a strong eye contact.

You flutter. Can’t take it anymore. He has to take you home and fuck the shit out of you before you—

“I am thirsty,” he purrs, his lips borderline touching yours. “But for something other than bubble tea. Care to guess what it is?”

Your breath lodges in your throat. You know well what he means, but out of habit and out of personal pleasure you pretend to be dumb. You want to hear him say it—you want him to be as detailed as he was during those naughty afternoon phone calls that got him in trouble with his boss, who told him off for having long work breaks. You want him, his filthy mouth and even filthier, condescending manners.

You want the old times—and for the sake of your desire, you remain silent. Twist your brows in feigned confusion. Widen your eyes a little. Puff out your cheeks.

Your adorableness makes him twitch against your hip. Jungkook sucks in a breath. Takes the hand that caressed your chin and glides it down your neck, your chest, your stomach that flexes under his touch until he winds up at the waistband of your skirt. There he stops and he tilts his head to the side, sweeping his tongue along the pillow of his bottom lip.

“What I want,” he starts, his breathing quickening. “Is the little juice that is in here.” He skims the pads of his fingers down your mound, beneath the hem of your skirt and along the sopping surface of your clothed feminine flesh. You mewl, your hips instinctively riding his fingers, following the sailing, back and forth motion. Your adorableness deepens with the influence of the sudden pleasure by the way it scrunches up your features and Jungkook whimpers again, stopping his motions when he feels you timidly soak his fingers. “I want it so bad that I can’t go one more minute without it.”

You glance down more to see how big of a mess you’re making on his hand, but as attuned as he is to his role, brought about by his arousal, Jungkook takes your breath away with his following actions.

He moves you closer to the mirror. Bunches up your skirt even higher so you have a perfect view of your panties, which have a large wet spot in the middle. Little rivulets of your juices flow out of their confines and down your inner thighs, proceeding to make a puddle on the hardwood floors beneath your feet. Jungkook’s fingers are shiny in the light, coated in your lustfulness, and he drifts them up and down that stain—over your swollen clit and sensitive lips.

“See? Here. This little wet princess part of you is what I crave.”

And just like that, owing to his words, you flourish into the little girl you haven’t been safely dwelling in for months, sliding into that role as easily, tenderly and meekly as if you were slipping your feet into your fluffy slippers. You regress, beautifully, making sweet little noises into his neck as you go to hide in there, poking his drink into his hand, silently telling him to take it while you rub your sticky thighs together, eager to get the uncomfortable throbbing feeling away. And he does, solid in his own caretaker role, sinking down onto his knees, placing the drink on the floor against the mirror. But he remains there, looking up at you, eyes big and round, yet still steady, sure, mature and irrevocably dependable. And you sense those eyes to be telling you to take your panties off and give the Daddy what he craves.

You hook your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and drag it down past the middle of your thighs, letting him handle the rest, but you catch his eyes watering ever so gently—and the discovery causes your heart to skip a beat. He’s taken in the role you’ve slipped into, having watched it happen in real time in all its glory, and perhaps he’s nostalgic, or perhaps he’s just euphoric, but he takes the time to bask in it all.

And he kisses the cotton fabric of your panties first before he kisses the soft flesh of your thigh. Drags it down. Lets it pool in his hands at your ankles. Peeks up at you.

“The way you willingly give yourself over to me never fails to mesmerize me,” he purrs, pressing another kiss to your thigh without taking his eyes off of you. Your stomach jumps, energy-charged butterflies scurrying to the front of your stomach in longing to kiss him, too. “You’ve been feeling bad about being needy for me. Worked hard for weeks to be a good girl, but what you don’t know, princess, is that you were a good girl even when you called me up at work asking for me,” he continues, lips brushing against your skin with every pronounced vowel. He edges around your knee and begins to pepper gentle, wet kisses there. Your mouth falls open—and you discover this place is a spot of more sensitivity than your neck. You double over, grabbing a tight hold of his tousled, yet soft hair, and Jungkook moans against you. “And you’re a good girl right now for giving yourself over to me, even when you’re so careful about being horny for me in public.”

Your body forces out the same kind of noises, so tender and pained, your heart rapidly kicking against your ribcage. Your arousal is heightened by his words carrying such devastating praise, even when the most inert core of you aches for such different debauchery—the very opposite of what he’s giving you.

You leak for him, nonetheless.

Unable to take it anymore, Jungkook cradles your ankles and carefully rids you of your ruined panties, half-stuffing them into the front pocket of his jeans. A tiny bit of the pink fabric sticks out of it and the sight intoxicates you, pulling you deeper into your little space. Even more so when he finishes his praise because he wasn’t done yet. Not quite.

“And to see you be little for me so prettily again after such a long time,” he husks, spreading your legs far apart enough to see that gleaming rivulet make its way down the inner of your thigh. “That makes me the happiest man in the world, princess. I missed you. God, I missed you.”

Jungkook leans in and, with his tongue flat against your inner thigh, he collects the little juice you leak for him. He moans at the taste, but the sound is broken by a cry marked by yearning for more. He doesn’t stop there—he delves immediately, without sparing a second, into your lap with such a verve that your back crashes against the still fogged up mirror. His mouth seizes your clit, making kissing sounds as he laps and sucks at it with a hunger that could never be replicated in the arts. You grip his hair tighter for support, almost sliding down the mirror while struggling to contain your noises, the pleasure permeating every inch of your body that is ultimately submitted to him. The pressure of the delight he’s giving you deepens when he places one of your thighs on his shoulder, helping you take it while he continues to moan into your pussy and eat her like she deserves.

But you can’t take it. Not at all. Not when he begins to flick his tongue on your clit in a way that he does.

Your foot slips, but Jungkook is in control. He makes sure you land on your bum safely and painlessly, not once ripping his mouth off your cunt. His eyes continue to be steady, fixed on you, narrowed into such thin, alluring slits that it hastens your sweet release. You hiccup as you take little breaths, overwhelmed by it all. Your cheeks burn, and the fire spreads down your limbs, leaping over to your boyfriend at work, who glows with a rosy tint. Jungkook pulls away a little bit, dripping in arousal and perspiration, and he allows you to see his technique in all its glory.

The tip of his tongue stimulates your engorged clit with rapid, hard flicks.

Your orgasm inches closer and closer. Jungkook pushes your legs all the way back until you’re a squished mochi that he can’t get enough of, and when he puts a bigger pressure on your little bud, it is your absolute undoing.

Closer and closer, the orgasm takes over you completely. From the top of your head to your little toes that flex in your sneakers, you begin to shake uncontrollably as the highest level of the delight bursts upon your body. Jungkook’s noises grow in volume simultaneously, enraptured as he is by the view of his created paradise unfolding over you—and he never stops looking at you.

Not even as you come down from your high.

Not even as he, with your little juice dripping down his chin, turns you around and stacks one of your feet on the mirror while he keeps the other leg back with his hand. His limbs surround you, and as you blink through the blinding fog of your orgasm, you realize that you accidentally managed to match your shoes with his. High Nike dunks, black. The ones he got for you as well when he bought a pair for himself.

Your hole clenches in the mirror. A stream of your little juice makes a larger puddle on the floor beneath you.

“Look at you dripping for me, fuck.”

Hooking your leg over his right limb, he strums your entire feminine flesh with the four of his fingers, the squelching and squeaking sounds of your pussy pulling a tortured groan out of him as if he hadn’t gotten a taste of you a mere minute ago. His other hand sneaks to your tits to feel them up, stopping at your pebbled nipple, which he fondles as he breathes against you, inhaling your scent. Your hips buckle, your drenched seashell sensitive from his feast, and Jungkook lets out a pleased chuckle.

“My pretty little pussy. Always so sensitive from all my love, huh?”

You nod, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and Jungkook grins before he places a fat, rewarding kiss to your cheek, the two of his fingers, middle and ring, one of them adorned with that white Miffy plastic ring, starting a series of circles on your clit.

Your hips buckle again, the pleasure soft yet dizzying, overwhelming your senses. Jungkook tightens his grip around you, squeezing your breast.

“Whose pussy is this, princess?”

In the middle of it all, a light bulb flicks to life once again in your woozy mind. And a pleased smile, just like his, begins to grow on your mouth. But Jungkook is impatient and you’re not responding fast enough for his taste, so he lifts his soaked fingers and uses them to grip your mouth.

There it is.

“I asked you a question. Whose pussy is this?”

You’d bite your lip if he weren’t squishing your cheeks together, but your satisfied smile reaches your eyes, crinkling them. That causes him to relax his hold and give you a chance to give him the answer he seeks.

Little does he know you’re about to manipulate him into giving you the sin that you desire.

“This slutty little pussy is yours. Yours and no one else’s, Dada.”

His brows twitch and light unrolls across his face, softening his features in a way you’ve never seen before. He curses, momentarily rolls his eyes back, and he plunges his wet fingers into his mouth before he seizes your mouth in a compulsive kiss that thoroughly shuts off your brain. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you comprehend he licked off his fingers and didn’t swallow only so you could get the treat he had himself—because he busies his fingers by burying them inside your fleshy heat.

And he fucks you hard and doesn’t stop even when you begin to make intense little noises into his mouth.

You struggle to kiss him back when he curls his fingers and pistons into you with rapid jerks from this angle. His other hand tugs your top upwards, finds its way into the cups of your bra just so he could pinch and rub your nipple in the way that you like. And when his tongue flicks against yours and his mouth purses softly against yours before he deepens the kiss, your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly that you’re as surprised as him once you come apart all over not just his hand, but the mirror, too.

You splatter it with your little juice and even then, Jungkook doesn’t stop. Growling with heavy breaths, he strums your clit as fast as he can until there’s nothing left you can give to him.

You slump against him, high on the complexity of yours and his aphrodisiac love. Specks of your glitter—your small shooting stars gravitate down to your flushed cheeks, and then his fingers are in your mouth, traveling far down and deep until you grace him with the sound he likes. You gag around them and he nods, pleased, smirking.

“Good girl. Your slutty little juice tastes good, doesn’t it, baby?” he asks, and your stomach springs, your drunken feelings intensified by the fact you finally got what you yearned for. “Your mouth makes me fucking crazy. Dada, slutty pussy. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You mewl, your eyes heavy, but you want more—you want his cock, and he can feel it, he knows it. He knows it when he pulls out his fingers and kisses you as if the world was meant to end in the next minute. He knows it because he withdraws and he tells you.

“Dada’s gonna fuck that slutty little pussy of his, hm?” Jungkook murmurs, and then his zipper is down, and just like the old times—he doesn’t rid himself of his clothes and gives you a brand new world with his strokes just the way he is.

Fully clothed, with his hard drooling cock poking out of his unzipped jeans.

He presses you against your wet juices on the mirror, spitting on his hand and lubricating the tip of his manhood. He enters you and you gasp, fogging up the mirror with your breath, and the hand that holds your head steady against the mirror buries into your hair while the other wraps around your hip. He sheathes himself inside you slowly whilst your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of finally being stretched out by him and once he bottoms out, it’s over.

Your life is over.

“Dada’s pussy always so tight.”

He pounds into you religiously—creating a new order for this brand new world. Hard, merciless strokes that scramble your brain and turn it into a mush. Your ass ripples with each collision and his noises melt into yours, a hymn for the utopia he’s fucking you into. And then he’s lifting you from the mirror and keeping you flush to himself, staring at you in the reflection while your tits spill out from your bra, bouncing, and Jungkook can’t get enough. Both of his hands drag down your straps, freeing your breasts, and he’s groping them, pinching your nipples without ever stopping the entrancing snapping of his hips.

“Pretty princess getting fucked. Look at you. So pretty and all mine.”

And then his Miffy-adorned finger is back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and your personal world is finished—because your pleasure is his ultimate undoing.

The smacking of skin quietens and his hips begin to roll—a languid, staccato version of his choreo that got you all needy and wet but an hour ago. Jungkook whimpers into your ear how much he loves you, over and over again, as he stuffs you full of his cum, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your swollen little clit until you come all over his twitching cock.

And he doesn’t pull away.

He holds you like this, panting into your neck, his grip still tight, still evoking a sense of safety you won’t find anywhere else. Your drowsy eyelids flit, consider yourself well-spent, and the thought begins to sing a celebratory song in your chest—because all that hard work paid off.

You’re no longer greedy; you’re gratified after the first round.

Jungkook kisses the nape of your neck. “We should go before Bunny and Vinny start wondering where we are.”

The song wraps around your heart, which dissolves at his words. Jungkook pulls himself out of you, but you swivel around and throw your arms around him, catching him off guard. His still erect and wet length brushes against your thigh—and the contact makes you quiver in his arms.

“I feel good,” you explain into his ear. “I don’t need more.”

Jungkook chuckles. Wants to look at your face and he smooths your hair back, grinning at you. “I’m proud of you, princess, but look,” he says, glancing down. You follow his gaze down and perceive he’s talking about his private parts. “I’m still hard.”

His cock twitches at his words and twitches once more at the sound of your giggles—happy, happy giggles because the stigma behind your neediness withers and completely disappears, never to be found again, only because Jungkook isn’t embarrassed or afraid to show you he needs more. Your chest becomes light, light enough that you think you grew a pair of wings to fly around the room with.

“Gym, Gguk. You have to hit the gym more often,” you joke, knowing his work out schedule transcends beyond the five days you spend at the place.

The corner of his mouth curls as mischief twinkles in his eyes, divulging to you that he likes the way you challenge him.

“Oh yeah?” he questions, lifting his arm, pulling back the oversized sleeve of his T-shirt to flex his biceps. Your cheeks heat up at the strong mountains that appear and your hand can’t help but to knead it. “These aren’t big enough for you, huh?”

You scoff and shush him at the same time, leaning over to plant a singular kiss to his muscles. Jungkook uses the opportunity to hide you in his embrace and you both sputter into laughs and giggles. He pecks your hair, but something interrupts your sweet moment.

“Look at the mess you made,” he says, pointing at the mirror, and you gasp when you turn around.

An imprint of the side of your face is left behind on the reflection. Foundation, mascara and glitter amidst the little pearls and rivulets of your juices. You worry what you look like now if your make-up is smeared to this extent, but it soon is washed away from your mind when Jungkook crawls forward and makes a heart on the wetness of your slick.

He takes a picture of it and then he cleans it off with his gym towel. The floor, too.

At home, you fuck him hard for it.

With his Taro boba in his arm, Vinny on his chest and Bunny in the crook of his other arm, you ride him until your thighs burn and he resembles the prettiest rose you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Having come more than enough on his cock, you jerk him off while you flick your tongue on his tip, and he moans, flushes and convulses until he spills all over your hand and his stomach. Ropes of him cum reach the plushies, too, as he can’t stop coming and, growing feignedly jealous, you swallow him, longing for him to drip down your throat.

He comes so much that your belly is full and he’s as gratified as you were in the practice room.

And after a quick shower, you both drift off to your brand new world unexpectedly, the events of the day having exhausted you enough that you fall asleep within the next heartbeat. Vinny and Bunny tumble on in the washing machine while you and Jungkook dance in the new paradise, having stepped into the role of parents having a date without the kids. No stress, no stigma—just the freedom of being loved right.

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#divider by kyejiz #bangtanwhq #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #jungkook drabble #jungkook fic

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harryspet · 2 months ago

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ribbons & rage | b.barnes

[warnings] dark!gray!congressman!bucky barnes x feral!hybrid!reader, daddy!bucky, power imbalance, possessive bucky, pet play elements, dollification, political manipulation, age regression tones (dd/lg dynamics), dom/sub dynamic, stockholm syndrome, forced domestication, DUBCON

summary: After a diplomatic mission turns into an extraction, Congressman James Buchanan Barnes brings home a prize no one knows about. She’s impulsive. Dirty. Disobedient. But under his eye, with enough ribbons, praise, and correction, he’ll turn the wild thing into something beautiful. Something his.

word count: 5.8k

bucky barnes masterlist

Sam warned him not to get involved in Project LUPUS. He was only a year into his congressional term and he’d managed to fully rid the public of the image of the Winter Soldier. For the first time in the century he’d been alive, he was just James “Bucky” Barnes. Some of his colleagues had even begun to take him seriously. Despite this, Bucky knew Sam didn’t fully understand. He’d never fully understand the destruction that Hydra had caused to his mind. Bucky was the only one who could understand the minds behind the deep-state project. Modern American scientists influenced by Hydra’s science.

Project LUPUS was Hydra’s legacy. The experimentations, the genetic manipulations, the violence. They hadn’t been erased. They were buried, waiting for someone to dig them up. It was his responsibility to make sure everything tied to it was destroyed.

The classified file came across his desk because one of his colleagues recognized he would be the best person for the job. He was granted limited access under the purpose of an oversight audit and a bioethics violation review.

According to the document, everyone involved had been terminated and all the experiment subjects had been exeterminated. His colleague believed otherwise. Bucky read the documents even closer during his private flight to Outpost-25 A, and undisclosed location in Alaskan territory. A snowstorm had grounded most flights but he’d been given “special clearance”.

The scientists, under the direction of a network embedded within the Department of Defense, were intending to create self-healing, biologically engineered hybrids with enhanced aggression, sharp senses, and fast reflexes. They’d be able to detect and eliminate threats, control public unrest, recover key asessets, and could even be deployed during warfare operations.

They’d learned nothing from the past.

The very last document in the pile of fifty pages peaked Bucky’s interest the most. It was a scanned intake form, faded, stained and partially redacted. This one had many notes written in the margins. A different tone than the documents describing the purpose of the project, the different subjects and how they’d been exterminated.

Subject 109. LUPUS-F. Status: Unconfirmed termination. Last seen on Sublevel 3.

Ah, the real reason he was here. You were nineteen at the time that the project had been terminated. Many of the notes were similar to the other subjects. Rapid healing. Strong territorial response. Pre-verbal communication. A few others, including you, had been listed as non-compliant.

He stared at the paper longer than he should have, becoming unsettled as he read further.

There were so many incident reports related to you. Reports on the use of deadly force. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The accidental death of a Lt. Carney. Another accidental death of a Lt. Wynn. Destruction of two containment doors during transport. The standard dose of sedation being ineffective due to rapid metabolism.

Avoid eye contact.

Will only accept food from [REDACTED]

Your termination order was prior to the termination of the project. The justification included unmanageable behavorial volatility and emotional instability. It stated your body had been incinerated but there were no autopsy photos included.

Double dose required for sedation.

Rejection of mating partner 103-M.

Rejection of mating partner 98-M.

Rejection of mating partner 115-M.

Bucky searched for anything that gone right during your captivity and didn’t find anything. Bucky finally tore his eyes away when the plane dipped from turbulence. The storm was building. As the jet began its descent into a snow-covered valley, Bucky caught sight of the outpost. It was buried under permafrost in a decommissioned missile silo.

The pilot warned him not to stay long before he finally stepped off the transport. It was a thirty-foot walk through snow, reaching up to his mid-calf, to the entrance. The tall steel doors of the entrance had been sealed off. He used his clearance code, courtesy of his colleague on the oversight committe, and the steel doors groaned open.

Lights flickered weakly above. He passed through long corridors and security checkpoints until he reached the main lab. It didn’t look abandoned. Only frozen in time. Notes were still scrawled across whiteboards, papers stacked on desks, and metal trays with half-used syringes. A shattered, glass, containment chamber sat nearby, clawmarks across the glass.

But there were no bodies, or bones, or even any bullet casing.

Carefully and methodically, Bucky cleared the first two floors of the outpost. He found each cage door open and and empty. When he finally reached Sublevel 3, he noticed something in the air had shifted. The air cooled even further and lights dimmed. That’s where he found the bones. Animal bones.

He checked each cage for a sign of life. Though there was a pistol on his hip and a shotgun strapped to his back, he didn’t ever reach for them. He paused at cell 12-C and stepped inside. There was bedding, sheets created from lab coats, chair cushions and even shredded documents. Muddy foot prints. Small and barefoot.

You weren’t in a cell. You were loose. Surviving.

He stepped back into the hallway. And then he saw you. No chains. Just … standing at the end of the hall. Watching him.

Despite the the lack of sunlight and coldness of your home, your skin was rich and radiant. Your curls, though some were matted, defied gravity. Your frame was slender, most likely from being trapped here with dwindling resources, but the curves of your body remained. Gunshot to the abdomen. He saw the scar above your hip bone. He also saw another one on your right thigh and an even larger one on your collarbone.

It wasn’t just the scars or the angles of your body that made you unlike anything Bucky had ever seen. Unnaturaly wide pupils that he could see even in the dim light. Slightly pointed ears. You looked him over, scanned him, and Bucky noted the faint twitch of your nostrils – scenting him. Though you were physically much smaller than him, you did not cower. You were not prey.

Your lips parted and Bucky could see your canines, just slightly too long.

He remembered your file.

Hybrid Type: Homo sapiens/Canis lupus (Genome Series III)

Ancestral Donor: [REDACTED]

You were made this way. Selfishly, inappropriately, Bucky wondered how something made by evil minds could be so … beautiful. Something switched in his mind then. He couldn’t ensure the full termination of Project LUPUS.

You were like him. A monster of another’s creation. He had to save you. Someone decided to give him a second chance, he could do that from you.

Perhaps they had evolved. Maybe he was here to get rid of you like the others. He was armed. There was no reason to trust him.

You didn’t speak. Just stared. Assessed.

Until you did move.

Part of you expected to easily pierce his skin. To be so much faster and stronger that the shear force of pushing your body against his would easily knock him down. You hadn’t met a worthy opponent yet. Until now.

He caught you.

He moved but barely. You let out a scream of anguish as his arms wrapped around your torso, pulling your body against his. You thrashed wildly, trying to pull your knees into his groin, before you decided to go for his throat. Bearing your teeth, you lunged for him, but the wind was almost knocked out of you when you suddenly found yourself slammed against the concrete wall.

Now you were mad. Blindingly furious.

What was he? He didn’t smell like a hybrid. He smelled chemical, metallic, and synthetic. His arm, across your chest, pinned you against the wall. You looked up at his face now, long dark hair shielding half his face.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” His first words to you weren’t a threat. You knew that much although you couldn’t decipher the full meaning. He was surprised. Not scared of you. Not the least bit scared of his own safety. It made you even more furious, “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop.”

Dead. Hurt. You knew those words. Those were bad words. But he almost seemed worried. He looked … conflicted.

You couldn’t breathe, your chest was tightening under the pressure, and it felt like your bones might crack at any minute. Your eyes burned from the rage and frustration. No one had ever made you feel like this. You wanted his heart in your hands. You wanted his head off his shoulders. But you forced your body to still. Not in submission but to allow yourself time to think.

A growling whine left your throat, the pain finally fully registering. His grip loosened and something changed in his face. He managed to keep you pinned but the pressure lessened, “I don’t want to hurt you,” He spoke and you hung onto every word. You needed to think. To try to understand him, “You won’t be able to hurt me. Not in the way you want to.”

Your nostrils flared. You didn’t believe him. You also didn’t move. Clearly, you would have to take a different approach.

He talked like a human. Carried weapons like the humans. You weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like he needed them. You could take another bullet, you’d done it before. You wished that the food hadn’t started running out a few weeks ago. You would be stronger. But there was still fight left in you.

He didn’t notice the switch flip in your mind. He was already pulling away, giving you space, but you quickly struck again. Dropped your weight, slammed your forehead against his jaw as hard as possible. Nails slashed against his throat when you successfully caught him off guard. You drew blood and smiled.

“Fuck,” He growled, actually growled, and your smile grew bigger.

So he bleeds. What was he?

A metal arm wrapped around your throat before he shoved you to the ground. You scrambled and kicked as he got on top of you, straddling your torso. When he reached into his pocket, you thought he was reaching for his gun.

“You don’t get it,” He said. You screamed as best as you could. Your chest heaved, “I’m not your enemy.”

You didn’t see the syringe until it was already pressed against your arm. The sting was nothing. You’d felt much worse. You didn’t flinch. Despite the way his face softened, you showed him your rage. You pushed at him until you couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Bucky didn’t realize he’d taken on too much responsibility until it was too late.

“You’re safe here,” He’d say over and over, “This isn’t a cage.”

Now you were here in his Brooklyn home, barefoot, feral, and you were close to destroying every valuable item in his home. His first mistake was trying to make sure you didn’t feel caged. He realized quickly that he couldn’t be nice with you. The only things you responded to were pain and control.

This would be a journey. A long one. It would be a slow, brutal fight to drag you out of whatever darkness they left you in.

And Bucky wasn’t sure yet who would survive it.

For the first two weeks, he kept a bit gag in your mouth to stop you from biting, and padded gloves on your hands, leather on the outside, soft inside, to keep you from scratching him. He had to sedate you everytime he deemed you needed a bath or your teeth brushed because you’d fight him until your body went limp from exhaustion. You completely refused any clothing, leaving Bucky to draw every curtain in the home.

He hadn’t found a way to make a click. To help you understand. Until he’d prepared you a breakfast one morning and you’d thanked him by flipping the table. He lifted you by your waist and dragged you kicking and screaming to the living room. He bent you over the couch, vibranium arm pressed against your upper back, and spanked you until your growling turned to whimpers.

He hadn’t seen you cry yet. Not until then. His heart panged, realizing he’d let his anger make him lose control. He hand’t wanted to hurt you. Not really. But the spanking had done more then bruise your ass. It embarassed you. Made you truly realize how much stronger he was. You were deadly but Bucky had an extra eighty years to perfect his craft.

Bucky could tell in the way your posture softened. How you leaned into the fabric of the couch for comfort. You weren’t broken but you were beginning to understand. He was the one in control. He could keep you here no matter how much you fought it.

You allowed him to lift you, to place you softly on the material of the expensive sofa. As he rounded the piece of furniture and sat close to you, he watched how you pulled your knees into your chest. And then quickly sat up and tucked your knees under yourself instead, bottom sore. Hesitantly, he rested a hand on your thigh. You looked up at him, eyes sad and confused.

“I know,” He said quietly, voice rough but steady, “But there are rules to follow. You were being a bad girl–”

You pointed to your chest and spoke to him for the first time, “B-ad girl.”

Bucky was taken aback by your tone of voice. Gritty from misuse but he heard so much softness underneath. A delicateness he had not expected. Bucky nodded after a long pause, “Yes, you were being a bad girl. But I know you can be a good girl.”

Your brows furrowed and Bucky saw the way that you momentarily grew frustrated before you pushed it away. For the first time, you pushed away your gut instinct to fight him. You pointed to him next, “Good girl?” You asked, confused. It didn’t sound right and Bucky could see your mind working.

Bucky grinned, “No, I’m Bucky.”

“Boy,” You corrected yourself, “Good boy?”

Bucky’s lips parted. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d get to this point with you so he hadn’t spent enough time considering how he would explain all of this you, “No,” He said after clearing his throat, “That one’s for you. You get to be the good girl.”

You tilted your head again, “You … Alpha?”

Bucky shook his head, “No, not exactly. I want to be your …” He thought carefully about his next words. He pointed to you, “You … good girl. Baby. Doll. Pet.”

He pointed to himself next, “Me …. I’m Daddy.”

“Hmm,” You made a noise as you looked him over. You reached out next, your fingers wandering curiously over the fabric of his white button up. You felt his chest, hard and thick before you gripped the metal wrist of his left arm, “Daddy arm … this … you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Still me,” Bucky spoke a little breathlessly, not realizing how much that word on your lips would make his heart race. You studied his face and then subsequently his heart rate. You placed a hand over his heart and felt the beating. It fascinated you. Your heart rate was so much slower, so much more controlled.

You made another noise and your hands wandered back to your own lap. It would be a strange sight to anyone looking in. You were completely naked and Bucky had, somewhat, grown used to looking at your figure. Sometimes his eyes lingered a little too long on the perks of your nipples or the plumpness of your bottom. And your legs were slightly parted, he could clearly see your slit. You didn’t mind it. It bothered you more when he wanted you to wear clothes.

“No baby,” You interrupted his thoughts and Bucky realized his hand was traveling closer to the gap between your thighs.

You were so soft.

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“No … not baby,” You pointed to yourself then and gestured to a lower height, palm facing downward, emphasizing how small an actual baby would be, “This baby.”

You wanted to be understood, “Not a real baby, no,” Bucky said, “But I want you to be my baby,” When you went quiet, he continued, “I want to take care of you. I will take care of you.”

You shook your head, “No need.”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, “You’re right. You’re strong. But I know you don’t want to be alone again. All by yourself. No family. No friends. No love. It’s bad for you.”

“Bad for me. No love,” You said after awhile, mimicking him. Trying to understand.

Bucky nodded, “It’s good to have someone. Stay with me. I won’t hurt–”

“You hit,” You retorted, some of that fury returning. Your palm touched the skin of your bruised bottom, “See, you hit! No like. I … don’t like.”

You raised a hand and Bucky quickly caught it. His eyes grew sharper and he sent you a warning.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to like it. I hit, yes. But it’s different than this,” Bucky emphasized the scars on your skin, the bullet wounds, the scars from where knives had sliced you open, “Sometimes it hurts more here.” He pointed to you heart.

“I don’t like,” You said again, softer this time.

Slowly, Bucky’s tight grip turned gently and he took your hand into his. One hand on your thigh, his metal hand on your soft one.

“Then you won’t be a bad girl, okay? No fighting. No hurting Daddy. If you want something, you have to tell me. You can’t just throw a tantrum. There are rules to follow.”

You sighed, considering. Your lips parted again, uncertain. That was good enough for Bucky.

Bucky leaned in, his voice gentle, “Do you know your name? I’m Bucky. You are …”

“109-F,” You answered easily and flashed him a look of boredom, like your name didn’t matter.

“That was your name. We’ll think of something better, okay?”

Another week passed and Bucky found he had little use for the bit gag and leather gloves. The tantrums remained but Bucky noticed your intentions had changed. You didn’t get riled up and try to hurt him anymore. You pushed at him and knocked things over but mostly only when you wanted to communicate something and Bucky couldn’t understand you.

As the spankings increased, the good behavior increased as well. He started new routines with you.

Your room was currently only a twin bed and soft carpet despite the size of the room. It allowed for less things to be destroyed. You didn’t sleep in the bed anyways. Bucky started to notice that his couch cushions, blankets, old newspapers, and even clothes from his closet were starting to go missing. He found them later in the small closet connected to your room.

A nest.

You had created a soft, safe space for yourself inside. At first, you bared your teeth at him when he tried to step inside. Instead, Bucky sat right by the entrance of the closet door. He brought you breakfast, a simple bowl of oatmeal. He’d take a spoonful into his mouth and exaggerate an, “Mmmm,” as he ate. Then he would hold the spoon out to you and wait for you to take it, “Your turn, baby.”

You refused the first few times. Then eventually you took the spoon in your hand and catapulted it at the wall. Not out of anger, mostly out of curiosity. And then you clumsily dipped the spoon inside the oatmeal, brought it to your nose, smearing some on your nose. “See, it’s not so bad. Try it.”

You looked at him like he was from another planet.

Eventually, you took the spoon into your mouth and had a few bites, “Good girl, baby.” That’s how he knew you were warming to him.

His work in Washington continued even as he continued to help you settle into a routine. There were still meetings and late-night calls. Stacks of policy briefs piled high on the living room table and his phone buzzed constantly. Soon, he would have to return but he hoped by then you would be more house broken. Easier to manage. Easier to leave on your own.

You responded well to the corporal punishments. To make even bigger changes, Bucky tried to workout a system of rewards for you. It started with the stuffed animals. Soft and cute. He knew you’d never seen or held one before. He sat outside the closet, further than he usually did, one evening holding a stuffed, brown bear, “Look, he’s soft. Do you want to hold him?”

“ … hold him?” You made you way to the edge of door and reached for it.

Bucky pulled back, “You may hold him. You’ve been such a good girl, eating your food, and not throwing things. Come here,” He patted his lap.

For a long moment, you mentally debated whether or not you would leave the closet. When you finally decided the risk was worth it, you hesitantly crawled forward, sitting your bare bottom on the worn fabric of his jeans. Bucky let you take the bear into your hands and he saw something your face soften immediately. You brushed your hands over the fur methodically, over and over. Bucky counted fifty brushes of your hand over it’s head.

“You can hug him,” Bucky demonstrated for you, realizing then that you wouldn’t know what a hug was. He pressed the bear to your chest and then guided your arms around the plush toy, “See, sweet girl. Do you like him?”

“I like bear,” Your voice came out muffled as you pressed the bear against your face, “Soft.”

You were mesmerized for a solid fourty-five minutes. You didn’t mind when Bucky shifted you in his lap so that you were fully straddling him, the bear between the two of you. His hands caressed your back, the sides of your waist and eventually he fully grasped your bottom in his hands, “Fuck,” He cursed under his breath.

“Hurt?” You asked though it was clear your mind was elsewhere.

“No, baby,” Bucky said although he was painfully hard.

“I keep bear?”

Bucky placed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade and was surprised when your face remained soft, almost happy, “It’s yours. For you, my good girl.”

“I’m good girl,” You smiled a real smile. It was the first time he fully saw your teeth and you weren’t thirty seconds from trying to rip out his jugular, “Good bear for me.”

He nodded, brushing your curls back with his metal fingers. He’d have to tackle another deep detangling another night, “That’s right. But when someone gives you something special, there’s something else you say, too.” He touched your cheek. “Can you say thank you, baby?”

You blinked at him.

“Thannnk—” he started, slow and patient.

You studied his mouth. “Than...”

“Good,” he coaxed, smiling now. “Now say thank you, Daddy.”

You continued, “Thank you… Daddy.”

“There you go. So polite. So sweet.”

You just stayed there, safe in his lap, hugging the bear a little tighter.

You followed Mr. Bear around the house. Wherever Bucky placed him, you were there. The kitchen table at breakfast, the space beneath Bucky’s desk while he was working, beside the bathtub when Bucky decided you couldn’t go any longer without a bath, your bed that you had initially abandoned. You’d even spent a full night in Bucky’s large bed, letting Bucky hold your waist as you slept using Mr. Bear as your pillow. It wasn’t conscious at first. You fell in love with the small toy quickly. You looked in his eyes and squished his belly to help calm yourself, to even help yourself sleep. It was an attachment that was foreign to you. You liked that Mr. Bear was yours and that Bucky had given him to you.

It was comfort and regulation. It was all new.

You spent a full two weeks with that sense of peace. Until you woke from a long nap on the living room couch and Mr. Bear was missing. You’d learn to breathe, to slow down and to not let your anger rise to point of seeing red. You breathed deeply as you turned over every cushion and looked threw drawers. You couldn’t even smell him anymore.

He was gone. Forever. Stolen from you. Had you been a bad girl? You’d grown attached and now you’d been abandoned. You started looking under any item you could find, letting items fall to the ground with a thud. You emptied an entire bookshelf of all it’s books and spread the contents of one of Bucky’s manila folders all over the floor.

Cold, dense paper. Nothing soft. You didn’t register the sound of Bucky’s voice in the other room. You fell to your knees, cheeks wet with tears, and started to shred the papers with your nails.

“....Then tell them to hold off until I’m back D.C. I won’t sign off on anything blind …. Yeah, he knows this. Email him again. Then call. Whatever you have to do. That’s your job …”

A second later, the footsteps came. Fast, heavy but controlled.

“Give me a second,” Bucky said. Then louder, “Just pause the call.”

Your eyes found his when he finally walked into the living room from his office. He looked over everything quickly. You couldn’t control your breathing.

Before he could ask you what was wrong, you yelled, “You took bear! Not here! Where?!”

“He’s not gone,” Bucky crouched next to you, eyes dark and fixed sharply on you, “I was in the other room. You need to ask when you have a question. You can’t do … this.”

“Need bear, Daddy,” You crawled closer on your knees, “Need. Baby is sad.”

“Thank you for telling Daddy how you feel but this is not what you do when you’re sad. You didn’t ask Daddy for help,” Before he continued his lecture, he realized you weren’t the least bit sorry. Your focus was on your toy, “Daddy put Mr. Bear in the washing machine. He was dirty. He’s in the dryer now.”

“You took bear,” You croaked and Bucky sighed, “Not dirty. Give back.”

“I’ll give him back after you clean up your mess.”

“No, Daddy!”

“Do you want a spanking too?” You blinked, eyes wide. You shook your head slowly. It had been so long since Bucky had bent you over and done that to you, “Clean, all this needs to go in the trash. The books go back on the bookshelf. And you can put the couch back together. I will wait.”

You scowled then. You had to clean when all of this was his fault. He took Mr. Bear.

He kept his word. He waited. You put the couch cushions back where they belonged before you stacked the books back on the shelf. He stepped in to show you exactly where the books needed to go and held a trash bag open for you to place all the destroyed papers in.

“Good girl,” He said though the way his jaw clicked made you believe he might be just as mad as you.

He took your hand a moment later and led you into the small room with two white machines. One was loud, rumbling and as Bucky opened it’s door, the shaking came to a cease. And then Mr. Bear appeared. Before you could lunge for him, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, holding you at a distance, “My bear,” Your voice trailed off as you eyed the toy. He looked cleaner but he’d lost the smell you’d grown to like, “Bucky no more clean. Not dirty.”

“Mr. Bear does get dirty just like Baby does. He has to have a bath sometimes. Do you understand?”

You were reluctant but you nodded. “Yes,” As soon as the plus toy was in your arms, you curled up on the ground, and held him tightly. As Bucky turned to return to his call in the other room, you let out a small, “.... Sorry, Bucky.”

He paused in the doorway, glanced back.

“I know, baby,” he said gently.

Bucky decided the perfect gateway into you finally wearing clothes around the house was yet another toy. This one was a soft rag doll that looked just slightly like you. The same skin tone and dark curly hair pinned up by two lavender colored bows. She also wore a lavender dress and matching ballet flats. She looked sweet, safe, familiar.

His usual spiel had failed. He explained that clothes were a good thing. They were soft and kept you warm. He also teased the possibility of one day going outside with him, “The people outside always wear clothes,” He’d say, “You want to go on a trip with Daddy one day, don’t you?”

You just ignored him and let your eyes wander towards the window, “This is Mr. Bear’s good friend,” He presented the doll to you, placing her on your bed, next to the loose-fitting, pink t-shirt dress that was laid out on the bed. He chose something completely unrestrictive on purpose. You perked up then. You gave him a hungry look, as if he was presenting you with a medium-rare steak instead of a doll, “She’s a ballerina. Uh, like a dancer. To music. Her name is … Rina.”

“Rina,” You tried, your eyes locked on her, “Soft?”

“She’s very soft,” Bucky assured you, “She loves hugs too.”

“Rina mine?” You asked next, face soft, looking up expectantly, “Like Bear?”

“She could be. She wants a new friend. But she has a rule.”

Your arms crossed at that. You leaned forward to study the doll, brows furrowed, “She has rule?”

“She doesn’t want to be held unless you’re dressed, like people are supposed to be. Even cute hybrid girls have to wear clothes. She feels the most comfortable that way.”

You pouted adorably, “Bad rule.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, “That’s what she told me. Rina’s rules. She might let you hold her if you’re a good girl.”

“Don’t like,” You started to whine, pressing your body against Bucky’s body, forehead pressing against his chest, “Please … don’t like.”

Bucky placed gentle on your shoulders, lifting your body from him. He pressed a finger under your chin, lifting it until you were looking at him, “I’m sorry, I would help you but it’s not my rule.”

He turned away from you. Not far, only a few steps. He gave you space. Pretended to check his email on his phone. He heard you stomp your feet. Once. Twice. Then a whine. Then there was silence. The tiniest ruffle of fabric. When Bucky turned around, you were wearing the dress. He smiled wide, impressed.

He doubted he could get you in pair of underwear or a bra today but there was time for that.

He came closer again, running his fingers over your hair before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Did it. See, Bucky.” You declared, eyes wide and expecting, “Mine now?”

“She’s yours.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” You bounced on your toes excitedly before you happily scooped up the doll. Bucky picked you up next, and you wrapped your legs around his torso. You let out a soft laugh, a real one, and it was music to Bucky’s ears. One arm looping around his neck, the other squeezing Rina to your body, you looked Bucky in his eyes deeply. Like he’d placed gentle kisses on your forehead, your shoulder, and cheeks, you placed a soft peck on his lips.

He stilled for a second. Then smiled, full and proud, “Thank you, babygirl.”

There was one week left until Bucky had to return to Washington. He was more than happy with the progress you’d made. You’d started wearing underwear and you’d even been open to trying different kinds of clothes. Pants were still a nonstarter. You didn’t mind the skirts. You didn’t love the tight-fitting t-shirts but Bucky often left you no options. You tugged at them and pouted. Selfishly, he liked the way they looked on you.

There were still many gaps in your social etiquette. It took him a full three days to explain that you couldn’t lift up your skirt whenever you wanted. You had a habit of wanting to stare at the different patterns on your underwear and often would flip up your skirt in the middle of a conversation or activity or anything to look. He corrected gently, not because he didn’t like the view but because ideally one day you’d accompany him to dinners and go on outings with him. He didn’t need you putting your body on display.

He convinced you Rina liked it when wore different hairstyles. Ribbons and bows were her absolute favorite. He’d started getting really good at braiding it into neat rows, and tying bows to the ends. During his morning meetings, you often sat between his legs at his desk, Rina in your lap, as he fixed your hairstyle for the day.

Bucky was settling into a sense of peacefulness. A feeling he had longed for. Therapy helped. His new job fulfilled him in some aspects but also made him realize how slow change really happened at the same time. This life, the pocket of innocence he was building around you, was starting to help most of all. This life was the opposite of everything he and you were ever used to.

He didn’t want you exposed to the real world. He would shield you from reality for as long as possible. He would give you something he never had for himself. He’d also had enough of following orders for ten lifetimes. With you, in his own house, he made the rules.

He had to address his mission. Debrief the committee on all of his findings. He had to give his colleagues enough information to satisfy them but couldn’t risk them getting their hands on you. You were the survivicing data to a program that never should’ve been created. He decided to lie. The site was clear of any sources of life. The facility was sealed, records wiped away, and he submitted a report that suggested Project LUPUS be permanently blacklisted from funding due to “gross ethical violations”.

He’d have to spin another story eventually. Explain your presence in his life. Mel, his assistant, was already working on using the story for political advantage. You were a rescued civilian during a humanitarian negotiation. You’d suffered severe trauma and Congressman Barnes, recognizing the complexity of the situation and understanding the importance of mental rehabilitation, he’s personally arranged for you to receive trauma-informed rehabilitative care under his sponsorship. He’d be even more of the hero than the public saw him as.

Colleagues would raise questions but no one would push to hard. He was a war hero. His word was gospel.

Pls reblog w/ your thoughts if you enjoyed! This will be a 2 part series with the second chapter focused on Bucky + Baby’s time in Washington! Hope you enjoyed :)

#dark fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #thunderbolts #black!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #dark bucky barnes

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hillbillyhubby · 8 months ago

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Sometimes they get it good 6 times on 5 separate days in a week … not naming any names here. 😢

I’m not “bratting” or anything, that would go very badly for me. I swear I’m trying to be good, @strict-consistent-wifey is just on her A-game. I’m not getting away with Anything! Pray for me.

HH!

#domestic discipline #strict wife #f/m spank #over her knee #over the knee #f/m dd #strict lady #yes ma’am #disciplined husband #wooden spoon #hairbrush #mama spanks #maternal authority #tanned my hide #disciplinary couples club #disciplinary wives club

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joelsdagger · 1 year ago

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intermission || joel miller x f!reader

shout out to @dinandwhiskey for feeding into my delusions for this one and to @skrunkly-scrimblo for the beta <33

pairing: daddy dom!joel miller x f!reader summary: movie night with joel doesn’t go to plan, or joel fucks your mouth while you’re sleeping. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ rating: 18+ MDNI warnings: [No Outbreak], established relationship, age gap [reader is 24, joel is late 50’s] , dd/lg dynamics, daddy kink, somnophilia [no explicit consent in this fic but she’s cool with it, therefore dubcon], oral [m receiving], face fucking, deepthroating, finger sucking, praise kink, pet names [little bug, little angel, baby, the works lol], references to tummy bulge, references to unprotected p in v sex, mentions of creampies, cum eating, reader can be carried [tho in my mind joel is huuuuuge so size kink as well], Joel’s POV. word count: 2.3k a/n: happy father’s day (iykyk) :3

series masterlist || masterlist || ao3 || playlist || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

I don’t fall asleep during movies, daddy, you had sassed him.

Whatever you say, little bug.

That was an hour ago and now you’re resting your pretty little head against his belly, your hand tucked beneath your head. You look so peaceful. So pretty. So soft. So – pliant.

He really shouldn’t.

But then your hand slips from under your head and falls to rest a hair's breadth away from his clothed cock, it jumps in his sweats. You’ve practically pavloved him to react like that with just a mere graze of your fingertips.

“You got no idea what you do to me, sweet girl, drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy over here,” his voice a low rasp, reaching for your fingers and gently pulling them from his lap, squeezing your fingertips twice before resting them atop his thigh.

You’re completely limp, deep in your sleep and Joel is unable to control himself.

He snatches up the remote, hastily turns down the TV, shoves his gray sweats down to the middle of his thighs and frees his semi-hard cock. He wraps a hand around the base, gives it a firm tug, and rests the tip of his length on your lips.

He stills and swallows hard. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this, it feels selfish to take what he’s been desperately wanting from you — for the better part of an hour — when you’re unable to respond. He should wake you.

But then, almost as if you’ve made the decision for him; your lips part and a soft moan releases from you, mmm, daddy. His cock twitches against your lips, opaque droplets already gathering at the slit. Your lips stay parted and the glistening tip slips between your plush lips.

“Fuck– ” He groans at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his head, hand flying up to the back of yours, cradling your skull in an attempt to anchor himself as he slowly rolls his hips up into you. He stiffens fully at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. It feels fucking incredible.

How the hell did he get here? A rare lazy sunday night with you on his lap, taking a man almost three times your age in between your lips, letting him use you in your sleep.

He remembers first laying eyes on you. You showed up on his porch one night, not too long ago, with sparkling eyes and a shy smile on your face. He didn’t even hear what you had said to him, too distracted by the soft skin of your exposed thighs just below the hem of your pale pink dress — barely covering the plump shape of your ass — and the flow of your hair as a wave of muggy summer heat swept past. He thinks it was something about the leftover cake from your birthday. He only guessed that from the sad, fat square slice of funfetti birthday cake held up in a flimsy paper plate before him, the letters jaggedly cut down the middle of the celebratory phrase.

Joel is a strong man; at least that’s what he tells himself. He knew you were too young for him. The split letters that barely spelled out twenty-four on your birthday cake told him as much. Trouble, he’d muttered. He still mumbles that occasionally when you push his buttons, though hours later, he often finds himself burying his length deep inside of you, tears pricking your eyes while he stretches your needy cunt.

But then you glanced up at him with wide, curious eyes and flashed him a big, toothy smile — the prettiest little thing he’s seen in all his long, hard years — and he cracked; his cement walls came crumbling down. He brought you inside his home, into his too-small bed, and fucked you until you cried, until you asked him for a break only to climb on top of him minutes later, begging him to feed you his cock again.

His cock pulses on your tongue at the memory, your voice high-pitched as you cried, Daddy, please, I want it. And Joel couldn’t resist his special girl. How could he? When you softly gasped into his mouth as he pushed the blunt head of his cock past your puffy folds — nuzzling in and making a home for himself — where he belongs. Your warm, drooling cunt sucking him in to the hilt, sheathing the entirety of his hard length inside your messy little pussy.

Joel is a strong man, but not when it comes to you.

Please, please, I need to feel it inside me. All the way up here, daddy, you whined, one hand gliding up your belly, the other fisting the fabric of your lace-trimmed dress. He just couldn’t resist you. So he fucked you and fucked you deep, until he was in the soft pouch of your tummy and poking through from the other side, just as you had asked of him. He fucked you full of his spend, until your poor, tiny hole couldn’t take any more of his cum.

He’d damn himself to hell before he’d refuse you. He only hopes you don’t deny him if you wake.

His deft, roughened fingers brush the hair out of your face before settling his hand back on your head. He sits up and leans over; marveling at the stretch of your lips around him, sweat beginning to pool at the nape of his neck and the corners of his temples.

He feels filthy. A dirty old man. He’s never taken you like this before. But it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s only missing those pretty sounds you make —

You stir and let out a soft moan around him. Sweet Jesus, there you go. Your head dips lower down his belly, nestling more of his length into your hot mouth. Atta fuckin’ girl. Let me in, baby. Open up real big for daddy.

“Such a naughty little thing, lettin’ me fuck your throat while you’re sleepin’, just needed to be full o’me huh?” He whispers softly, and at that, you hum. Joel can’t help when he bucks up into your mouth in response, saliva pouring past your lips and onto his graying pubic hair.

“Fuck, baby, you like gettin’ daddy all messy? Like chokin’ on daddy’s big cock?” He taunts, a grin tugging on his face.

Once again, as if you can hear him, you hum.

You’re so damn responsive. Or maybe you just like having his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck, yeah, you do,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. His free hand glides down to the swell of your ass — the softest skin he thinks he’s ever felt — and hikes up the frilly hem of those pink sleep shorts that he likes a little too much — the ones speckled with tiny red hearts — over one cheek, grabs a handful of your plush flesh, and squeezes. You moan, and Joel feels your tongue twitch, feather-like, beneath the heavy weight of his cock, then pressing up against the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. He bites down on his lip to muffle the loud moan that sneaks past his lips, the back of his head hitting the couch behind him.

“Goddamnit, takin’ me so damn well, even in your sleep, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he babbles, his eyes shut tight as he revels in the feeling of himself in your mouth, the action movie silently playing on the screen flashes against his eyelids, measured shaky breaths escaping him. The strong hand on your head easing you lower and lower to take more of him, your lips now grazing the drool drenched hair at his base.

Your mouth feels like velvet around him — warm and soft and so perfect that his hips cant upwards unconsciously, the pace of his thrusts increasing. He’s losing himself in the haze of his fast-approaching release, a deep-seated tension building in his gut, teetering on the edge until—

You splutter around him and Joel’s head snaps up to peer down at you, your eyelids flutter open against the soft glow of the television.

“Shit, baby. ‘M sorry,” he rasps and quickly retracts his hand from your head. Yet, you don’t pull yourself off him, instead you curl your weak fingers into his thigh. You don’t want him to stop.

“You want me to keep going?” He asks gruffly, he knows you can take him, you’ve done it countless times since you have met. He’s trained you well. Yet, he needs to be certain he’s not reaching your limit.

You drag your lips off his cock, an obscene wet slurping sound fills the too still air, letting off him with a pop and maneuvering yourself to sit up on your knees. “Yes, please daddy,” your voice still thick with sleep, peering up at him with an innocence to your needy gaze; a mixture of drool and precum coating your pouty lips.

“Christ,” he mutters, under his breath. Such a pretty fuckin’ sight. One he reckons he’ll never get tired of seeing. He can’t deny you. Not when you look at him like that.

“Okay, baby, here,” he murmurs, his hand retakes its place on the back of your head, guiding you toward his aching cock, your lips latch onto the fat head — all angry and red — and he inhales a shuddery breath as he watches your face contort at the stretch of him in your mouth.

Your tongue flattens underneath him and he presses himself deeper into your willing mouth, filling you up and messaging the walls of your throat with the wide head of his cock.

His grip in your hair tightens and a low groan rumbles in his throat, “There you go, baby, hold still.”

Fucking hell. He could keep you here forever.

“So goddamn pretty like this, baby,” Joel grits, “Love havin’ your mouth stuffed full o’ my cock, huh?”

You make a low muffled sound around the length of his cock.

“S’right, you do,” he answers for you.

His free hand trails down the length of your body, instinctively gripping the meat of your ass, dull fingernails digging into your skin, just barely grazing your puckered hole. You whine around him, the vibrations from your throat has him flexing his fingers your hair in response, and with shallow, quick thrusts of his hips, he fucks himself into your mouth.

Fresh tears begin to sprout in your eyes as you gulp hard, your throat constricting around him. Joel feels his throbbing tip choked tight at the small opening at the back of your throat. The warm walls of your throat so tight — so good for him — the muscles in his belly tighten, and the hand on your ass is quick to join the other on your head, gripping your skull. “Shit— that’s it, angel. M’comin’.” His dick pulsates on your tongue, and a loud, guttural groan spills from him as hot, thick spurts of his cum coat your throat. His hand holds you there, firmly pressing your mouth flush to his spit-smeared balls. He feels you swallow around him again, and he whines quietly. The muscles in his jaw go slack, and his head falls back onto the couch while he lazily thrusts upwards, his leaking head bruising the back of your throat as he empties the last of himself into your mouth and filling your belly, his chest heaving from exertion.

He lifts his head when he feels you pull off him; you cough softly against him, the warmth of your breath brushes against his now softening cock, and his hooded gaze meets the sight of a thin string of saliva and cum dribbling from your wet, puffy lips, tears dripping from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks. “Oh, c’mere, little bug, lemme see.”

Just as he taught you, you plant a small, wet kiss on each of his heavy balls. Joel sighs through his nostrils. Fuck. What did he do to deserve you? You’re too good for him. You scoot over to sit up in his lap. Joel feels the slick between your legs through your tiny shorts when you press against his soft cock. He lets out a little groan; if he hadn’t just come, he’d be getting hard at the sensation.

His hand reaches to grip your jaw, angling your face up as you present him with your open mouth, the corners of his lips twitch at the sight of the walls of your little throat; empty, swollen, and used.

“My filthy girl, you did so good f’me,” he cooes, coaxing away your tears and swiping your glistening lips clean. He pushes the pad of his thumb — covered in slobber and cum — into your mouth and presses it onto your tongue. Your wet eyes lock with his as you enthusiastically suck his thumb clean.

Man alive. Maybe you’ll damn him to hell.

You release his thumb and giggle, biting your lip and smiling up at him dreamily. “Thank you, daddy, I liked it,” you rasp quietly.

“Yeah?” He breathes, both of his hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking your wet cheeks.

Your wide, glassy eyes meet his gaze, “I like when you do things that make you feel good, it makes me feel good,” your voice hoarse and small, fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Well – you always make daddy feel good, little angel,” he praises, leaning forward to lay a long kiss to your forehead that elicits a breathy sigh from you, your eyelids fluttering closed.

“You tired, baby?” He whispers, tucking your soft hair behind your ear, fingers stroking down your hair and twirling the end of the gathered strands between his fingers.

You yawn quietly and give him a slow, small nod, a sleepy smile to your face as you sink down in his lap, your weeping cunt throbbing against him. He’ll play with your perfect little pussy in the morning. Maybe your other little hole too.

He chuckles at that. “Alright, little bug...” he starts, tucking his soft cock back into his sweats. He scoops you up into his arms; his weak, achy knees pop, and a low grunt spills from him as he stands, “Bedtime.”

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rqnarok · 9 months ago

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you cannot tell me that old man!logan doesn’t have a daddy kink…

cws/tags: sexual content. oldman!logan. mild daddy kink. subspaces. dd/lg undertones. crying. dom!logan.

Old man Logan would be so into daddy kink; the name rolls off his tongue easily—“So good for Daddy, sweetheart.”

He just can’t help it when you accidentally call him by that name while you were reaching your high. He is the one who continuously brings it up; never letting go of it. Because he fucking loves it.

“Yeah’ that’s it, kid. There ya’ go.” Logan murmurs endless praises as you try to sink down on his large girth. Calloused hands are rubbing circles on the skin on your tummy, guiding you down and down, “Fuck. Ya’ feel me here, kiddo?”

You only respond to his question in a whimper, closing your eyes and biting your lips as you try to take more of him. The sight of his pretty baby fucked out on his lap is the most adorable thing he has ever witnessed, “Wanna be good for dada, huh?” His mouth trails soft kisses on your warm cheeks and temple.

“Can you speak, baby?” To let him know you’re alright, you lightly bob your head as you place your hands on his shoulders to support your body and raise yourself so only his tip remains—before dropping down again—way deep this time, you’re sure you got all of him inside you and you gained some confidence.

Logan lets out a strangled grunt in surprise, “Hey, take it easy, little bug. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He draws his palms on your back to cling you closer to his chest.

Slowly but surely, you rest your heavy head on his neck and rub your own head there to feel his untrimmed greying beard. You’ve earned your motivation again.

“I can do it, Daddy.” You plea to him, “Can’ do it. ‘M a big girl.”

He tilts his head to lovingly scold you, “Don’t hurt yourself, little one.” Logan’s tired sugary smile only remains until you’ve managed to lift yourself upwards—your velvet walls wrap so deliciously tight around him and making him shut his eyes and inhale sharply, “F-fuck.”

“‘M a big girl!” You repeat as you bounce irregularly—feeling like you’ve overtaken him and everything else.

Well…not for long.

Because after around five more times going up and down on him, you could feel yourself getting exhausted. Your eyes barely open up as you squeak a high-pitched whine—making grabby hands at him to get his attention.

To get Daddy’s attention.

“Ah- n-need help, Daddy.” You choke out, opening your eyes slightly to see that he’s already looking - observing you.

“Hm?” Logan hums as he brings his fingers to pinch at your soft cheeks, “Thought you’re a big girl now, baby?” His thumb rests just outside of your spit-licked mouth. Earning more humming approvals from the older man when you willingly open your lips and sucks it inside.

“Wha’dya need Daddy’s help for if you’re a big girl?” He paraphrased his question again—his palm roaming below your breast before kneading each one of them.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you’re feeling the stretch, “Daddy—” and the sting in your dripping pussy as an effect of your previous actions, “I-I thought I could do it…”

“What’d Daddy say?” Oh, you know you’re in trouble because he’s scolding you now. For not listening to him and to play-act in front of him.

“‘M sorry!” You cannot help but cry out then wrap your arms around his neck, “Was just so excited, Daddy—need you so bad!”

Logan coos your figure by threading his big hands through your hair, shushing you hiccuped sobs down, “Shh,”

After hearing your breath steadying, he ruts his hips up against yours. Circling and thrusting to your tight heat as you rest your entire body weight onto him. You tremble in his arms as you hear skin-meet-skin slapping sounds echoing through your shared bedroom. Fully giving yourself to fall in his embrace.

“Ya’ see? Y’re just a little girl, baby. Daddy’s little girl.”

You nod and make out a confirmation whimper. Before you register it, he starts to move you too.

Yeah, you feel way much better like this.

Being Daddy’s little girl and letting him have all the control there is.

#going insane.......#logan howlett #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #deadpool and wolverine #cw: daddy kink #wolverine smut #smut #wolverine #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett imagine #logan by nina <3

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animasola86 · 5 months ago

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LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH1

Sometimes, Mommy and Daddy don't see eye to eye with how they handle their little girl: you. After Mommy disciplines you for a clumsy mistake and its aftermath, Daddy comes to comfort you, and you show him just how thankful you are.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Dd/Md/lg dynamics, Daddy/Mommy kink. Age gap. Size difference. Pet names. Love triangle. Hurt/Comfort. Implied caning. Aftercare. Cock worship. Oral sex, deepthroating attempt. Hand job. Dry humping. Fluff. (More notes below the cut!)

WORDS: 7k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: Reader (we call her pumpkin) is in her 20s, Mommy and Daddy are in their early and late thirties. Everything's more or less consensual. There's a bit of backstory for Reader (who basically suffers from depression and anxiety), but other than that, she's pretty neutral (only attributes she has are: hair long enough to braid and female genitalia, and she's bisexual or at least bi-curious, and leans more to the submissive side of things). Also this may not be your typical little girl story as I'm not that much into ageplay, so this will be a wild mix of different elements of the Dd/lg dynamic with a good dose of Dom/sub, a bit of the Good cop/Bad cop trope (Daddy being the soft!Dom, while Mommy has a darker side), lots of F/F and F/M (and F/F/M) intimacies, and more. If you're open for anything, this may be a story for you! (READ THIS if you're curious/wondering about the tags I listed this under!)

🔷️ Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2

You toss and turn in your bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Your butt hurts, as red and tight as it is, but you try to fight any new batch of tears that comes when you think back to how you got into this predicament. The worst part is the disappointment crashing through you, the anger at yourself, for not being a good girl.

Before you can fall deeper into your dark thoughts, your bedroom door opens. You stiffen, holding your breath, biting your lip as you listen intently. The door shuts again, before footsteps come closer. But as soon as the edge of your bed dips by someone sitting down, you turn around and pull the covers down, chewing on your bottom lip as you look up at the figure leaning over you, his big frame illuminated by the little night light on your bedside table.

“How's my baby girl?” His low voice immediately calms you, and you wriggle out from under your blanket to sit up and throw your arms around the tall man's neck. He catches you and holds you tightly, sighing deeply. “Mommy told me she had to discipline you today. She got you good, hm?”

You hum into his shoulder. “But I deserved it...” you mumble under your breath, clinging to him desperately, ignoring the sting of your bruised buttocks as you squirm on your knees.

“Yeah? What did you do?” he asks quietly, rubbing his large hand over your back.

“I... I made cookies,” you stammer, inhaling deeply, before the words just tumble out of you with haste. “But when I... when I wanted to pull them out of the oven, I tripped and dropped them and then... then... the tray fell onto the counter and... and smashed one of Mommy's herb pots. There was such a mess...”

“Oh pumpkin,” he sighs, squeezing you a little more. “That was just bad luck, wasn't it?”

“Yeah... I... I didn't mean to do that! You gotta believe me, Daddy!” you mumble, still holding onto him and hiding against his neck.

“I do, baby girl. But we gotta work on your clumsiness. You gotta be more careful, okay?”

You nod against him, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Say it.”

“I... I will be more careful. I promise,” you say quietly. “I never wanna see Mommy so angry again...”

A hum escapes him. “What did she give you?”

You squirm on your knees, rubbing against him to keep your butt from touching your heels. “Twenty hits...”

“With what?”

A shiver crashes through you. “The cane.”

“Oh sweetie, I'm sorry,” he tells you, hugging you tighter, one of his hands moving lower until he teases at your burning cheeks. “That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness. I guess I gotta talk to Mommy, hm?”

“No! It's okay, Daddy! Don't fight with her, please. I deserved it, it's okay. I took it like a big girl, she said so,” you say quickly, finally leaning back to look up at him, your hands kneading his wide shoulders. He gives you a warm smile, caressing the back of your head with the hand that's not palming at your ass.

“I'm sure you did, pumpkin. Can I see?” he then asks, tilting his head at you.

You bite your lip, but nod quickly. Climbing off his lap, you get off the bed and pull your oversized sleeping shirt over your head before you bend down, leaning on your hands, showing him your welted backside (it hurt too much to put on panties, so you just left them). He stands too and walks behind you, his hands moving along your hips before you feel his fingertips along the red lines covering your rear.

“She must have really loved that herb pot, huh?” he muses, and you flinch badly when he presses his palm against your left ass cheek, your blood thrumming just beneath the surface, warming even more under his touch. “This is too much,” he adds under his breath. “I'd given you five, max, and definitely not with the cane...”

He then grabs your waist and pulls you back up, slowly turning you around, watching you closely. “Did you clean up after yourself?”

You nod furiously. “Of course, Daddy. I cleaned the whole kitchen. I was sad about the cookies... I made them for you, you know, your favorite kind? But I had to throw them away because there was dirt all over them...”

Warmth floods his dark eyes, and he leans in to pull you against his chest. “You'll make another batch, don't worry,” he says soothingly.

You hug him tightly, pressing your whole body into his. “I'm sorry I wasted so much stuff. I guess that's also why Mommy was so furious... I did such a mess and nothing came out of it...”

“Stop,” he says sternly, leaning you back by your shoulders. His eyes bore into yours. You swallow thickly. “You received your punishment. It's done. You will not cry about spilled milk, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. He raises an eyebrow, and you stop the nervous motion, pressing your lips together.

“What did you learn from this?”

“I... I should be more careful. I will not waste any food. I will ask for help if I can't do something on my own. I... I shouldn't get overwhelmed and make an even bigger mess...” you add in a breathy whisper. He nods to your words, a small smile playing around his lips.

You stare at him for a moment, mesmerized by his handsome face. There's a dimple on his cheek as the smile deepens, and creases in the corners of his eyes as he watches you. He's so pretty, you think as you feel a familiar tension settling in your lower stomach. I'm so lucky he's here for me.

“So you made me cookies, pumpkin?” he whispers as he crouches down in front of you, his hands rubbing along your arms until he grabs your hands and cradles them in his large palms. You nod, smiling shyly. “The ones with peanut butter?” You nod again, your smile growing bigger. He smirks at you. “The ones Mommy hates and can't eat?”

You freeze, your smile vanishing instantly. Your lips move to form a silent Oh. He leans in and brushes his lips to your forehead. “I... I forgot...” you mumble, feeling tears burn in your eyes.

“Might explain why she was so angry, hm?” he muses, shuffling closer until he can throw his arms around your shoulders and pull you against him. “Don't worry about it, baby girl, she'll calm down again. I'll talk to her. Maybe there was more afoot than meets the eye.”

You hug him back slowly, unable to hide the tears anymore as a quiet sob escapes you. He shushes you, rubbing your back. “I'm sorry, Daddy. I never meant to cause trouble...”

“I know you didn't, baby,” he says quietly. “You've been such a good girl for us, since the day you moved in. You adjusted so well. I'm really proud of you, you know?”

Another sob slips from your trembling lips, and you try to hide it by burying your face in his chest. He holds you tighter, a deep sigh ringing in your ears. “C-can you –” you start, your voice breaking mid-question.

“Hm?”

“Can you stay here tonight?” you ask quietly, your heart beating faster.

“Are you sure, pumpkin? Won't you be in pain?” he whispers, moving his hand along the back of your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair.

“It'll be better when you're here,” you reply, leaning against him. “But... but I understand if you... if you don't want to... or... or if Mommy asked first...”

“She didn't,” he says. “But I gotta talk to her first. We don't want to disrupt her punishment, right, darling? If I stay here, she might see that as a reward you don't deserve.”

“You... you could... you know...” you stammer, your cheeks burning up badly as you cling to him, your heart beating even faster as you try to word your wishes.

“What, baby girl? Use your words.”

“You... you don't have to be gentle with me, you know? You could punish me too. For... for not giving you the cookies I promised you...”

A laugh rings in your ears. “But you never promised me anything. I can't be mad if a surprise you planned didn't work out, can I? And you know, if you ask for punishment... that's not really punishment after all. Is it, pumpkin?”

“No,” you mutter, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. “I guess not...”

“Unless you want me to punish you for being too needy. Are you too needy, sweet girl?” he asks quietly, slowly letting go of you.

When you meet his gaze, your face is flushed, your stomach tense, that throb between your legs almost as bad as the stinging in your tight butt cheeks. “Maybe...” you press out, chewing on your lips.

His smile turns slightly more sinister at your reply. You watch him lick his lips, a motion that holds you captive for a moment, before he leans in and grabs your upper arms.

“Tell me why you're here,” he then says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallow, wet your suddenly dry lips. “B-because I... because I needed a Daddy... and a... Mommy... someone to tell me what to do... someone to help me... someone to be there for me... so I'm not alone...”

He listens closely, his hands tightening around your biceps. “And what did we want in return, baby girl?”

“Me... whenever you want... however you want...” you whisper, barely audible as you stare back at him, your mind already emptying as you repeat the words he drilled into you.

Letting go of your arms, he stands up again, towering over you as he nods slightly. “We gave you a home, you gave us your body. Is that a good deal, baby?”

You frown slightly, licking your lips. “Yes?” you whisper, not sure what he wants to hear from you.

His eyes narrow a little. Your mind is reeling as you watch him, before you fall to your knees in front of him, your hands holding onto the stiff fabric of his pants as you tilt your head back to look up at him.

“Yes, Daddy, it's a good deal. I wanna make you feel good because you make me feel good. I wanna be a good girl for you, and for Mommy, because you've been so good to me. I... I will not be needy, only when you want me to be.”

As you stumble over your words, his eyes move over your flushed face. He listens patiently, and by the end of your ramble, he's smiling down at you.

“Get up,” he says softly, holding out his large hand to you.

You grab it, or rather close your hand around his index finger as you pull yourself up. He's so tall and big, so strong, intimidating, and yet you feel safe just looking at him. His free hand finds your cheek, his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Listen up, kid,” he starts, and you nod, holding his gaze as you part your lips and let him put his digit on your tongue. “I will not spend the night with you. No, don't pout, listen. But I want you to come to us later tonight and give your Mommy a good time, okay? She'll appreciate it if you show a little initiative. And if you've been a good girl, I'll give you a reward too, how does that sound?”

You smile around his thumb in your mouth, nodding enthusiastically. He pulls it from between your tight lips and raises his eyebrows. “Yes, Daddy, I'll do that. I'll be your good girl. I'll give Mommy a good time,” you whisper hectically.

He gives you a soft pat to the cheek, before he takes a step back and looks you up and down for a moment, his eyes raking over your naked body. You've long overcome the embarrassment of being in the nude around him (or Mommy). It feels natural now.

“I really don't like it when Mommy is mad at you, pumpkin,” he says quietly, silently giving you a sign to turn around. You do, holding his gaze for as long as you can before you spin slowly and present your backside to him once more. “I had plans for tonight. But maybe I can still make them happen, hm?”

You feel him walking closer, his hands on your shoulders, his short fingernails scraping over your skin as they move down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His breath ghosts your shoulder blade as he crouches down behind you, causing you to shiver. You squeeze your thighs together and hold your breath, trying to show him how absolutely not needy you are. You probably fail miserably. He can always see right through you.

A sudden yelp escapes you when his hand comes into contact with your bruised ass cheek, a soft slap that brings the pain back under your skin. You whimper, trying to remain calm as you stand there for his inspection. “I really don't know why Mommy is so fixated on using the cane. I don't like seeing you like this, baby girl. Did she make you come while she did it?”

“No,” you breathe, your head spinning as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Hmm,” he hums darkly, his big hands gently cupping your glutes, giving them a subtle squeeze. “Do you want to come now?”

Your breath hitches, but you see through his question immediately. You weren't always that quick about it. “No, Daddy, I don't deserve it, I haven't been a good girl,” you reply quietly, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

He traces the throbbing lines on your ass, making you squirm against his touch. “Too bad,” he sighs, his fingers teasing between your cheeks, giving both of your holes a little prod that really makes you fight not to react. “Did she give you something to put on here?” he then asks, his hands moving down your legs now.

“No,” you whisper through clenched teeth. “She said it didn't look too bad, and the blows weren't that hard to begin with. And there was no blood...”

He sighs again, standing up, and before you know it, he turns you around, grabs your waist and flings you over his shoulder. You squeak in surprise, your hair falling over your head as you cling desperately to the back of his shirt. His large hand holding onto your calves, he carries you into your ensuite bathroom and rummages through the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“I swear, this woman has a scar kink,” he mutters darkly, more to himself, before he gives your thighs a gentle rub. “Nothing warrants permanent damage to your beautiful skin, pumpkin,” he tells you quietly as he moves out of the bathroom again.

He puts you down carefully, then sits down on the edge of your bed, patting his lap. You follow the hint quickly and drape yourself over his thighs, stomach pressing into his leg as you brace yourself. “But she said –”

“She definitely broke your skin a few times, baby, she wasn't perfectly honest with you. I really need to talk to her, this isn't acceptable. Hold still now,” he says, and you feel him fumbling with something before his hands move over your warm butt cheeks. At first it's cold, then it stings, and you suck in a sharp breath as you claw your hands into his pants, a little whimper escaping you.

He keeps rubbing whatever ointment he found onto your bruised skin, and once he's done, your head is spinning and a few tears have rolled down your cheeks. But you've endured, like the big girl you are. He pulls you onto your feet then, watching you closely before he wipes at your wet face.

“How about you get a good night's sleep now, hm, sweetheart?” he says softly, giving you a small smile as you scrunch your nose when he boops it playfully. “Let's push our plan to tomorrow. You can surprise Mommy then, okay? I'll help you make breakfast, and then you'll give her a good time. Remember, she is not a bad person, even if she has her weak moments. I'll find out what bugged her today, don't worry. Trust me, it was not your fault,” he adds, cupping your face to pull you closer to him.

You chew on your bottom lip, watching him. “But –”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. You freeze and blink at him, more tears burning in your eyes. “You dropped some cookies and smashed some plants, baby, that doesn't justify twenty cane hits. She was taking something out on you, and that's not right. Stop worrying now, okay, darling?”

You sniffle, nodding to his words. Moving one hand to your lower back, he nudges you closer until he can press his lips to your forehead. Your fingers twitch before you find the courage to grab the front of his shirt, leaning against him. “Are you mad at her?” you mumble as he pulls one arm around you.

“Well, maybe a little. But don't worry your pretty little head, sweetie, you know we have our ways of dealing with pent-up emotions.”

His reply sends a shiver down your spine. Oh you know that, you've heard it many times, how they deal with stress and anger. If you wouldn't get out-of-your-mind aroused by the noises coming from their shared bedroom, you'd be terrified by them. You remember watching them once, unintentionally, but they did leave the door open, and what you saw still haunts you in your dreams sometimes.

They can play rough with you too, but how they treat each other (when they think nobody is watching) is really something you don't want to experience first-hand, ever. It's brutal, but it does seem to calm them in the end. It's a strange dynamic, but you've known that since you moved in with them so many months ago.

Before you can think back to how it all started, you feel a big hand grabbing your chin, making you look up. You meet Daddy's dark eyes, the intensity in them making you squirm immediately as your core starts throbbing even more. You blink a few times, focusing back on him.

“How do you feel now, pumpkin?” he asks quietly, watching you closely.

“Better,” you whisper back, smiling shyly. “Thank you, Daddy.”

A smirk lets the corner of his mouth twitch. “You wanna show Daddy how thankful you are?”

Heat crashes into your face. Averting your eyes for a moment, you nod timidly, your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. “C-can you... uh... can you lie down for it, Daddy?” you ask barely audible, still not looking at him.

He considers your request. You know he prefers to have you on your knees in front of him, but since he knows about the pain in your butt, he seems to accept your words. Well, in his way. “Look at me,” he tells you. “Look at me and tell me what you want to do.”

You swallow hard, inhaling deeply, before you look at him, immediately mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. “I... I want to show you... how thankful I am... by... by...” You bite your lip, frowning, fighting against voicing the things you have no problem doing, but putting them into words, saying them out loud, is still not easy for you.

“Come on, baby, use your words.” His voice is calm and comforting, never condescending, but you still feel a tight knot forming in your stomach.

You exhale loudly through your nose, blinking, your eyes flicking over his face. “I... I wanna showyouhowthankful Iambysuckin'yourcock,” you press out, your words fast and barely coherent.

The grip on your chin tightens, his thumb and forefinger pressing into your jaw. “Again, slower. No need to be ashamed, pumpkin. It's completely natural. Just say the words, I know you can do it.”

You swallow again, furrowing your eyebrows as you look at him. “I want to... no, I'd like to... suck your –” You inhale deeply. “– cock, Daddy, because... because I am really thankful that you are... here for me...” Your voice is still quiet, but you get the words out, and even though your cheeks burn up badly, you feel some sort of accomplishment when he nods and smiles at you.

“Good girl,” he praises and stands up, letting go of you, and you smile back shyly. “Alright, let me get comfortable then, hm?”

You watch him opening his belt, his long fingers moving lower to continue on the button and zipper with ease and confidence. He winks at you when he pushes his pants down his hips and steps out of them (his dark boxer briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide the obvious bulge), before he pulls his shirt over his head and sits down on the bed, scooting back to the headboard, his long legs stretched out. Tilting his head, he gives you a gentle nod, and you follow him immediately, crawling between his legs, trying to keep the pressure off the tight skin of your ass.

He crooks a finger at you, smiling wider, and before you focus on the task at hand, you clamber over him and bring your face to his. He grabs your chin and pulls you the rest of the way, pressing his lips firmly against yours, his eyes hooded but still as intense as he watches you. When he licks at the seam of your mouth, you open it and let his tongue in, quickly meeting it with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your eyelids flutter, as does your stomach, and the more you feel his warm mouth on yours, the calmer you get, ready to take on what lies ahead.

Not that you dread it. On the contrary. You meant it when you said you wanted to. Since you moved in with Mommy and Daddy, you've learned two very fool-proof ways of shutting your nagging mind off: one – by giving up complete control when either (or both) of them uses you, and two – by focusing all your energy on the pleasure of someone else. It's a strange thrill knowing that it was your mouth and hands (and body) that brought them to their peak. Seeing that relaxed expression, the bliss in their eyes, the little noises they issue, it's a joy in and of itself.

While you don't particularly care if you have a cock in your mouth or your tongue in a cunt, you do prefer hearing Daddy's noises. Mommy is never shy to scream it into the heavens when she is satisfied, Daddy usually keeps to himself, always focused on you (or Mommy), he would grunt and groan, sure, issuing sounds of effort when he'd fuck you (or Mommy) senseless, but when you give him head, when he relaxes into your ministrations, he really lets go, letting it all out, and hearing him moan while you work on his cock is the best thing ever.

The only thing that bugs you about this very special task that only you are allowed to perform on him (mainly because Mommy would probably bite off his dick instead of pleasuring him, she is rough like that), is that Daddy's cock is huge. In your eyes, anyway, maybe your mouth is also very small, but in comparison to the few dicks you've seen in the flesh in your life, he is definitely very well-endowed. And the problem with that is that you can't fit all of him into your mouth, or even down your throat, like you always try but are never able to.

Whenever you'd watch porn with him or Mommy, you find yourself getting envious of the women being able to deepthroat any cock they've encountered, mostly even without gagging, while you feel like you are dying when he is just bumping the back of your throat. You want to make him happy, because he makes you happy, but you've still failed many times. Though despite it all, you've kept going, learning to pleasure him with the means you are given, knowing it'd impress him all the same.

He's been so patient with you, letting you get accustomed with his cock, letting you try things out, soothing you when you thought you failed, encouraging you when you almost had it. It's the praise and the smell and feel and taste of his cock that makes you continue on your journey to become the best cocksucker this man has ever seen. And you'd bet that list is very long, and getting to the top surely feels like mastering a craft you have barely any experience in.

But he taught you to never give up, not just in sexual aspects, but in life. You owe him so much. It seems a small task to fight that gag reflex over and over again. And if you still manage to get him off and hear those sweet moans, it is all worth it anyway.

It's you who has to force yourself away from Daddy's lips and focus on what's waiting for you further below. He watches you as you brush your lips down his neck and over his collarbones, focusing on peppering small kisses on his pecs, relishing in the little shivers you cause by flicking your tongue around his nipples. You keep looking up at him from under your lashes, wanting to see all the small reactions, and when he shoots you a smile, one that goes straight to your throbbing cunt, you smile back shyly and keep kissing down his stomach.

It's always a pleasure to just explore his body like this, taking your time, letting him watch, and him letting you do whatever you want. The trust you developed in just a few months is remarkable. But he (and Mommy) have made it so easy for you to let go, to let things happen, to be bold enough to chase what you desire. It wasn't always easy to voice it, but sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and they both accepted that about you. (Mostly. Daddy still often trains you like he did earlier.)

Inhaling deeply, you finally focus fully on your self-proclaimed want, trying to shut out thoughts and memories, being in the moment. It's easy enough once you reach the trail of coarse hair vanishing under the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. There you linger a little longer, lips pressed to his warm skin, tingling under the scratch, his scent filling your nostrils. It's certainly a strange thing to admit, but one of your happy/safe places is indeed his crotch.

Months ago you were not even aware of having an oral fixation, but it quickly came to you how calm you became once you could suck on a thumb or had fingers in your mouth, or best case scenario could suckle on a cock for hours on end. It was mostly Daddy who gave you that peace of mind because it was so easy for you to let go with him, to let your guard down, to forget about the world.

It had been embarrassing at first, noticing your body's reactions (mostly how your saliva pooled on your tongue, how you literally started drooling as if you were a hungry dog), but now you embraced it. Licking your lips, trying to contain the need burning under your skin, you move your hands to hook your fingers around the waistband of his underwear, looking up once more before you're going to dive in. He gives you an encouraging nod, one of his arms bent behind his head, the other hand resting casually on his thigh.

Then you peel the last layer away, pushing his boxers down enough to let his cock spring free. An intimidating sight that couldn't be more intriguing to you. Your mind is already emptying, focused on the smell and feel and soon taste of him, your heart beating faster as your core throbs in anticipation. Your hands, so small, try to wrap around his shaft, picking him up. He's heavy in your grip, warm and already hardening.

You shift back on your knees, still aware of the burning skin on your rear, and lean down more to bring your lips to his tip. A few flicks of your tongue and he's already twitching into your hands, a deep inhale sounding from above. You smile against his cock as you press soft kisses along his shaft, moving your hands down to the base, one squeezing a little, the other pulling his underwear down more to get to his balls.

You give them a gentle massage, eager fingers digging into soft skin as you roll them in your palm (like stress balls, how Mommy once said when she taught you how to handle him correctly), while you continue to kiss and lick along his length, from the base all the way up to the tip. Bending over him, you focus your lips to the slit at the top, poking your tongue against it, giving it a little suck while your hands move back to push his tight skin up and down his hardened core.

His breathing gets a little louder, still no moans, but you'll get him there, and when you look up at him with your lips closed tightly around his tip, you see the focused look in his eyes, his holding-back face, and you smirk to yourself as you give him another suck and prod, watching the muscle in his jaw clench. As caring and easy-going as Daddy is with you, he is usually a serious man, hard working and intimidating, both in stature and demeanor, dominating in a way that silences the entire room, but when you have your mouth on him, that facade he tries to keep up is quickly crumbling.

And you revel in the power you have over this handsome, stoic man. You are his little girl after all, and that role quickly became exactly what you needed to be in life. It gave you strength and a purpose, knowing that he and Mommy both found comfort and peace in being with you, cuddling you, kissing you, fucking you. And it wasn't even that sexual in nature, not all the time, it was also freeing to let them dress you, brush your hair, to do what they told you.

It gave you time to explore yourself, what you wanted in life (beside being their little girl), and while you spend most of your time with them, in the few hours you are alone, you try out and explore as many hobbies as you can, the last one being baking, and while you failed today and paid the consequences, you usually quite enjoy it.

You hope Mommy's punishment won't affect your enjoyment, and you won't always have to expect pain whenever you make a mistake. Though you do wonder what made Mommy so mad. Daddy is probably right, there has to be more afoot.

You huff a deep breath against Daddy as you realize that your mind has wandered again. None of that. Stop it. Concentrate on him. This is for you to shut up that annoying brain of yours.

Blinking your eyes into focus, you let them wander up his torso. He looks at you, a bit of worry etched between his eyebrows. You feel his hand moving until his fingers brush against your hair, fingertips pressing softly into your scalp, both to comfort you and to push you a bit further onto his cock.

You take the hint and open your mouth a bit more, allowing more of him into it, while your hands move up and around his shaft, pulling and pushing his tight skin, feeling the thick veins throbbing against your palms. Your tongue licks around his tip, exploring the smooth mushroom shape and the ridges below, and when you angle your head a bit differently, you feel him pushing deeper, nudging right against the back of your throat.

Your stomach tenses, your breathing getting a bit more labored as you remember the last time you tried to shove him down your throat. You've been a sobbing mess covered in spit, terrified of choking on him. But you won't give up. And so you focus on swirling your tongue around what does fit into your mouth, lips tight around his warm skin, hands pumping and pumping the rest of him, and when you hollow your cheeks and suck, a twitch goes through his body, his hand tightening in your hair.

You keep going, encouraged by his reaction, starting to bob your head up and down until half of his cock is lathered in your saliva with a bit of drool running down your chin. Your fingers close around his shaft, giving him subtle squeezes, while your mouth is full of him. Instead of forcing him into spaces your body refuses to open to him, you turn your head and let him fill your cheeks, a pump left, a pump right, knowing he enjoys seeing the bulge of his cock under your skin (he especially enjoys the little bump in your stomach when he presses particularly deep or when Mommy tries one of her longer straps on you, literally rearranging your guts, and after being terrified of it the first few times, you've grown quite accustomed to seeing them deforming your body like that).

You keep nudging him into your cheek, sucking at the same time, your tongue pressed against his sensitive underside, and as you dare a look at him, you see him with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling, lips parted, louder breaths slipping past them. “Just like that, pumpkin,” he rasps, his hand in your hair easing and tightening. “You're doing great.” He already sounds breathless, but it's not enough for you. You want to see him completely dissolve into pleasure.

So you bob faster, suck harder, squeeze him tighter. You even dare to prod him against the back of your throat again, your eyes watering at the sensation, your body shuddering, anticipating the worst, but you focus on seeing him so relaxed, that handsome man who trusts you so much, who lets go for you just as you let go for him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, ignoring the tears spilling past your lashes, you take a deep breath through your nose, forcing your tense muscles to ease up (which may sound counter-intuitive but somehow it works), and then, you lower your head, your hands tight around his shaft, holding him steady as you open your jaw and swallow him as much as you can. His tip slips past that point that usually makes you retch immediately, inch after inch, and you only convulse when he's really in there, so deep you can barely breathe, surprised and horrified at having his cock in your throat.

And then you gag, violently, your body jerking, and you pull back, spluttering, coughing, spit flying everywhere before you bury your flushed face in his thigh, trying to calm down. His hand eases down your nape.

“You okay down there, baby?” he whispers.

Your heaving breaths echo in your spinning head, and you feel shame flooding your body as more tears burn in your eyes. “S-sorry, Daddy,” you mumble, swallowing the excess spit, licking your soiled lips.

“It's fine, pumpkin,” you hear him say. “Don't stress about it. I told you you don't have to do that.”

“B-but I... I want to... I have to...” you whimper, cheek resting on his thigh, nose brushing against his cock still in your hands.

“You don't have to!”

You freeze, his harsher words ringing in your ears. “B-but...”

“Did Mommy tell you that?” he asks, and you feel him sitting up a little, his other hand finding your chin as he pulls you up again.

You look at him, vision blurry, your face wet, and when you try to wipe at it, he grabs your hand and puts it back around his cock before he wipes at your cheeks himself. “No, I just... I want to... everyone else can do it...” you murmur, averting your eyes.

“Everyone else? Who?”

“The... women in the videos...” you croak out, feeling even more embarrassed.

“Oh pumpkin,” he sighs, and you see him closing his eyes for a moment. “That is not everyone. Trust me, it's a rare gift to be able to deepthroat a cock. Don't believe for a second that every girl, every woman, hell, even every man out there would be able to do that. And if they can, it takes a lot of training to get to that point. You're not there, and you don't ever have to get there either! If Mommy told you –”

“She didn't!” you say quickly, biting your lip. “But she told me to watch... these videos... to get used to the idea of it...”

“Did she?” He exhales again, shakes his head. “Pumpkin, you are our little girl, not a porn actress we hired to perform some special tricks.” He shifts a bit more, spreading his legs to sit up and pull you up against him, his lips brushing against your temple. “Please keep your innocence, sweetheart. Don't force yourself to do things your body can't handle. It's okay not to be perfect. It's not a flaw!”

You lean into him, watching him as he talks, his words sinking in but you still feel as if you should be better, as if he expects more of you even though he says otherwise. His hand moves around your rear, brushing against the welts burned into your skin, reminding you of other things you're not good at. A few more tears spill from your eyes.

“Straddle my thigh, baby girl,” he then tells you, his gaze intense, dark.

You swallow, nodding as you blink the tears away. Shifting on the bed, you put one knee on either side of his leg (one of them nudging his groin), carefully sitting down on the bulk of his thigh. He grabs your hand and guides it back to his cock. You watch him move it up and down his shaft, curling your fist around his tip, his larger hand so big around yours.

It's almost an instinct to start grinding your bare crotch against his leg, slow little tilts of your hips, falling into the rhythm he sets with your hand. A familiar warmth settles low in your stomach, throbbing in your clit that catches on his skin with every backwards motion.

“Whatever you do, pumpkin,” he says softly, and you let his words sink in, spoken in that deep thrum of his voice that vibrates through your entire body, fueling the fire burning in your core. “I am proud of you. Because I know you are trying, you are trying harder than anyone I've ever met. You may not see it for yourself, but I can see the effort, the passion you put into everything you do. You are enough, baby girl, more than enough, you are my perfect little girl, our little girl, and yes, Mommy is proud of you too, even if she had a bad day today.

“You've come so far since you came to us, and you'll go even farther, I'm sure. So stop worrying, okay? You are so beautiful, so talented, so easy to be with. You make me incredibly happy,” he finishes softly, his hands moving up to cup your face as he pulls you towards him, your cunt still rubbing over his leg, your hand tight around his cock, moving seemingly on its own, as you focus on the soft expression in his eyes.

“Daddy,” you gasp.

He smiles, leaning in to nuzzle your nose. “I love you, pumpkin,” he breathes against you, his hands pulling you in until he captures your lips for a searing kiss. It's the combination of his words, the softness of them versus the demanding hold he has on you, the warmth of his body, the way his cock twitches in your hand, slick with his precum and your saliva, the heat burning in your core, your clit pulsing under the friction, and suddenly it all explodes into countless lights, like fireflies flickering at the edge of your vision.

You hiccup into his mouth when you come, body tensing before it relaxes into a wave of shudders, and he holds you, pulls you closer, his arm around you, his hand back on his cock, guiding yours, until he too shivers under the sensations crashing through him, one of those beautiful moans echoing in your ears. You hold each other as the waves of pleasure wash over you, your mind blissfully empty, except for one thing that slips from you like a little gasp as you break the kiss and lean your head against his shoulder.

“Love you too, Daddy.”

You've come a long way to be able to let go like this, to allow this man into your heart, to allow yourself to feel good. It isn't perfect yet, you still have a lot to learn, but compared to how it all started, how it has been before you met the most important people in your life (before Mommy and Daddy saved you), your life is nothing short of bliss now.

And you know it wasn't always like this...

🔷️ Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2

End notes: Hello and welcome to yet another little smut story of mine! Thank you for giving it a chance! We start with an established relationship, and the next chapter will show how they met. Stay tuned!

By the way: the header images (are of course only to set the mood and not to depict any characters mentioned) show if Daddy or Mommy (or both) are present in the chapter, blue for Daddy, pink for Mommy. (Mommy was mentioned here, so only a little bit of pink.)

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: We dive into Reader's backstory and how she became Mommy and Daddy's little girl.

Not interested in Reader's backstory? Skip to chapter 3 here!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

738 notes · View notes

hoshigray · 1 year ago

Note

Just want to start and say hiiiii I love the work you put out and I can't get over how amazing they are. Since you said your inbox is open I was thinking about Life Guard Choso and a little lips to lips action by the pool side at night. Include anything else you see fit I don't mind☺️.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg tyyyy !! and yippee, a choso request :DD haven't written for him in a long while

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: lifeguard! Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - kissing; making out - sexual acts in a public place; hotel pool room - breast fondling + sucking - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (m! + f! receiving) - praising - implied v + p insertion (ends with cowgirl) - implied unprotected sex (psa: don't be silly; wrap the willy) - cameo: Nobara (best friend) - Choso having a lil crush on reader, and lowkey being horny on the job, lawl - reader lowkey being flirty and taking the lead role.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

“—Khhh, ohooo, ohhhmyGod, Chosoooo, your tongue feels so good!”

“Hoooohh, Ch’soooo, right there! Keep scraping me right there…!”

As lifeguarding night shifts go, last night’s had to be the most bewildering Choso has ever endured.

He sits on the lifeguard chair, observing the indoor pool area inside the hotel where he’s working during spring break. Luckily, there weren’t many customers coming to use the pool during his shifts — especially the night ones. So, all Choso had to do was watch the hours go by, go to his lunch break, and occasionally come back if he was called in for the night shift.

What sounds like a manageable task turns out to be otherwise because someone is sitting at the edge of the pool and captures Choso’s observant brown eyes from time to time. It’s you, sitting at the edge with your feet submerged in the water as you converse with your friend — he picks up their name is Nobara – about the joys of your spring break adventures for the past few days.

Your frequent giggles and sweet voice are difficult for him to ignore, sneaking glances under his cap to see you, shooting himself internally for taking advantage to look at you in your cute one-piece swimsuit that hugged your curves nicely. And then the warmth of his blood swiftly changes to freezing temperature when your eyes land on him, averting his gaze back into the water before him.

The ripples of the water have him thinking back on the night shift last night, his cheeks reddening as he recollects the memories…

It was a lonely shift as Choso was the only person in the indoor pool area. It wasn’t until the hour touched two hours behind midnight when the door opened and came you. As someone who’s been lowkey crushing on you for the past few days, this immediately became the worst-case scenario for the young lifeguard, forced to gawk and examine your graceful swimming and two-piece figure.

He’s been doing that for a solid fifteen minutes, suffering in silence while his eyes scan the curves of your thighs and legs and follow the droplets of water trickle down to your cleavage. Eyeing you with such indecency, what an inappropriate thing as a lifeguard.

And it comes back to bite him on the ass when you walk out of the pool and approach him to his chair, startling the pecan brown-haired hotel worker. “Hey there,” you say so charmingly, practically inviting him with just the greeting. “I can’t help but think you’re lonely here just watching me swim…Would you humor me and accompany me? Would feel bad I’m the reason you’re here doing your job at such a late hour…”

Choso knew he should shoot down the offer as he was still on duty. However, judging by how it was nearly an hour and a half from closing the pool and that most of the other hotel workers were gone, a tiny part of him was pinching him to accept the proposal of his mini-crush. It’s just a swim, in the water and out, right…?

That’s what he kept telling himself as he was following and talking with you in the pool; although every time you referred to him by his name, swam circles around his rigid body, or tittered at his words, that statement was demonstrated worthless. The lights from inside the water illuminated your frame lured Choso in with every minute, your eyes sparkling like the broken surface tension of the water.

“Hey, Choso,” God, he couldn’t believe you were calling him by his name; it sounded too dreamlike to be reality. “Have you ever given someone CPR?”

“Uhh, yeah, like once or twice,” he replied while averting his eyes to the other side of the room as if that would help his pinkish blush not be seen by you.

“Really?” You probed, bringing your frame for the water to reach your chin. “You must know the procedure pretty well, then…Hey, let me test you then!”

Huh? “What now?”

“Okay, I’m gonna pretend to drown, and you do whatever lifeguard procedure you do to get me out of the water.” You said it with such a beaming attitude that Choso couldn’t tell if you were serious. They can’t be serious…And then, you took a giant breath before allowing your body to be completely submerged in the water, sinking to the pool floor.

Choso looked to where you were for about five seconds; you two were at around the 4th or 5th feet of the pool — there’s no way you had to be serious. But five seconds turned to ten, and you didn’t exhibit any signs of wanting to breach. It caused his jaw to drop; no shot, they’re actually serious!

With haste, Choso waddles down to your spot and drives himself into the water, taken aback in perplexity when you greeted him with a wave. He then brings a hand under your legs and one to your shoulder, breaching with you in bridal style. He voices his bafflement, “Wh–What was that idea?”

“Hahaha, took you long enough; you’re a pretty terrible lifeguard for taking your sweet time rescuing me!” You jest to him, the comment poking right through Choso’s stature and dignity.

“I didn’t know you were serious or not…”

“Drowning is always a serious issue,” you bat your eyes at him before poking the mark across his face. It wasn’t until then that Choso realized how close he had you, your face two inches away from his, and the top of your two-piece now in his line of sight for your cleavage to capture his dangerous curiosity. He turns his head to show some modesty he has left, but it’s too late; you saw him. A twinge of your lip forms a pleasant grin, “Well, you know what happens next, right?”

He blinks and brings his face back in your direction. Surely you didn’t mean that, asking the following to make sure, “Wh…What?”

“Mouth-to-mouth, of course!” Oh, this was going way too far, the poor lifeguard holding you frozen still at your goal. “Why, you don’t want to put your lips on me? Or were you sneaking glances at me these past few days for nothing?” Another arrow that shot him down; you knew!? “You’re not quite subtle, you know. Hehe, but I find that kinda cute.”

Choso tried to explain himself, but what only came out was stammers and squeaks. Your gaze had him internally nervous and exposed, so you had to poke him even more, “So? Are you gonna leave your drowning rescuee’s lips alone or save me?”

He gulped at the phrasing, struggling to find the words to give to you. Not you were giving him a chance because your face was moving closer to his every second he didn’t answer. And when your eyelids come down, Choso hesitantly does as well and brings his lips onto your soft ones.

The first peck was long, yet sweetly introduced you two together. You snaked your hand up his pecs to his neck, inviting him to kiss you a second time. His restraint dissolved with every sedation of your lips on his, and it vanished wholly when his ears picked up a moan. He becomes more adventurous and chews on your bottom lip, and the whimper you let out ignites something that he’s been dying to contain for this long.

A hot and steamy kiss that was built up to happen here and now, and Choso relishes having you like this like it’s a dream. You break the kiss with a gasp for air, panting alongside him with a smile. “Well then, do I have to tell you what should happen next, too?”

When Choso silently leads you out of the pool with him, you are pleased that you don’t have to.

“—Khhh, ohooo, ohhhmyGod, Chosoooo, your tongue feels so good!”

Choso moved you to one of the cushioned chaise lounge chairs to lie as he ripped you off your bottoms and greeted your lower half with attention. Being between your legs was far from what he ever imagined; however, with how you tase on his tongue and the wails you’re letting out for him, he can’t find it in himself to stop now.

He licks your clit with a circle, and you squeak at the motion. “Mmmm…feeling’ good there, Y/n?”

“Ohhh, yesss, oh yessss,” you respond with a hazed expression, letting your euphoric sounds fill the quiet indoor pool room occupied by you two. “Fuuuck, lick me more, please…”

Even your requests to him were dear to his ears, obliging your folds with feverish laps and swirls. Your cries become louder, legs jolting with ever every lave and suck of your leaking fluids. But Choso holds you by the thighs, massage them to relax your body. Damn, you felt so soft to his fingers, wanting to have his hands on you for as long as he can.

You bite your lip when your hand grabs tuffs of his down brunette hair, egging him to give your clitoris more kisses and hurried licks that almost have you choke on your spit. “Oh, myGod—Mmmph! You’re so good at this, Choso…Ahhhh, oh fuck, feels too gooood…!”

Choso lifts his head to lock his chocolate eyes with yours, examining your reaction when he switches his tongue with a forefinger bullying inside your vagina. The insertion has your bold jerk upwards, squirming at the finger that’s scraping the velvety texture of your vaginal walls. He then kisses from your thigh up to your abdomen, sucking on your skin to tease. Once he comes up to your top piece, he uses his free hand to bring it up and finally releases your breasts for his eyes to survey. His mouth doesn’t waste time having a nipple inside, licking on the bud as he gropes the other breast.

“Ahhnn! Hahhh, hehe, you look so hot doing that,” you comment, making the young man sneak a glance at you before he sucks and nibbles on the nipple. His finger inside your cunt goes faster, having you whine when his thumb comes to your clit. Swipes to the delicate button erupt howls from your agape mouth, “Ohhhh, Hoooohh, Ch’soooo, right there! Keep scraping me right there…pleaseee, don’t stop…!”

He withdrew from your nipple with a soft “pop” from his lips, bringing his face inches close to yours. “Gonna cum on my fingers, yeah?” He asks to distract you from the sneaking middle finger that invades between your folds. The two digits work together to reach places you couldn’t, rubbing and scratching your inner walls with tips.

“Yesss, yesss, I’m gonna cum…! More, more—Oh, Ohooo!” Choso kisses you again, and you happily mewl into his lips as your orgasm climbs up with the pace of his fingers and his thumb pressing and swiping on your clit. Your chasm clamps onto his digits, bringing your hands to his face to keep the kiss going as your climax hits you.

Shocks from your body prompt you to tremble under him, the walls of your slit contract around his fingers, and your hips involuntarily sway to ride out the phases of your clarity. You suck on Choso’s tongue; his groans are music to your ears while your hand travels down to his swim trunks and feels the tent of his groin.

He moans, breaking the kiss to look where your hand is. You chuckle, “It’s time to return the favor. Come on, let’s switch.”

He follows your lead and takes the position you had previously, watching you situate yourself between his legs as you bring his trunks down to have his erection spring out. He panics a little when you gasp aloud while marveling at his limb, “My, what a long thing you were hiding from me…”

Your compliment has the blush on his ears scorch him with unbearable heat, and you keep eye contact while your plump lips place kisses on the sensitive pink tip of his cock. He hitches his breath at the contact, especially at your hand, grasping his length and beginning stroking motions.

Your tongue dances around his glans and presses on the frenulum, nibbling on the rough skin while your free hand goes to his testicles, softly kneading them to provoke moans to leave his lips. “Such cute sounds from such a cute guy; keep making more for me, okay?” He places a hand on your head, a sign that you take initiative to pop his dick into your mouth.

Bobbing your head up and down, you take in Choso’s shaft inch by inch, the warmth of your mouth doing wonders to his senses. A hand grips the cushion of the tongue chair he’s lying on, and shivers crawl up his spine when you mumble after taking it to the hilt as your voice travels through his body.

“Mmmm…Nngohh, fuck,” he curses with furrowed brows, biting his lip when sensing your tongue lick the underside of his cock. Fuck, your mouth felt so damn good — it took everything for Choso not to rut into your mouth voluntarily. Your tight throat didn’t make it any better, and the walls enveloping his entire girth had him drooling.

Puffed cheeks suck on him leisurely, your lips coated from the saliva covering him, the noises so erotic and out of this world. You continue to massage his balls while your mouth occupies him, alternating with your hands to go down and suck on his balls roughly.

Here is where Choso finds it hard to contain himself with every second, his thighs jerking with every sign of pleasure, throwing his head back when his dick is back inside your gummy throat. Hips subtly propel to your mouth to create more friction, and he whimpers as you happily accept him with mumbled wails and restlessly jerk him off.

“—Kahhnn, nnmgh, shit, Yn,” your name sounds like a dazed slur, the hand purchased on your head eggs you to go faster. He almost bites his tongue when yours teases his urethra for more of his precum, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming…shiiit, ohh…!”

And you give him aid, sucking on his cock harder and bobbing frantically while you use both your hands to pleasure him more. The commotion of his lower half corrupts all of his senses, hanging by a thread to hang on and howl your name out. One last lap and harsh suck on his glans induces a choked groan, and Choso finally ejaculates into your mouth.

With the thirst pump, you instantly take him back inside your throat, drinking every bit of his load exuding from his throbbing member. He thrusts as you suck him, his orgasm shaking his being with every rut and sob. He heaves and pants, your name said in helpless prayers while you suck his soul out. And, God, does he fucking love it so.

You give him mercy and release his shaft, placing more tiny kisses on it while watching Choso’s quaking frame calm down. And when he does, you bring your body off from between his legs. “Thank you for saving me, Choso.” You crawl to place a gentle kiss on his lips with a hum, and then you relish the cute sounds he makes as your wet cunt meets his length.

“Let me reward you by pampering you more...”

“….—op, don’t stare at him so hard!”

“Is that him?”

Choso snaps back to the present when he hears familiar voices speak — it is you and Nobara he finds that are looking at you from across the poolside. Nobara being the one staring dead at him; your best friend’s eyes feel like daggers piercing Choso’s pale skin. It made him gulp with nervousness.

Then, she cocks her head and leans to speak. “Doesn’t look so bad; don’t know about that mark on his face, though…How long was it, again?”

“Shhh, be quiet!” You slap her arm to silence her, making the mistake of looking at Choso. You two look into each other’s gazes for a few seconds, the warmth of your cheeks creeping up and having you two sever your faces elsewhere.

Nobara saw the exchange, lifting a brow before asking you, “So, do you want me to give him your number, or would you like to fuck him again before that—Oww!!“ Another slap to her bare shoulder, she winces this time.

“Jesus Christ, shut up!”

@screampied 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

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aurorasdaybreak · 2 months ago

Text

if this world were ours ‿❀° sylus qin (m)

summary: during the first sunny spring day in linkon city, you and sylus decide to pick up right where you left off. info: sylus x afab!reader | story compliant | fluff, smut | 18+ | 11k words warnings: this is tooth rotting fluff with cheese levels comparable to a romcom bc the sweetest man deserves it after everything he's been through (;-;), hesitation on both sylus and mc's parts, references night of secrecy memory but if mc didn't go with sylus, tara and simone make an appearance, almost getting caught in a dressing room by the previously mentioned characters, sylus x reader smut, the slightest bit of dom!sylus x sub!afab!reader but it's barely mentioned, use of pet names (kitten, angel, vixen), f!receiving nipple play, teasing, f!receiving oral sex, clit play, f!receiving multiple orgasms, f!receiving overstimulation (GUYS SYLUS IS A PLEASURE DOM I KNOW IT IN MY SOUL), mentions of safe signals, sylus has a big dick, unprotected sex, cumming inside, this is very sappy and cheesy i am warning you NOW author's note: guys titles are hard to come up with SDGHJBGFHJSD but happy belated birthday to the sweetest dragon man - and thank you guys for waiting :')) work is kicking my ass but MAYBE HOPEFULY FINALLY I AM WRITING MORE!! as always pls feel free to leave your thoughts in my ask :')) thank you for reading!! <3 disclaimer: not beta read, will edit soon for any mistakes!! if you are a minor and you're seeing this, i ask that you turn away and do not read. this is an 18+ story and minors are not welcome. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics listed in the warning, please do not read this story! ‿❀° songs listened to include take a chance with me by niki and luther by kendrick lamar and sza

The first sunny spring day after a long winter is always your favorite day of the year.

You wake up to the warmth of sunlight on your cheek, filtering in between the gap of your curtain. There’s a pleasantly lazy feeling that spreads through your body - one that makes you want to curl back into your sheets and doze off for a couple more hours.

You groan when you hear your phone vibrate against your side table, though, and you blindly reach around to grab the offending gadget.

You don’t even look, simply swiping your phone across the screen and holding it up to your ear. “____ here, what’s up?”

“____!” Came a cheerful, peppy voice that has you waking up just a little bit faster. You sit up as you process that it’s Tara, and you can’t help but smile as you run your fingers along the silky fabric of your bedding.

“Something’s definitely up,” you joke as you rub your eyes. “It’s 6 am and you’re always grumpy at this time, so either we get today off or you got a really good coffee.”

“Ding ding ding! We have today off, bestie!” Tara’s excitement is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh. “The higher ups have some sort of meeting out of town today, so while tech staff have to be in office today we’re on call but technically have the day off. Simone and I were talking about going to the mall so we can get noodles and blind boxes, do you wanna tag along?”

“Hmm,” you muse, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “While I’d love to, I need to do some grocery shopping and return some books. Maybe we can plan a proper outing together soon?”

“For sure,” Tara says. “Maybe we can check out that new karaoke place and barbecue place during the weekend! We need a good girl’s night out.”

“As long as I’m not the DD,” comes your half-joking, half serious reply. “The way you convinced Simone to keep taking shots was…inspiring, to say the least.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, and if you put your mind to it you could almost see her waving her hand. “I’ll just have Nero pick us up or something. You need to partake in the shots too - don’t think I haven’t seen the way you gaze out the window and sigh longingly to yourself about your mystery hunk.”

“I have not!” Even with how quickly your reply comes, though, you and Tara both know that she’s right.

Because, oh, yes you have.

It had been some weeks since your…night with a certain Onychinus leader - a night that you keep replaying in your head over and over again, no matter how many times you tried to focus on the present and current missions in front of you.

You had been slated to go with him to your shared destination, but a frantic call from Jenna had you regretfully cancelling your ticket last minute and dropping him off at the airport instead. You still remember the way his palms felt cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing the damp skin under your eyes and wiping away your sadness before pressing his lips to your forehead and leaning down to whisper in your ear:

“Don’t miss me too much sweetie, we’ll see each other soon.”

You turn your head to the direction of your bedroom window following the end of your memory, staring at the dust dancing between the filtered streams of sunlight while you think of soft eyes and an uncharacteristically sweet smile as he turned back and gave you a salute before disappearing in the sea of travelers.

You wonder what he’s doing right now.

“Earth to ____!” Came Tara’s teasing voice from your phone. You blink rapidly and feel yourself heat slightly with embarrassment at how you’ve left Tara hanging. “You’re thinking about your mystery hunk, huh?”

“Ye-no, ugh! Tara!” You try to ignore the flare of indignation that burns in your stomach at her laughter, although you can’t help the smile that begins to form on your face. “I’m hanging up now.”

“See you tomorrow, ____!” With her last greeting, you hang up the call and toss your phone towards the foot of your bed before flopping back down onto your pillow and grabbing a random plushie so that you can scream into the soft toy.

“Freaking stupid,” you mumble to yourself when you finally lift your head away from the plushie, only to groan when you see it’s the stuffed crow that he won for you. You poke at its eye, imagining that it can see right through you like the person who won you the toy.

“Y’know, sometimes I think that he can see me through you,” you mutter softly, tracing the crow’s exaggerated eyebrows. You poke at its beak, and you giggle when you imagine poking a certain someone’s nose. You poke its beak once more before you reach up to pet its head, shaking your head and sighing deeply while you do so. “If it just so happens that he can see me through you…well, you better get home safely.”

You hold your breath, waiting for the crow’s right eye to glow a vivid red.

One beat passes, and then another…

…but nothing happens.

You sigh once more, gently placing the crow by your pillow before pulling the sheets off of your legs and standing up to stretch and get ready for the day.

It would do you no good to worry about him, you have stuff you need to do for yourself.

You’re proud to say it - you’ve gotten a lot of shit done in the past couple of hours.

You’ve returned your books that were teetering on the edge of being overdue, smiling sheepishly at the librarian who quirked an eyebrow at you when you plopped down another stack of romance novels onto the checkout counter. After quickly dropping off your books back at your apartment, you make your way to the mall nearby so that you do some window shopping.

You slowly make your way through the crowded mall halls, easily dodging the small children that run amuck and apologizing to the couples strolling arm in arm when you’re too slow to maneuver past them. Even with how busy it is, however, you still maintain your good mood - and it seems as though everyone around you does as well.

Everyone around you is relishing in the first warmth of spring, and you can’t help but smile in contentment.

You stop outside of a Twinkle Toys storefront, looking down at the new blind boxes that they have on display. You hope that none of them catch your eye, but then you see it: a cherry blossom series where your favorite characters have silly poses and goofy smiles.

You heave a sigh, torn between buying a full set so that you can display it throughout the entire year or saving your hard-earned money. Your eyes flicker between the set and your purse, and you shake your head to yourself before stepping in and approaching the display.

“Just this once,” you murmur to yourself as you pick up a box. “Just this one set, to reward yourself for doing a good job.”

You make your way to the cashier, and you try not to cringe as you place the box on the counter. The worker barely blinks though, and easily scans the item as they read off your total. You bend your head so that you can fish out your wallet, but before you can hand over your card you find your attention caught by something.

A 6’2, silver-haired, red-eyed something.

“Please tap your card on the screen- lady, hey, wait-!”

You don’t even register that you’re walking away from your new blind box set and making your way out of the store, pushing past a crowd of college students as you begin to pick up your pace.

There’s no way it’s him, right?

You slowly see that head of silver hair come into your vision, and you all but break out into a sprint as you attempt to catch up to him before the crowd swallows you whole. You’re not gonna let him go - not without talking to him first, at least.

Soon enough, you’re within a fingertip’s reach to the man’s (ridiculously ornate) trench coat, and you reach out to grab the fabric so that you can get his attention-

-only to be pushed into his solid frame, stumbling and crashing into his body.

You hear an oof escape his chest as you collide, and you squeal as you try and stabilize your body so that you don’t topple over. Your footing isn’t so steady, however, so you end up tumbling into a pair of arms.

You gulp when you see a black silk button-up, and you let your head slowly move up just so that you avoid his eyes - instead focusing on the pair of lips you’ve dreamed about over the past couple of weeks. You watch as the mouth forms its signature smirk, and you can’t help but shiver when you hear the laugh you didn’t realize you were craving until now.

“Looks like the kitten distribution system is at work today,” comes Sylus’s amused tone, and you feel yourself heat slightly before pushing your body away from him.

“I just had to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating,” you murmur back sheepishly, taking the time to straighten your cardigan and smoothing your skirt of its nonexistent wrinkles. You finally build up the courage to stare at his full face, and you can’t help the way that your stomach flips when you gaze at him.

Oh, how you missed his handsome face. You didn’t even realize how much you craved his presence until just now, when you were confronted with the sight of him after a long couple of weeks.

You try and wrack your brain for something, anything to say. You should ask him about the trip, how the investigation went, and when did he come back to Linkon? Why is he in Linkon in the first place?

Did Sylus think of you as much as you thought of him?

Out of all of the things you could say, however, the first thing that slips out of your mouth is a breathless, “There’s no way you’re not sweating in that ridiculous trench coat.”

Sylus quirks an eyebrow at your statement. “I’m quite well ventilated, thank you very much.”

“Well…you don’t really fit in,” you say lamely, gesturing to the crowd around you. “It’s uh, it’s pretty warm today, Sylus.”

The corners of his lips tilt up, and you can see the exact moment he decides to humor you. “Oh, is that right sweetie? What do you suggest we do about that?”

You can’t quite hide the pleased smile that forms on your face as you hear the word “we”, although you try to maintain your bravado as you pretend to ponder over your already created solution. Your contemplation is short-lived, however, when a couple jostles you back into his arms.

Sylus catches you with ease, and you try to disguise the way your hands shake as you push him away once more. You can still see his smirk, however, so you scowl and push the sleeves of your cardigan up to your elbows.

“You need a clothing makeover.” It’s a ridiculous statement that makes him chuckle and you think for a moment that he’ll shoot down the idea, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he grabs your hand and places it in the crook of your elbow with a gentle reverence.

“And what will this clothing makeover have in store?” His voice is right by your ear, and you fight the shiver that races down your spine at his sudden proximity and deep, lilting voice. “Polyester?”

It’s his way of teasing you - you know it from the way his eyes sparkle as he regards you softly, the beginnings of a genuine smile curling on the corners of his lips. He’s waiting to see if you’ll back down or rise to the occasion, to see just how much of a rise he can get out of you - so you decide to play coy.

“Worse.” You make it so that your tone reflects his intimate quality, and you find that you feel pleased in the way he looks slightly flustered when you tiptoe up so that you can place your lips right by the shell of his ear. “Matching cardigans.”

“Oh?” Sylus shakes off his momentary daze and composes himself. His eyes trace a line from the curve of your neck to the white knitted cardigan you paired with your jean skirt this morning, and you feel your fingers tremble when you see the tiniest spark in his eyes before it flits away. “Don’t suppose this comes in black?”

You barely feel it, but his hand snakes around your back and settles on your hip, making a subtle show of rubbing the fabric in between his fingers and letting the pads of his fingers just barely run along the curve of your hip. You feel yourself heat slightly at this sudden proximity - torn between pulling yourself together so that you can spend a proper day with him or pulling him towards the bus stop so you can bring him to your apartment and show him just how much you missed him.

“Kitten?”

Sylus breaks you from your self-imposed lust with a squeeze to your hip, and you fight the urge to go with the latter option. Instead, you shake your head to give yourself clarity before smiling up at him. “It’s nothing at all, let’s get you a matching cardigan in black.”

You wait with bated breath as you see if he’ll buy your lame excuse, hoping that he doesn’t look too deeply into your shaky smile and the way you know your eyes look slightly unfocused. You know you look like you’ve been thinking about something that shouldn’t be thought of in the middle of a public space - it’s the same look that Tara and Simone have caught you with while Sylus was gone the past couple of weeks, and you pray that Sylus just doesn’t think too heavily about it.

You don’t quite know what you would say to him if he even brought it up.

Thankfully, Sylus chooses to brush past it - retracting his hand from your wait and placing your hand back into the crook of his elbow. “All right, sweetie,” he says as he looks at you expectantly. “Lead the way.”

“First order of business,” you say as you pull Sylus into a clothing store. “You’re in clothing that’s way too gaudy and…fine for all of us civilians here in Linkon City. We need to disguise you so that the Hunters who are off duty don’t haul your ass to the Association.”

“Interesting,” he muses as you gesture for him to turn for you. He grins and humors you, holding out his arms and slowly turning in an exaggerated circle. He stops his movements with an over the top pose, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“Keep your arms out,” you command, and he follows your request as you guide him to the men’s clothing section.

“This is quite a lot, sweetie,” Sylus says curiously as you begin to dump a selection of short sleeved button downs and cotton shirts into his arms. “And very…mundane.”

“Oh calm down, almighty leader of Onychinus.” You grab a plain shirt from the pile in his arms and hold up the tag to his eyes, making sure that he sees the words 100% COTTON written on the label. “These clothes aren’t going to make you any less handsome or make you break out into hives because it’s not silk, they’re just meant to have you blend in with everyone here in Linkon.”

“So you think I’m handsome,” he replies cheekily. You fight the urge to roll your eyes once again, although you can’t help the way your skin heats slightly at his teasing tone.

“Oh, shut it Sylus,” you mumble, and he laughs at the way you turn your head back so that you can rub at your cheeks furiously.

His arms full of clothing, you begin guiding him into the dressing rooms nearby. The attendant raises an eyebrow at the amount of clothing Sylus has with him, but lets him enter anyway. You walk him to his assigned dressing room, and Sylus raises an eyebrow at you that has you giving your own confused look back at him.

“Aren’t you going to join me, kitten?” He asks, and you sputter at the insane question.

“What- no! Sylus, you’re the only one meant in the room-” The words tumble frantically from your mouth as you all but push him into the room, yanking the curtain shut so that he can’t see the way he leaves you flustered so easily. “Just…just try on the damn clothes Sylus!”

You try to ignore the way his chuckle makes your knees weak.

You stand vigil at his dress room, occasionally offering comments to him when he opens the curtain and lets you see his try on haul. You automatically say no to an electric blue short sleeve (“It’s like your color analysis only favors you in shades of red and black!”) and he discards all of the shirts that have even a percentage of polyester in its blend (“Absolutely not, ____.”) but you both find a common favorite with a simple, black, short-sleeved button down.

“It’s just…” you begin, and you taper off when you see the way the buttons at his chest strain.

“Just what?” He repeats, and he looks down in confusion when you point at his chest - looking off at the wall behind his head so you don’t have to see the muscles of his body or the smirk on his face.

“Ah.” He replies, and he shrugs casually as he begins to unbutton the top. “Just get me a bigger size, then.”

And before you can even say anything else, he shuts the curtain.

On you.

“Dammit Sylus,” you mutter, and you roll your eyes when you hear his snort from the other side of the curtain.

“Unless you want me to go out-” he begins, but you gulp and pull the curtains shut when you see his fingers wrap around the fabric, ready to pull it open.

“Just stay there!” You squeak, and you run off before his teasing laughter can envelope you once more.

You take your sweet time wandering around the store - not because you don’t know where the button down is, but because you need the time to get a grip on yourself. Why are you acting like a giddy, doe-eyed college girl around him? It’s just Sylus, for goodness sake!

You stop in front of a mirror by the button downs, looking at yourself in the reflection. It’s still you - still the same cardigan, tank top, and long jean skirt you put on this morning. Still the same hair, same nails, same eye bags under your eyes you gained when you tossed and turned over him and his safety…

You scowl at your reflection, marching over to the rack you picked up the shirt and rifling through for a bigger size. By the time you grab the article of clothing, you have settled something in yourself and created a new, calm demeanor in which to approach your emotions so that they don’t go mucking up your time with him.

It was one night, and he surely isn’t thinking about it in the same way you were over the past couple of weeks. You’re over it. You don’t care.

And you’ll spend the rest of this spring day convincing yourself if you have to.

You make your way back to the dressing room, but you pause when you hear a pair of voices drawing closer to you. You pause, straining to hear - only for your muscles to freeze up when you realize just who those tones belong to.

Shit shit shit, ____! Hide behind the clothing rack-

“Man, I miss ____,” Tara sighs as you all but throw your body against the nearest clothing rack, holding the shirt you picked up for Sylus and praying that the silky black fabric makes you vanish from all view. “She’d make today so fun! I mean, we could go to the library and then do groceries, maybe cook a meal in her dream of a kitchen?”

“____ and I would be cooking,” Simone corrects, and you shiver when you hear Tara’s scoff move closer to you. “You would be eating the things we prepared before we even finished anything!”

“Okay, in my defense-” Tara begins, but you can’t find it in yourself to be interested in their rambles when you see Simone’s signature inky black hair in your peripheral vision. You don’t even think, you just walk as fast as you can towards the dressing room.

You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you make your way back to Sylus’s designated fitting room, pulling the fabric just the tiniest bit and shoving the hanger into the small room.

“You were gone for a while, ____.” Sylus’s voice is casual as he takes the hanger from you, although you don’t miss the curiosity that tinges his tone as he pulls the curtain shut. “What were you doing, fighting Wanderers in the mall?”

“I wish,” you mumble, and you tilt your head back against a nearby column as you remember your vow to keep your cool around him. “I got…I got lost.”

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he replies teasingly.

“I- fuck, Sylus,” you curse, and you fiddle with the ends of your cardigan as you direct your vision to the ceiling and try your absolute hardest to not spill your every thought about him to him. “I saw my friends so I needed to dodge them.”

“Why would you need to hide from them? Did something happen?”

“No, not at all!” you begin, trying to think of some sort of reason that’ll get him off of your back. “I just-”

“Just what, kitten?”

“I-” you try to begin again, but your voice tapers off as it dawns on you just how insane this entire situation is. The person you’re falling deeply for is currently trying on clothes, and you’re right outside his dressing room while your friends are in the same store the two of you are in. You’re on the precipice of inadvertently announcing to the world that the infamous leader of Onychinus is the one you can’t get your mind off at all - but your fear of his response is holding you back.

You try to squash the words that are on the tip of your tongue, the questions that have been haunting you over the past couple of weeks. How can you even begin to tell Sylus how much you missed him, that you think about that night more times than you care to admit?

Does he know how deeply he’s burrowed himself into your heart?

You clench your fists and open your mouth, ready to come up with some shitty excuse, but before something can spill out you hear Tara’s voice and you gasp.

“Shit-” you all but gasp to yourself as you yank the curtain open, stuffing yourself into the dressing room before you can even think about your actions.

“I could’ve sworn I heard her voice,” you hear Simone muse as you hear footsteps walk past the dressing room. “She said something about a…stylus?”

You hear a chuckle from above you, and you immediately push your hand up to cover his mouth while you grip the curtain in your fist. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

“Just say you miss ____ and keep moving!” Tara’s muffled voice gets louder as the pair passes by Sylus’s dressing room, and you close your eyes as if it’ll make you disappear. “Although…I miss her too, honestly.”

“I’m not exaggerating, Tara,” Simone scoffs back, and a little piece of you dies when you hear her enter the dressing room opposite the one you’re currently in. “I could’ve sworn I saw her too, in that cardigan she was agonizing over buying-”

“You just have ____. She’s probably at home, cooking my favorite meal while I can’t swipe it away.” Tara sighs. You hear the dressing room’s curtain next to your’s swish open, and your stomach drops even more when you hear Tara’s laughter too close to your space as she shuts the curtain. “Or taking a nap. Maybe reading a book.”

“Didn’t you say she has a mysterious man she’s been sighing over for the past couple of weeks?” You feel Sylus’s mouth quirk up in a smirk from beneath your palm at Simone’s musings and you scowl as you press your hand harder against his face, cursing all those times you dreamed about those same lips while at work. “Maybe she’s getting railed.”

You feel the embarrassment deep in your stomach before you even register what she said, but when your brain processes what she just said - “Oh no, oh no no no this cannot be happening,” you squeal quietly to yourself, chancing a look at the man who’s lips went slack against your hand.

You see Sylus’s eyes widen in realization before taking on a slight sparkle. His lips begin to move against your palm but you press your hand into his face, looking back up at the ceiling and chanting at the universe to do something, anything to get you out of this situation. Hell, you’d even accept a Wanderer just magically spawning in the middle of the dressing room instead of this mess.

“Ew, Simone - not something to be discussing in a dressing room!” Tara fake gags and you almost want to say thank you out loud - but that’s before Tara laughs once again. “But let’s be real, she probably is getting railed right now.”

“And good for her!” The both of them laugh in their respective dressing rooms, and you look down at your feet because you want nothing more than to have the ground swallow you whole.

There’s no way this is happening to you right now.

All of a sudden, you feel your wrist being pulled away and your body being pressed up against the wall of the dressing room. Your eyes widen as you see Sylus in his cocky, confident glory, and you try not to gasp too loudly when his palms rest against your waist. “You’ve been dreaming about me at work, kitten?”

“That’s not-” You try to begin, but you find that you can’t focus on his eyes and his face because you refuse to believe that this is happening to you right now. You have to shift your attention now, because if you don’t you lose your mind at your shared proximity with him right now.

You feel yourself grow flustered as the seconds begin to drag by and you try to look somewhere, anywhere that isn’t his face, but that means looking at his neck - the same neck you’ve been wanting to leave marks on. Your eyes travel past the silver chain resting against his collarbones and it’s only when you see the top of his chest do you realize that he’s shirtless - only in the unbuttoned cotton shirt he was trying on and his low hanging pants.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and you try to hide just how nervous you are by closing your eyes and willing yourself to just get it together.

“I think it’s endearing, ____,” Sylus whispers, and you gasp when you feel his mouth against your ear. His lips just barely brush against your earlobe in a way that has you believing that you’re dreaming, and you shiver when he begins to map a course along your jawline. As his lips run its course down your neck his hands slowly move down from your waist, and you feel your stomach do a dangerous flip when his palms slowly squeeze the flesh of your hips. You can’t help it - you move your hands up to his shoulders and let your head fall against his collarbone so that you can try to disguise just how much he affects you.

“How cute you must be, looking out the window and thinking about little old me,” he teases - just enough to annoy you, but also in a gentle tone that lets you know he more than likes the idea of your thoughts being consumed wholly by him. His hand reaches up and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at his soft eyes and coy smirk. “So much so that your friends know and think that you’re…how did they say it?”

His fingers tense against your chin ever so slightly, and the words tumble out from your lips before you can stop them. “You railing me.”

Sylus’s eyes widen at your candidness, and he huffs out a small laugh as pink begins to dust his cheeks. “Yeah, that.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as the two of you hear Tara and Simone giggle softly, discussing something amongst themselves. That telltale tightness of apprehension begins to grip at you and you move to make some sort of space between you and Sylus, but before you can do so he shifts so that his left arm is braced above your head and his right hand rests on your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin right below your lips.

“Is that what you want, ____?” He murmurs, this time letting his lips press harder against the skin of your cheek. “Do you want me to press you into your mattress and fuck you until you’re crying into your pillows?”

“Sylus-” You gasp at his sudden crass words, and you feel lightheaded as all of the fear of getting caught turns into molten lust that settles into the pit of your stomach. “Don’t say that so loudly-”

“I’m not, though.” He knows it, and you know it too. “Can you even process what I’ve said over the beating of your heart, ____?”

You still yourself as much as you can, and you register with a start that he’s right - your heart is practically beating out of your chest, the drumming clouding your earlobes. “I-”

“I don’t want to fuck you like that, though.”

Your hands travel from your sides to his shoulders, fingers grazing the wrists of his silvery white hair as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. You finally allow yourself to tilt your head up to look directly into his burning gaze - one that speaks of the desire that he has only for you.

“I want to take my time with you,” Sylus confesses softly, pressing his body against yours. Your fingers tighten on his hair when you feel the beginnings of hardness against your stomach, and you fight every urge in your body screaming to roll your hips against his when you hear a low groan rumble in his chest. “I want it to be gentle and take care of you, like that night. I - fuck, ____, I want to worship every inch of you again.”

His lips are hovering dangerously close to yours, and you know that if you angle your head up at just the right angle - he would lean down and finish the job. And oh, you want him to do it.

You want him to confirm the truth that the both of you know. You want him to make you his.

“Sylus-” you sigh, neediness coloring your tone as you begin to tilt your head up. “I-”

“I know, my angel,” he murmurs softly, lips just far away enough you can feel his lips barely brush against yours. “Is it terrible for me to confess that all of my thoughts were consumed by you while I was gone?”

“No,” you immediately say back, the movement of your lips creating the slightest bit of friction against his smiling mouth. “My friends are right, you know. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past few weeks but you…you haven’t left my mind in a long time, Sylus.”

You feel the corners of your lips tilt upwards in a smile that mirrors him, and your heart melts ever so slightly when you see the crinkles on the corners of his eyes - the ones that only appear when he’s truly happy. Your thumb swoops down to trace the skin and he leans into the contact, allowing his nose to brush against yours.

“____,” he whispers softly, beginning to bend down and press his forehead against yours. You tiptoe up, beginning to close the space in between the two of you and he presses his hands into your hips to steady you. “I-”

“-I’m starving!” Tara squeals as you both hear the curtain next to you open.

It’s like a bucket of cold water was thrown at the two of you. You’re both immediately creating space between each other - you rubbing at your cheeks furiously to hide the dazed look you know is on your face while Sylus clears his throat and tries to discreetly adjust the front of his pants.

“Yeah yeah,” Simone grumbles, and your sudden relief almost drowns out your intense need when you hear her curtain open too. You hear their footsteps join together, and you hold your breath as they continue their conversation.

“Can we get noodles now? I’ll pay this time, swear on my life,” Their footsteps travel past the dressing room you and Sylus are in, and you hear Simone make a noise of agreement before their sounds recede into the distance.

You count to ten in your head, gathering as much bravado as you can and schooling your face into as calm and pleasant of one as you can manage before turning around to face him. While you were steeling yourself for whatever Sylus may have thrown at you, you still feel yourself deflate at how quickly he’s composed himself too - although you can still see a particular softness in his gaze as he regards you.

“I take it we’re not getting noodles?” He asks rhetorically, and you can’t help but snort.

“Absolutely not,” you mumble. You look at the pile of clothing in the dressing room, and you point to the black, short-sleeved button down that’s currently on his body. “I like that one, by the way.”

And before he can say anything else, you’re making your way out of the dressing room - lest you do something stupid like kiss him then and there.

Surprisingly enough, you and Sylus bounce back easily from…whatever the fuck happened in that dressing room.

Dinner was a quick affair, with you insisting on pasta from an Italian spot close to the center of the city. Having changed into his casual spring clothing, Sylus drove the two of you to the chosen restaurant. It was clear to you that Sylus was also affected by what happened because his hand hadn’t rested on your thigh like it always did. Instead, his fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel as you looked out on the horizon - craving his contact but knowing that the two of you needed time to think about what was said.

Even during the actual meal, the two of you were silent save for the occasional praise for the pasta or the appetizers. You could feel the tension between the two of you - thick as a knife, but which one of you would make the first move?

You wish you had the courage to reach out and hold his hand.

Even now, as you’re walking in the Linkon City Central Gardens, it’s clear that the two of you are too afraid to reach out and do something. Sylus walks a comfortable distance behind you, taking in the beginnings of blooms that line the paths. Cherry blossom petals drift in the air and you think to yourself that it would be much better with someone walking side by side with you - holding your hand, arm around your shoulder, anything.

That’s it, you think to yourself. Have courage and think of something.

“You know, they sometimes have daturas on display,” you begin.

You hear his strides grow longer until he walks beside you, the beginnings of sunset washing him in a golden hue. “Oh, yeah? Are they hidden in a corner because they’re poisonous?”

There’s a bitter edge in his tone, and you realize the implications of your words. Does he think that you don’t want to display your affection for him to the entire world?

“Not at all,” you reply, and you finally take your chance and stretch your pinky so that it brushes against his ever so slightly. You breathe a slight sigh of relief when his pinky reaches out, looping itself around you and you take it as your sign to continue. “The gardens have education nights, and they have a specific one called MIsunderstood Beauties. Daturas are a big highlight of those nights.”

“And why is that?” Sylus muses.

“Well,” you begin, fighting to keep your breathing even when he finally intertwines your fingers together. “They first go over the risks of them, just for safety. And then they talk about the science and structure of the flower.”

“And then?”

“Then they talk about the myths,” you continue, letting your feet guide the two of you aimlessly. “People fear the things they don’t understand, so they create reasons to cope with that. Yes, the flowers are poisonous but they’re given a bad rep of witchcraft and evil. They’re actually more complex than that, though.”

“Tell me more,” Sylus says, and you look over your shoulder to look at him curiously. Your heart beats just a little bit faster when he looks at you with rapt attention, although you’re not quite sure if it’s because of your impromptu flower lesson or you.

“In another culture, daturas symbolize protection.” Sylus’s fingers tighten at your statement, and you smile to yourself as you continue. “People would display them in front of their houses to ward off evil and invite sweet dreams in. Daturas grew to be a symbol of safe keeping - the most beautiful protector of all things good.”

You let a comforting silence blanket the two of you as you continue to guide him around. You know he isn’t dumb, you know he’s figured out what you’re trying to tell him.

You just hope that he knows you mean it.

You stumble upon a clearing, and you gasp as you come across one of your favorite flowers. “Sylus!” You squeal, and before you even register what’s happening you're dragging him to look at the field full of sunset colored ranunculus flowers.

“I didn’t realize they were blooming already!” You begin excitedly, taking in the nearest peach colored bloom. “They only bloom for a few weeks during the springtime…”

You don’t even realize it in the throes of your happiness, but Sylus is looking down at you with an unspeakable warmth in his eyes as you continue to ramble on about the flowers - the beginnings of his rare, real smile forming at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sheer joy that is you.

He slowly moves his eyes down your face, carving each detail he’s cherished in his past lifetime into his memory for safekeeping. The slope of your nose, your mouth gasping in awe at the flowers before you, the way the setting sun hits the back of your head and gives the illusion that you’re a real angel - every bit of you is scored onto his heart, because he doesn’t want to forget the details that make you his very reason for existence.

Not only in this lifetime, but in future lives.

His hand twitches, and he jolts a little when he realizes you still have his fingers wound around his own. He looks down at your intertwined digits and every instinct is screaming at him to pull you closer, wrap his arms around you and never let you go, to kiss you, dammit - anything at all. He should do something to cement this moment, mark it as something that only exists between the two of you-

-but he can’t bring himself to do so.

Sylus knows in his heart of hearts you feel the way that he feels - that you care for him in a way that he doesn’t deserve. He knows he’ll move heaven and earth to give you anything you would ever want, make sure you never felt any sort of pain or sadness. He wants to protect you because you are the good in his life - but he’s scared to let you know that.

He doesn’t deserve this purity - your overwhelming love and light.

Realizing that Sylus has gone still, you stop your ramblings about the flowers and look up at him with a curious expression. “What is it?”

You feel his fingers tense slightly between your own as you take in the way he swallows nervously, giving him the time to formulate his response. You watch as he battles with the swirling thoughts in his mind, and you feel your heart sink slightly at the way he schools his face into his usual cool demeanor - although you're slightly placated by the way his fingers squeeze reassuringly.

“It’s nothing, ____.” He murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”

The drive home is…uneventful.

In a way, you’re almost thankful for it - thankful that you even have this peaceful time with Sylus after the time he’s spent away from you. The silence that filled his car wasn’t uncomfortable at all - it’s pleasant, the two of you simply soaking in the last inky strands of purple that streak the horizon before the dark indigo of night spread itself over the entirety of the sky. His hand resting on your thigh never strays any higher and your palm easily finds its way on top of his, gently massaging his knuckles while wishing that you were just a little bit braver.

For what? You’re not entirely sure.

Maybe to say something to him when he was looking at you while the two of you were at the Linkon City Central Gardens. His eyes were indescribably soft, and his mouth was slightly slack before it morphed itself into a real smile. It wasn’t any of his usual smirks or half grins -your favorite one that overtakes his entire face.

A smile that mirrors how you feel about him.

He had pulled away from you then, but maybe you can try to find it in you to pull him back in. Even just to tell him how you truly feel - how you feel that he’s the datura that protects you and brings you peace in your sleep when he’s close. Maybe kiss him on his cheek.

Yes, maybe you’ll do that tonight.

You don’t realize your self-imposed stupor until you feel the car slowly roll to a stop, Sylus cutting the engine and squeezing your thigh gently. “We’re at your’s now, kitten.”

You can’t help the way your heart sinks in your chest, but you put on a brave smile as you squeeze his hand in response. “Will you walk me up to mine?”

You know you don’t even have to ask, but he humors you by giving you a wink and pushing himself out of the car. You wait patiently for him to walk around the front and open the passenger door, and you accept his waiting hand.

“Make sure to drink plenty of water,” he says softly as the two of you step into the elevator. You press the button that leads to your floor, and you allow yourself to lean your head against his shoulder. Sylus responds by pressing his temple against your own, and you can’t help but smile at the sudden warmth.

“You need to take care of yourself too,” you reply once you hear the telltale ding! of the elevator stopping. You both walk towards your door, and you swiftly type in your apartment’s code before opening the door and standing at the threshold.

“Well…” Your voice drifts off as you try and think of a way to extend your time with him - you don't want this to end at all.

Sylus quirks an eyebrow at you, a teasing smirk beginning to form on his face as he crosses his arms. “Well, kitten?”

The silence stretches as you try and think of something to do. The ball is very well in your court and you don’t want to toss away this opportunity - you need to think of something and fast.

Fuck it, you finally think to yourself before you tiptoe up to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

You watch with slight mirth as his face flushes an endearing pink, his fingers reaching up to touch the skin your lips graced. You flash a quick smile at him, and you murmur a soft goodnight before turning to enter your apartment-

-only to be turned back around by a strong hand, and a warm mouth finally pressing against your own.

Your eyes instantly flutter shut, arms reaching up to wrap around Sylus’s broad shoulders. Sylus’s hands fumble blindly behind you, pushing the door open and allowing him the space to guide you into your apartment. He kicks the door shut behind him, and it’s only a quick moment before his hands travel to your thighs and picks you up easily, wrapping you in his embrace.

“Sylus-” you pull away and barely gasp his name before he groans, leaning back down to press kisses all over your face. You giggle at the feeling and he smiles down at you before recapturing your lips.

The kisses are slow, filled with a sense of longing that the two of you felt during your long weeks apart. You can feel Sylus’s intent to stay - to hold you for as long as he can, to lavish you in the attention you so crave from him.

And you have no intention of stopping him.

Soon enough, you enter your bedroom and he gently pushes you down onto the bed, allowing for him to press his entire body weight onto your body as you slowly sink into the cushy material. It feels like you’re floating in the best way possible - you’re surrounded by the spicy, almost wine-like scent that lingers on his clothes that mixes in with something that makes Sylus Sylus.

It’s addicting. You never want it, him, to go away.

You pull away just a little bit to take in the flush on his cheeks and you smile when you do so, gently pushing his hair away from his forehead and letting yourself play with the slightly sweaty strands. “You’re so handsome.”

He scoffs slightly, grabbing your wrist so that he can bring his mouth to your hand. You shiver when he presses gentle kisses onto the pads of your fingers, his actions reverent and filling your stomach with that same lazy, content feeling you experienced this morning when you woke up.

“And you’re the most ethereal person I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing,” he mumbles back, kissing your mouth lazily. He pulls away and props himself up, letting his hands push the fabric of your cardigan and tank top up over your stomach. “I want these off, angel.”

You comply with his soft command, letting him drag the layers over your head and tossing them to some corner of your room. Your fingers dance along the buttons of the shirt you brought him and he lets you push the offending garment off of his shoulders before pressing himself against your body - but this time, he kisses the skin of your jaw and slowly moves down.

You shiver when his lips run along the column of your neck and you arch your back, subtly giving him a hint. He catches your meaning, deftly unclasping your bra and helping you remove the garment so that he can pay attention to all of you.

“Sylus,” you moan softly, and your head falls back when his lips wrap around one of your nipples. You whimper when he flicks his tongue against the sensitive skin, his left hand reaching up to tease the other bud. His ministrations leave you writhing on your bed, and you all but gasp out, “More, please.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and he continues to move his lips down your stomach. His fingers make quick work of the button holding your jeans closed and pulls the stiff fabric off in one movement, leaving you exposed to the cold air of your bedroom and his hungry stare.

You watch, body trembling as his eyes slightly narrow and his lips slightly open in awe. When you first spent the night with him, he had asked you to never be shy when with him - so you keep these thoughts in mind as you slowly spread your legs open.

“I missed you a lot,” you confess shyly, although your movements are anything but demure. “What are you going to do about it?”

In a blink of an eye you’re flat on the bed with your legs high in the air, Sylus slowly kneeling in front of you. His breathing is labored, eyes hooded as he looks up at you. You gasp when his hands land on your thighs, placing them on his shoulders and effectively keeping you spread open for him - exposing yourself for his awaiting mouth.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs. His warm breath washes over your most sensitive spots and you shiver, feeling yourself clench in anticipation. Your eyes slip shut when you feel a single finger slide up the front of the panties you’re wearing, and his laughter has your stomach doing a delicious turn - right on the precipice of getting exactly what you want.

“I should make you wait,” Sylus muses darkly.

“Please don’t,” you whimper, voice cutting off in a high pitched whine when his finger rubs a slow circle right on top of your clit. The sudden stimulation has your back arching, core fluttering dangerously close to his devilish lips. Sylus presses a firm hand on your lower stomach, though, stopping all movement and letting you stew in your desperation.

“Please,” you beg, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes. “Please, it’s been too long and we didn’t get to go together. I missed you, I need you, please don’t make me wait.”

“You’re right, we’ve waited long enough,” he replies. His fingers push the soaked piece of fabric away from your sticky folds, and you jolt when you feel the sudden air on your sensitive pussy. Sylus pinches your thigh and you look down just in time to see him give you a quick wink before he presses his lips against you.

“Fuck, Sylus-” Your voice is a broken moan, and your hands immediately find themselves in his silky hair in a bid to pull him closer. Sylus hums in pleasure and the tiny vibrations spread throughout your body, bathing you in an electric pleasure that has your head spinning.

Sylus’s tongue is slow, gently flicking the tip up and down the length of your entire pussy so that he can collect your juices and savor what he missed over your weeks apart. His movements slowly build up a pleasurable knot in your stomach that you feel will unravel at any moment - but Sylus is the one that gets to decide when that is, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

“Please,” you gasp. Tears prick on the corners of your eyes as you tug on his hair imploringly, making his lips disconnect from your pussy for just one moment - a moment that feels like an eternity in your lust-affected state. “Sy- Sylus, please make me cum.”

His eyes meet yours, and you feel yourself clench at the dazed look in his eyes. Sylus rarely ever lets things get the best of him, you know that to be pure fact. But in this moment, with how vulnerable and hazy he looks just from lightly pleasuring you - it makes you feel incredible.

He’s quick to recover, though the hazy look in his eyes never fully diminishes. His hands tighten on your thighs and he regards you once more. “You know the signal, right?”

You tap your thumb on his forehead twice, and he gives you a smile and a quick kiss on your knee. The subtle touches have you melting for him in more ways than you could ever fathom, the sweet movements making your heart skip a beat as he slowly wrecks you from the inside out.

His mouth is back on your pussy with a flash, lips wrapping around your clit so that his tongue can lightly flick at the sensitive bud. Your head falls back onto the mattress and your chest heaves, the sudden onslaught of sensations bathing your body in an inescapable pleasure that has the knot in your stomach unravelling. “Sylus-” you begin, but he stops you.

“Cum for me, angel,” he murmurs, just audible enough for you to hear before sucking on your clit once more.

The knot in your stomach snaps at his soft command and you can barely gasp as your orgasm washes over your entire body, making your toes curl and thighs shake against his head. You barely register the moans you’re making - would anyone file a noise complaint tomorrow? You don’t really care, not when Sylus is igniting your body with the pleasure he laves over your body with just his mouth.

Your orgasm slowly subsides, and you whine at the sensitivity of your pussy as Sylus continues to suck against your hole, groaning at the taste of you against his tongue. Your hips buck so that you can try and move away from his mouth, but his hand reaches down to stop you once more.

“You know the signal, angel.” It’s a reminder, a dangerous one when you feel his fingers slowly beginning to sink into your needy hole. “I’ll stop when you want, but you have to tell me properly.”

Even with his rough tone, he pulls away just the slightest bit - waiting for you to call the shots. His care makes your heart soar, and you shake your head the tiniest bit. He nods once more, returning to your pussy with the same amount of vigor as before, but this time, his fingers join the fray.

You whine at the feeling of his ring finger entering your cunt, the stretch making you moan. While he was gone, you had tried to fill the gaps in yourself but it never felt good as when he did it - and so you welcome the burn, especially when his middle finger joins his first finger, slowly beginning to thrust in and out.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says in a whisper. “I missed your beautiful body, this pretty pussy…”

His voice tapers off as his fingers begin to speed up, and your voice leaves you in a pretty gasp. “The way you tighten around me as you moan, wishing it was my cock.”

His fingertips graze a certain spot in you, and you cry out. Even though you’re sensitive out of your mind, Sylus’s ministrations have you back on the teetering on the edge, ready to fall off-

-and he grants you that, letting his fingers press against your g-spot and triggering the end you so desire.

Your body seizes up and you nearly scream at the sensation, your orgasm leaving you breathless and covering your body in a light sheen of sweat. Your fingers flex against Sylus’s head - undecided on whether to pull him closer or push him away because you’re overstimulated beyond belief but you want him to continue ruining you in the way you’ve craved.

Sylus decides for the both of you, and he hastens his movements to help you ride out your orgasm. He pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole and places his hand back on your thighs, pulling you as close as he can so that he can drown in you. You cry out when you feel his tongue lash at your clit once, twice, three times before a weaker climax washes over your body and leaves you limp on your bed.

You barely register Sylus pulling away, the drunk look on his eyes warring with the concerned frown that graces his lips. “Kitten, are you okay?” His fingers brush against your forehead, and you shiver when his thumb moves to brush the line of your jaw before pressing against your swollen lips.

“You. I need you, please.”

It’s a breathy plea, one that’s full of yearning and a signal that let’s Sylus know you’re okay. You know he would stop with just one word from you, but you have no intention of stopping until you see him unravel in the same way he made you fall apart.

You see Sylus’s hesitation, but before he can say anything you wrap your legs around his thighs to pull him closer to you, allowing for his hard cock to brush against your sensitive pussy. You both moan at the contact, and you let yourself wantonly grind your hips against the fly of his pants so that he knows just how much you want him.

“Pretty angel,” he murmurs, his fingers massaging the skin of your hips as he guides your rhythm. “You’re glowing as you make a mess of yourself on my pants, you know that? You’re so beautiful right now.”

“I just want you,” you moan back. Your hands land on top of his and you intertwine his fingers in between yours, giving him a squeeze. “I want you to feel good, too.”

“I already feel incredible, ____.” Sylus lets himself fall on top of you, shifting his weight so that his hips press against your pussy just a little bit harder. He leans down to brush a chaste kiss over your mouth and you tilt your head up, chasing the lips that you so deeply crave. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, my angel.”

“I’m more than okay,” comes your immediate response. Your hands travel down his shoulders, past defined pecs and the center of his chest. Your fingers brush the sensitive area and he groans, letting his head flop onto your shoulder. You take his heavy breaths as encouragement, tracing his abs before finally letting your fingers graze against the waistband of his pants.

“I want you in me,” you say softly, equal parts desire and honesty coloring your voice. “I missed you, Sylus. I don’t want you to leave for a long time - I want you to stay with me.”

Sylus’s eyes soften at your words, and he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. You feel his hands cover your own, and he helps you with unbuttoning his pants before he pushes the unnecessary fabric down his legs, kicking them aside.

“You already have all of me.” It’s a statement he seals with a kiss to your lips before he pulls at the flimsy lace of your panties. You force your hips up and he drags the scrap of fabric down your legs, barely casting it a glance before he tosses them over his shoulder. He adjusts your body so that your heads rest on your pillows and you’re settled comfortably before the bed, and he makes his way on top of you so that he hovers above you.

Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his swollen tip catch against your clit and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he presses himself flush against your pussy, letting himself grind messily against your cunt. “All of this for me,” he muses in between short pants. “My kitten, my angel, my ____. I’m all yours, even if you decide that you don’t want me anymore.”

“I’ll always want you,” you reply, matching your hips with his rhythm. You place your palms against his cheeks, directing his gaze so that he’s looking directly at you and the sincerity in your expression. “I’ll always find you, and you’ll always be by my side.”

A beat passes, and your heart clenches when you see an indescribable emotion pass over Sylus’s face - one full of intense yearning and a tinge of pain that lets you know he was afraid of you going against your promises in the past. His face smooths out and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss as he begins to push himself into you.

Even with your climaxes before and how wet you currently are, it’s still a tight fit. The stretch makes you gasp against his mouth, fingernails digging into his shoulders as you try to hold on so that you don’t fall apart from just his cock barely entering you. Sylus takes his time though, massaging your hips and letting his lips wander all of your face as you relax and let him in further and further - until he’s all the way in and you’re full of him.

“Sylus-” you moan, head falling back. His head rests against your neck and he latches his mouth against your sensitive pulse point, sucking on the skin until he leaves a noticeable mark. Your walls clench at his action and you both moan at how your walls squeeze him tightly, trying to pull him in further and further.

“I forgot how fucking tight you get,” he seethes. He leans down and kisses you once again, borderline desperate from how worked up he was seeing you fall apart multiple times and now - deep inside the woman he’s so deeply in love with. “You truly never want me to leave, do you?”

“No,” you cry out. Sylus begins to move his hips - slow, rolling movements that consistently hit your sweet spot and bring you closer and closer towards your shattering point. Your ankles cross against the small of his back, keeping him in place as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling of him ruining you. “Stay with me, please.”

“I don’t intend to ever leave you, my angel,” Sylus grunts out. One of his hands moves to rest on your mound so that his fingers have easy access to your clit. His fingers strum along the sensitive bud as he punctuates his statement with a thrust of his hips, leaving you a moaning mess on his cock. “I don’t intend for the most beautiful person the universe has given me to slip in between my fingers.”

His words have your stomach tightening, and you pull him down so that you can kiss him. Unlike the last slow and languid kisses of before, this one is filled with desperation and need - letting the both of you know that you’re both reaching your respective ends.

“Please,” you whisper, neediness coloring your voice. “I want you to cum in me.”

“Fuck, ____-” he groans, voice cutting short when he hits your g-spot - making you moan and tighten impossibly more around his cock. “Are you sure, angel?”

“Please,” you beg. Your stomach tightens once more, almost about to fall towards your climax. “Cum in me, Sylus.”

“Oh, shit-” With his words he falls apart, his lips falling onto yours with a messy kiss as he cums in your pussy. The sensation triggers your final end and you fall after him, tremors wracking your body as your back arches. So lost in your pleasure, you can’t register the words that Sylus groans reverently above you, but you don’t care in the slightest.

It feels like you’re glowing from the inside out - both from the overwhelming pleasure he’s currently giving you and the intense love that you feel for him in your chest.

Sylus leans down and presses his lips against your own in an open-mouthed kiss. His kiss is messy and hot, tongues dancing together as he thrusts into you with a stilted rhythm. Even in his end, he’s still making sure you feel incredible, and your heart warms at that obvious motive.

Sylus groans after he finishes his spend, letting himself fall on top of you. The sudden weight knocks what little wind out of your body, and you laugh as you gasp for air. “Sylus!”

“Mmm, shush kitten,” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose into your neck and breathing in deeply. “I feel like my soul left my body.”

His statement draws another giggle from your chest, and you feel his smile in the kiss that he leaves on the mark on your neck. Your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers brush the sweaty strands that stick to his forehead, and you feel the almost purr that rumbles his chest at your fingernails slightly scratching his head.

“I meant what I said.” It’s a sudden serious statement that has Sylus looking up at you, although you continue to stroke his hair. “I want you to stay with me.”

His eyes soften, and he smiles at you with your most favorite smile. “And I mean it too, ____. I don’t intend to leave you in this lifetime.”

Sylus shifts upwards, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close until your breasts are pressed against his chest. His hand catches your wrist gently and he moves your hand down so that it rests on his left pec - right on top of his steadily beating heart.

“I may be a wanted criminal by the Hunter’s Association, and I may not be able to fully express my…affection for you,” he says steadily, although you catch his hesitation right before he says “affection.” He clears his throat though, and lets his nose brush against your nose. “But you, ____, are scored on my heart.”

He presses your hand against his heart, and you feel your eyes water at the devotion in his eyes. “I swear to always be there for you.. We may not be able to ever go on big public dates, but I swear to you, I will be beside you as an equal if you’ll let me. And I…I will always protect you.”

His words render you speechless, eyes watering at his honest declaration. He may not have said it out loud, but you both know that deep down, he loves you.

And you love him.

More than life itself.

“When this world is ours, I’ll show you off and scream that you’re mine from the rooftops.” Your voice is steady with conviction, and you grin when he laughs at you. “But for now…”

Your hips roll against his once more, and you both groan when you feel his cock begin to harden against you once more.

“Why don’t we make up for lost time?”

a/n: well ,,, hello there :D i hope you enjoyed <3

#phia's memories #fic: if this world were ours #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #qin che #lads sylus fluff #lads sylus smut #sylus x reader smut #sylus x reader fluff #oh boy tags!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#also i am SO sorry this is late omfg #i need to get it together fr (;-;)#but pls enjoy!!

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