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jjkbambi · 6 months ago

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boy next door luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! (((smut)))) your roommate luigi wants to help you get over your breakup.

warnings: long fic so we’re starting off with fluff, smutty and rough, blowjob, head pushing and hair-pulling and choking on it bc y/n is #real, p in this v fr, Tie, jealous-ish?, (is in the kitchen public?), he’s very talkative, daddy and his good girl <333

^^ unedited and im a procrastinator

you still haven’t gotten luigi the secret santa gift. with the end of december closing in, all the other $25-and-under gifts sit neatly wrapped beside the tabletop tree. by friendsmas standards, you’re embarrassingly late.

but it was hard!!! he spent most of his time tucked away in his room, the door always cracked just enough to remind you he wasn’t entirely gone. you’d catch glimpses of him hunched over his desk, surrounded by books and papers scrawled with notes you couldn’t begin to understand. he never started conversations, only speaking up to correct you or drop some fact that left you feeling both impressed and annoyed.

it was so desperate you tried the campus bookstore, staring helplessly at the rows of penn merch to no avail. he already seemed to own everything—hoodies, mugs, even a pennant on his door. a gift card felt impersonal, but anything else felt like a gamble.

“good morning,” you hum, stepping into his room. luigi’s snaps his head up, standing shirtless by his closet, scrambling to pull on a sweater. for someone who barely left the house, the sight of his six-pack catches you completely off guard.

“what do you want?” he asks, voice gruff.

you lean against his wall. “do you prefer american or chinese food?”

he huffs out a laugh before leaning onto his blackwood desk. “what, are you taking me out on a date?”

“no, no, no, your secret santa asked me to ask you.” you lie. “they also asked if you wear a size medium or large.”

“don’t worry, i can’t make it to movie night,” he says casually. your lips immediately drop into a frown. it was the annual tradition in the house—a night where all five roommates came together to watch a terrible holiday movie and exchange department store gifts. he couldn’t miss it. “i’ve got a mandatory frat event,” he adds with a shrug. “apparently, it’s not optional this time. i’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t tell you about it.”

you feel yourself dull at the mention of him. “we’re on a break.”

luigi raises an eyebrow. “a break, huh? didn’t see that one coming.” his tone is neutral, but there’s a flicker of something underneath. “what made it happen?”

you shrug, avoiding the conversation.

luigi’s expression softens, his gaze shifting to something a little more concerned. he takes a small step closer, his voice quieter now. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you weren’t, and it was overtly obvious. luigi stands over you, his tall frame leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. “i thought i heard you say you were done with all that fraternity nonsense,” you say, remembering the times he complained to your roommates about the tumultuous nights and endless responsibilities waiting for him at the phi kappa psi house. it’s strange to picture your boyfriend in that world now.

“you’re nosy,” he says.

“you specifically told my boyfriend it was a huge waste of money.”

“ex-boyfriend.”

“we’re on a break!” you emphasize, eyes narrowing. “plus, it sounds like you’re just trying to get out of secret santa.”

luigi leans in slightly, his voice lowering, teasing. “and it sounds like you’re getting me a gift card.”

you can’t help but laugh, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something that felt just a little too comfortable. “alright fine,” you say, accepting defeat. “secret’s out. what is it you want?”

he pauses, studying you for a moment, the faintest smirk curling at his lips. “what do i want?” he murmurs, his voice low, as if weighing the question. hesteps a bit closer, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. “i don’t know, what are you willing to give me?”

you flush under his gaze, unsure of what to make of this moment. you have a boyfriend—yet you’re ninety percent sure luigi is flirting with you, and about a hundred percent sure you’re liking it.

the warmth in your chest is both unsettling and familiar, a confusing mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off, but the way he looks at you lingers in your thoughts, pulling at you in ways you didn’t expect.

he seems entertained by your befuddlement, his eyes lingering on yours in a way that makes you second-guess yourself. he looks away, breaking the moment with a soft chuckle, then turns to leave.

“i’ll see you,” he says, but it’s not casual. it’s something else, something that makes you wonder if he’s looking forward to seeing you again as much as you are him.

you bring yourself back to reality, forcing your mind to settle. you can’t flirt with him. it would upset the house dynamic, intrude on your peaceful living space—you cannot let that happen. you shouldn’t. you were on a break from your boyfriend, a small pause in something that still felt important. and soon enough, you’d be back together, just like you always were.

as much as his presence lingers in your thoughts, you remind yourself of the needed boundaries, the reasons why things can’t get blurred.

still, as you continue baking cookies, dodging glitter explosions, and downing soju bottles, his absence nags at you, a quiet reminder that you’re trying not to want something that might never be.

“you’re still awake.” luigi’s voice cuts through the quiet kitchen, startling you so much that you nearly drop the piece of ribbon you’re holding. you whirl around, clutching your chest, only to find him much closer than you’d expected—close enough that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he says as you try to shake off the way your pulse seems to have kicked off into overdrive. “you’re not tired?”

“not yet.” you shake your head. “the party didn’t exhaust you?”

“it did.” he says, exhaling. “figured i’d check if i’m eating american or chinese tomorrow before i hit the hay.”

you pretend like you’re offended. “i’d never get you something so thoughtless.”

you grab a gray glittery gift bag and toss it his way. his teasing falters for a second, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “a tie?”

“yeah, you’re always dressed fancy, going fancy places…” you say, brushing the glitter off your hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. was it the wrong choice? did fancypants mcgee only wear silk imported from asia? “you don’t like it?”

“no,” he says quickly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “it’s sweet.”

you glance at him, unsure what to say, and his smirk softens into something else, something warmer. he steps closer, the space between you narrowing just enough to make your breath catch.

“guess i’ll have to step up my game,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

you blink, caught off guard, scrambling to come up with something, but before you can, he leans back, breaking the tension with a chuckle. “looks like you could use some help.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” he replies, tossing the ribbon into the trash before grabbing the broom from the corner. “besides, i can’t have you using this tie to guilt-trip me later.”

“it’s weird having you be so nice to me,” you blurt out the words before you can realize the reprussions. his dark brown eyes glance up at you, eyebrows pinched together.

the regret is immediate. “i just mean we’ve never really talked before.”

luigi looks at you, his expression shifting slightly. “was that my choice or yours?”

you blink, caught off guard. you’d always assumed it was mutual. “well, that’s not really the point,” you say, trying to brush it off. “we’re friends now, right?”

his dark eyes shift away from yours for a moment, but only to return with even more intensity, holding you in place, freezing you in the moment. your heart stutters in your chest. “i was never interested in being your friend.”

“oh.” the word feels hollow as it leaves your mouth, and you instantly feel your face go pale. you scramble for something to say, anything to make the moment feel less heavy, but the silence hangs between you, thick and unrelenting.

“that’s not what i meant—“

“it’s fine of course, you don’t have to—”

“no.”

he shakes his head and runs up to you, closing the moment of confusion with an abrupt force—his mouth is on yours, tongue slipping past your lips and sliding into you.

whether it was the warmth of the kiss, his big hands groping your body, or the fact that this was just all so irredeemably wrong—you didn’t know—but the rush you got from being with him left you dizzy and dazed and desperate.

luigi laughs into your kiss. “you’re so fuckin’ eager.”

you should be reasonable. you shouldn’t be doing this, this is a mistake. “sorry, i—”

“no, don’t be sorry,” he says, smiling into another sloppy kiss. it felt so tender, so loving, when he takes you into your arms. reason flies out the window. “i want you, too.”

“luigi,” you whimper into his lips, not recognizing the desperation in your voice.

“i’ll give it to you baby, don’t worry,” he hums.

your fingers rush to unbutton your top, half-way done before luigi realizes what you’re doing and he grabs you. “keep your clothes on. i don’t need you naked to make you cum.”

he’s so strong and forward and unlike anything you’ve ever had before. in one swift motion, he turns you over, pressed against the kitchen counter as he slides his warm hand down your silk shorts and cradles your tit with the other.

“you put these on for me, didn’t you?” he tugs your lace panties, pressing them against your hot cunt. your back arches at the sensation and you feel his cock hard underneath his jeans.

“luigi.” you whimper, barely breathing.

“admit it,” he says, in between licking and kissing and biting the nape of your neck, sure to leave marks. “you wore these for me, didn’t you? wanted me to take your mind off that fuckin’ asshole, hm? wanted me to take care of you?”

you swell underneath him, shaking. he grinds his straining cock against your plump ass as he works your pussy, groaning into your neck.

“oh, baby, is that too much for you already?” luigi’s breath is hot against your neck, hands busy rubbing your clit and pinching your delicate nipple.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the expression on luigi’s face is smug. “you haven’t even had my cock yet, look at you.”

he brings his wet fingers up to your lips, then shoves them into your mouth without permission. you can’t help but shudder underneath his wicked touch. “yeah.” he laughs. “squirm like that, slut.”

“lu,” you pant. “i want it.”

“no, not yet,” he says, rubbing his hard big cock against your clothed ass. “see how hard i am for you? see how worked up you got me?”

“yes,” you whimper, fingers still in your mouth.

“get on your knees,” luigi grunts. “show me how much you need it.”

you needed it more than anything. dropping down to your knees, you notice a spot on his jeans wet with precum. he’s straining for you. you try to get as much of your mouth on him as you can as soon as his bottoms are off, desperate to show him how good you are.

“you’re so pretty like this,” luigi murmurs as you try to fill your mouth with his entirety. seeing that you’re struggling, he puts his hand on the back of your head and guides you down onto it. “such a good girl.”

he rocks hip forward deep into your warmth, using your face. “choke on it.” he orders. and you do. your eyes tear up at the feeling of his length touching the back of your throat. “god, you’re so fuckin’ filthy.”

before you can breathe, luigi pulls himself out of your mouth and barks out another order, “put your hands up against the wall.”

you do as you’re told. your core aches like it misses his touch. pulling your shorts down, he groans at the sight of your wetness, driving his big cock inside of you.

“slipped in so easy with your spit all over me,” he whispers in your ear. god, he’s driving you fucking crazy. the pleasure is almost overwhelming as he leans down, forces your chin back to bring your lips together, a sloppy, loving kiss.

“i knew you were gonna be like this,” he purrs into you, sucking and biting.

“like what?”

“like a fuckin’ slut.” luigi grumbles. he grabs something off the counter, and you don’t know what’s happening until you feel the silk material fasten around your wrists. the tie.

“luigi.” you gasp.

“i’ve been waiting to get my fuckin’ hands on you.”

you shiver at the confession. “really?”

he groans as he watches your ass ripple against his hips—at how easy and soft and weak you were at his mercy. he melts at the sight of you, using your binded wrists to buck deeper into you. you moan and whimper and scream on the force—he’s so harsh, so mean, so good—you’ve never even dreamt of a pleasure like this.

“listen to you.” he buries himself so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass. “you’re fuckin’ loud when you’re getting treated right, aren’t you?”

“please, daddy,” you whine, completely out of your mind.

luigi groans, pushing your head into the kitchen counter. “god, i didn’t think you were gonna call me that,” he rumbles, rocking his cock hard into your frothing core, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body.

he pulls your hair back again, causing you to shriek. “didn’t call him that, did you?” he says it like a statement, leaving no room for correction. “god, i used to jerk myself off listening to you moan. wondering if you were riding him or bent over your fuckin’ mattress.“

“luigi.” you cry.

“always knew i could treat you better,” he growls. “always wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and make you beg for it.”

“i would’ve let you,” you mewl out, helpless.

“yeah?”

“you’re s’good.”

his thrusts come faster, more frantic. “better than him?”

“yes!”

you’re so close and so needy. your mind glows white as he fucks into you. squirming underneath him, the friction of your frantic movements growing hotter as the both of you chase your high. “good girl,” he praises, kissing all over your neck and back. “cream all over daddy’s cock, baby.”

“luigi,” you moan as your orgasm gushes beneath him, shivering as you feel his cock quiver, his load shooting deep into your cunt. he grunts with his final thrust, whimpering your name.

he kisses your shoulder as he pulls out of you. “so good,” he pants, just as helpless and shaken as you were. he unties the present you’d given him and pulls you in for another kiss.

“luigi,” you sigh against his lips.

“pretty girl,” he whispers back, running his hot wet kisses across your lips, your cheeks, your neck. “let me take you out tomorrow, yeah? a proper date. i’ll wear my tie ‘nd everything.”

you laugh—a mix of disbelief and something else—something lighter. before you can say anything, he’s leaning in again, kissing you softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“it was a good gift, right?” you hum.

“yeah,” he agrees, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “versatile.”

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#used to write 1d fanfic #was a different tumblr #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x y/n #free luigi #free luigi mangione #luigi fanart #luigi mangione #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione fanclub #uhc shooter #luigi mangione fic #real person fiction

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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

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Purple Lace Bra

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhett just wanted to try out the new bar in town, and he bites off more than he can chew when his eyes settle on you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut…Of course…And Swearing…Of course lol And a hot cowboy, because yeeeeehawwww and hawwwwwyeeeeee!

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (risky behaviour here), Fingering, Handjob (ish?), little rough, a bit of hair pulling, some dirty talk, and breastplay.

Author’s Note: Alright guys, I heard you I heard you, and I decided to take a stab at writing for Rhett. I’m hoping it meets expectations. Fingers crossed! Enjoy though!

Word Count: 8,998

The bar was new.

That much was obvious from the second Rhett stepped inside.

It didn’t have that worn-in, lived-through, broken-down charm most places in Wabang wore like a badge. No warped floorboards swollen with spilled beer and questionable stains older than some of the patrons. No cigarette burns crusted into the lacquer of every tabletop. No cracked vinyl barstools or hand-carved initials sunk deep into the counters. No grit under your fingernails just from leaning against the wall.

Everything in here was intentional.

Dark walnut paneling framed exposed red brick, and the floors–still scuff-free–glowed under the dim warmth of amber-tinted Edison bulbs hanging from long black cords. The air was thick with sawdust and varnish, freshly cured wood layered beneath the heavier scents of whiskey, fried grease, perfume, and sweat. Someone had poured a hell of a lot of money into making the place feel like a dream of a saloon.

And it was packed.

It was too many people for a Wednesday night, if you asked him. Locals mixing uneasily with out-of-towners in freshly bought boots. Girls in fringed skirts and lips gloss laughing too loudly. Guys leaning on pool cues like props, flexing flannel sleeves that didn’t have a day’s work on them. Music buzzed low from overhead speakers–something twangy but radio-polished, not nearly enough slide guitar to be worth a damn.

He stepped in slowly, one hand pushing the door open with that unhurried, deliberate motion he never lost–boots hitting the threshold with purpose. The scent hit him first. It wasn’t just alcohol or fryer grease, but the sharp undertone of new.

Rhett’s eyes scanned the room from under the shadow of his hat. He tugged at the brim slightly–a reflex more than anything–and felt the familiar weight of the stares he got in places like this.

He didn’t dress like the others. His boots were worn down with real scuffs and creases from a hard day's work. His jeans hung soft and broken–in, and his button-down was plain, with sleeves pushed up and frayed at the cuffs. Technically he looked like a man who belonged there, but the crowd was definitely not for it.

He made his way to the bar slowly, easing up between a group of college kids and a woman wearing heels way too tall for gravel parking lots. He nodded once to the bartender–young, slick, and clean–and ordered a beer without looking at the menu.

Then he heard it.

That mechanical groan–a low hydraulic hiss followed by the whump of rubber matting and the screech of excitement from somewhere in the back corner of the room.

Rhett’s brows lifted at the noise, and angled himself just enough to see it: a mechanical bull, spot lit and surrounded by a padded floor, ropes separating it from the tables like it was some kind of goddamn spectacle. People were gathered around it with drinks in hand, watching like they were at a sideshow–waiting for someone to get thrown. Rhett stared at the thing like it might come alive and charge through the room.

He exhaled through his nose–half sigh, half scoff–and felt the faint sting of amusement press behind his eyes. What the hell were they trying to be in here?

The bartender slid a bottle across the bar top with a practiced hand.

Rhett caught it without looking, fingers curling around the neck, and brought it to his lips. The beer was cold, too crisp, almost too clean. Like everything else in the damn place.

He let his shoulders settle, jaw ticking once, then let his gaze wander–across the room, over the padded mat where a guy in a pearl-snap shirt was still arguing about whether or not he could “last a full ride,” past the mirror-backed shelves of overpriced whiskey, and toward the booth tucked along the far wall.

That’s when he saw you.

You were tucked into a half-moon booth with two other girls–both of them already tipsy, leaning close, wide grins on their gloss-slicked mouths. You had one elbow on the table, a mixed drink in your hand, laughing at something one of them said, your head tipped back just slightly.

Something about the curve of your throat caught the light. Your hair was wind blown, and a few loose strands framed your face nicely. Your boots were crossed beneath the table, and the denim on your legs looked like it had actually been worn instead of picked out of a catalog, and the tight white tank top you wore had definitely pulled his eyes in even further.

You didn’t look like the others.

Didn’t talk too loud. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t scan the room trying to be seen.

But Rhett was seeing you anyway. Every damn inch.

He took another sip of beer and tilted his head slightly intrigued. He had not seen you before, at least that’s what he assumed as you didn’t look familiar, nor did you look like a local.

Your friends were egging you on–he could tell. They leaned in closer, nudging your shoulders, gesturing toward the bull with wild eyes and laughing mouths. You shook your head at first, lips pressed together in a mock “no way,” but then they pushed a little harder. One of them slid out of the booth to tug on your wrist while the other started clapping and cheering. You gave your friend a look–part exasperation, part warning–but the corners of your mouth were already curling into a smile.

Rhett saw the exact moment your resistance cracked. The way you tipped your drink back for one last sip, slid it across the table, and stood–unhurried, unrushed, like you were indulging them, but on your own terms. You pushed your hair out of your face, and adjusted the hem of your tank top before stepping out of the booth completely.

You weren’t trying to get anyone’s attention, but you already had his, and he couldn’t bear to look away.

Your stride through the crowd wasn’t cocky–it was confident. Like you didn’t need to prove anything. You weaved between tables, boots thudding softly against the polished floor, hips swaying with a rhythm that was natural to you. The overhead lights caught the glow of your skin, the edge of your collarbone, the gentle sheen of sweat on your throat.

Rhett’s lips parted slightly around the mouth of his beer, almost like he was enchanted by you and the way you carried yourself.

You crossed into the roped-off section with one hand lightly grazing the padding, you nodded once at the guy operating the bull, and pulled yourself up onto the platform like you’d done it a dozen times.

Hell, maybe you had.

The crowd started to cheer again–louder this time. People leaned in, trying to look over others shoulders. You didn’t even flinch. You turned your back to them, adjusted the rope with practiced ease, and swung one leg up and over the smoothness that Rhett felt in his chest.

You settled into the saddle like it belonged to you. There were no nervous glances. No wobbly balance checks. Just a shift of your hips, a flex of your thighs, and a subtle roll of your shoulders as your hands found their hold–one gripping the rope, the other resting lightly on your thigh.

Rhett’s gaze didn’t waver. He took another slow sip of his beer, the bottle cool in his palm, but he barely tasted it. He was too busy watching you.

The way you sat up there–easy, unshaken, comfortable like it wasn’t your first time–made something slow and solid settle in his chest. You didn’t look like someone pretending to be brave. You looked like someone who didn’t need to pretend at all.

Your spine was straight, but not stiff. Every part of you looked grounded. Controlled, and goddamn was it attractive.

Rhett couldn’t picture you on a real bull–didn’t want to, not really–but there was a part of him that figured you’d probably hold your own just fine. Maybe not from experience, but from that glint in your eye. That natural, unshakable calm.

The operator adjusted a dial, and you gave a short nod, like you were bored of waiting.

Rhett tilted his head, eyes tracking the slow movement of your fingers tightening around the rope. Your hand adjusted just right so you had good tension, and then your other arm lifted, loose but ready.

The bull kicked forward, and you didn’t flinch one bit. You moved.

It was immediate. Like you were built for the rhythm of it. Your body rolled forward, then back, countering every lurch of the machine like instinct. Your legs flexed tight, hips following each twist with unhurried precision. The movement pulled your tank tight across your chest, your shoulder muscles taut with focus. But your face–your mouth, your eyes–remained easy. You were enjoying this.

That made it worse for him in the most consuming way possible.

People around him were cheering now, laughing, calling out, whistling–but it was all background noise to Rhett. His knuckles tensed around the neck of the bottle, barely aware of it.

You were the only thing in the room.

He felt like he was watching something private. Like the way you moved wasn’t for the crowd–but maybe, maybe, it was for someone. For the one person paying real attention.

And when your eyes flicked up mid-spin, and landed squarely on his–Rhett’s breath felt like it was pushed out of his lungs.

You looked at him like you’d known exactly where he was standing the whole time.

And when you smiled–just barely, just enough–he felt it deep in his ribs.

That wasn’t an accident.

That was intentional.

The bull jerked again–harder this time, testing your grip–and Rhett swallowed, slow and thick.

Because you didn’t break.

You leaned into the movement, hips shifting forward, then back, chest arching ever so slightly with the roll of the machine. Your tank rode up just enough to show a strip of skin–taut and warm under the lights–and the sweat starting to build at the back of your neck shimmered like gold dust.

You didn’t wince. You grinned.

You were in control.

Every second of it.

Rhett was breathing through his nose now, jaw tight, the bottle sweating in his grip, untouched. His pulse pounded in his neck, heat climbing slowly beneath his collar, across his chest, and lower.

Watching you ride wasn’t just impressive–it was devastating.

You moved like you knew exactly what it looked like. What it did to the men watching. To him.

And if you didn’t? That was somehow worse. Because your body, the rhythm in it, the way your hips met the motion of the bull like you were answering it–it felt less like performance and more like instinct.

Rhett’s mouth was dry.

He cleared his throat, quiet, subtle, but it didn’t help. His gaze dropped to your thighs, flexed tight around the saddle, your back arched and rocking in time, the tension in your arms, the control in your shoulders–

Jesus Christ.

His hand slid along the bar behind him, like he needed something to brace against. His boots stayed planted, body tight with the kind of energy that didn’t have anywhere to go. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, behind his ears. He took another drink out of pure habit–but the beer barely registered on his tongue.

You didn’t look away from him again.

But you didn’t have to.

You’d already seen him. Already snared him.

And the longer the ride went on, the harder it got to breathe.

The bull picked up speed. Your body snapped harder into the motion. Every line of you sang with tension–coiled and lit and burning–and Rhett swore he felt it like touch.

His skin prickled.

You were panting now, chest rising and falling, heat blooming across your cheeks. But your eyes stayed calm, your mouth open just enough to draw breath between your teeth, and your thighs didn’t loosen once.

Rhett’s heart was hammering now. Low in his chest. Down in his gut. He shifted against the bar without meaning to, jaw clenched tight, thighs tense, every inch of him drawn like wire.

It wasn’t just want.

It was need.

Not to touch. Not yet.

Just to keep watching.

To see how long you’d let him sit there with that heat curling through his stomach, with sweat at the back of his neck, with his breath caught behind his teeth while you made it all look effortless.

And then–mercifully, murderously–the buzzer sounded.

The bull slowed.

You took the last few seconds of movement with a slow, rolling ease–like letting go of control wasn’t something you did all at once.

When the machine finally stilled, you swung one leg back over the side and hopped down to the mat.

Rhett had to physically stop himself from stepping forward.

Because you landed like you were still riding. Like you still had the momentum in your blood. Hair stuck to your temples. Shoulders glowing. Chest rising and falling with short, slow breaths. You were glistening, flushed, lips parted like your body was still half-there.

You smiled.

And then–God help him–you looked at him again.

A breathless, wicked little thing that told him you knew.

You knew what watching you had done to him.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and stepped out of the roped area, crossing the floor toward the bar like you weren’t leaving a trail of heat in your wake.

You didn’t rush.

Didn’t even glance his way at first.

You just stepped up to the bar–right beside him–like it was the most natural thing in the world, and rested your elbows on the counter. Close enough that his shoulder caught the warmth still radiating off your skin. Close enough that he could smell it–you–sweat and juniper perfume and cherry lip gloss. The heady, breath-stealing aftermath of adrenaline and heat.

Rhett didn’t dare move, he didn’t even turn his head. But his eyes flicked down just once, and that was enough. Because up close, now that the sweat had soaked a little deeper into the cotton of your tank, it had slipped ever-so-slightly lower. And just right on the border, where the neckline dipped, he could see it…

Purple lace. Delicate, scalloped. The edge of your bra, soft and feminine and barely visible, peeking like a secret just for him.

His throat worked around a swallow, and he looked away immediately, heat climbing behind his ears. He could feel the tips of them burning beneath his hat.

The bartender approached and you leaned forward, forearms resting against the word.

”Red Russian please,” You said, voice low and easy–honeyed but sharp at the edges. You didn’t have to raise it. He heard every syllable as it slid off your tongue. The bartender gave you a nod and turned away to make the drink.

You leaned a bit, just enough to shift your weight toward him, and without looking, without needing to, you let your voice slide between you and Rhett like silk laced in smoke.

”So…You always stare like that, or was I just particularly inspiring tonight?” Your head turned, slowly, and you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. Rhett’s breath caught–he felt it. Right there in his chest. Like someone had knocked a fist into his sternum and told him not to react.

He brought his eyes to yours like he couldn’t stop himself. They were darker than they’d been a moment ago, lit with something low and burning–lust maybe.

“I…” He swallowed, licking his dry lips, “Wasn’t starin’. Just–watchin’, I guess.” You hummed, amused, the curve of your lips tugging into something sly, but you held his gaze.

“There’s a difference?” His lashes fluttered at you, as you watched the faint pink blush rise to his cheeks just above the stubble that sat neatly on his face. His grip on the neck of the bottle tightened slightly. His voice was low–gravelly and warm when it finally came.

”Yeah,” He replied, “One’s rude. The other’s…Real hard to stop.” You smiled at his response.

”Mm, guess I oughta be flattered then.” Your drink arrived moments later–blood red in colour, topped with a cherry–which gave you something to fiddle with, “You always this good at compliments or am I just bringin’ out the Southern charm?” That made something flicker behind his eyes. A soft huff left him–almost a laugh, but not quite–and the tension in his shoulders finally shifted. Rhett moved, just barely, letting his elbow rest against the bar now–getting closer. His fingers traced the condensation sliding down the neck of his bottle, but his gaze didn’t leave you. He let the silence settle thick between you, then answer, voice smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.

”Could say it’s the charm.” He drawled, slow and sure, “But the truth is, darlin’, I think it’s just you.” You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you turned your attention to the drink in front of you–blood-red and glinting beneath the low amber lights–lifting it to your lips with an ease that was all confidence and quiet command. You sipped slowly, just enough to stain your mouth with something sweet and strong , then set the glass back down with a gentle clink.

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your lips again, like he hadn’t meant to, like they just drew him in without permission.

And then–without ceremony–you plucked the cherry from the top of your drink, and held it by the stem between your two fingers before bringing it to your mouth.

You kept eye contact the entire time, as you pulled the fruit off it’s anchor.

The cherry disappeared behind your lips, the stem left dangling between your fingers as your jaw moved with delicate precision, tongue flicking behind your cheeks. You chewed slowly, swallowed gently, then licked a faint smear of juice from the corner of your mouth–soft and languid.

Rhett shifted in place, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. The slight roll of his shoulders, the way his hand tightened around the bottle, the flare of heat at the base of his throat. You were doing this to him. Every second of it. And he was letting you.

Hell–he was begging for it.

You let the empty stem drop gently to your cocktail napkin and leaned in just a breath closer, your voice a low, syrupy hum between the two of you.

“So if I’m the reason,” You said, “Guess I should know what to call the man I’m inspirin’.”That made something flicker through him. Not just lust now—but interest. Real interest.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch like he was working out the puzzle of you in real time. And then–finally–he offered you a hand.

Calloused. Warm. Strong fingers, broad palm, veins faintly raised from years of real work. The kind of hand that looked like it could break you apart or hold you like something sacred.

“Rhett,” He said, voice like gravel and molasses. “Rhett Abbott.” You took his hand into yours, giving it a gentle shake. Your touch was soft, but firm. Full of intention, just like the rest of you.

Your thumb grazed the back of his hand once before you replied.

”Nice to meet you, Rhett Abbott,” You said, your voice curling around his name like sheer silk, “I’m Y/N.”

God help him, hearing his name come out of your mouth like that–low and smooth, like it tasted good–did something to him. Something sharp and hot that settled just behind his rib cage.

You still hadn’t let go of his hand. You held it just long enough for the pad of your thumb to trace that one shallow callous on the base of his thumb. Just long enough to let the quiet stretch between you with thick implication.

When you finally released him, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because you’d already said enough with the way you touched him

Rhett cleared his throat, but his fingers curled slightly like they missed yours already. His eyes raked over your face once–then lower. Over the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the edge of that purple lace he’d clocked earlier still flirting with the neckline of your tank. He didn’t look long. It was already burned into his brain.

”Y/N,” He repeated, slowly, “Pretty name.”

“Reckon I like how you say it.” Rhett smirked at that. Barely. Just a ghost of one tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it was real. Like you’d teased it out of him. You turned a little more toward him then, resting your arm along the bar, letting your knee knock against his under the counter. Light. Barely there. But enough to make his spine straighten just a little. Like you’d touched something electric.

Your knee stayed where it was–brushed lightly against his beneath the bar–but your body shifted just a little more, leaning into his space like the air between you wasn’t already thick with heat. You rested your weight on one elbow and brought your drink to your lips again, letting the edge of the glass kiss your mouth in a way that made his jaw tick. He followed the movement like he was starved for it.

You swallowed, set the glass down, and tilted your head just enough to let your hair fall over your shoulder–like an invitation disguised as casual comfort.

“You always watch that close,” You murmured, voice low and honey-slick, “Or was that just ‘cause I was the one up there tonight?”

Rhett’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and his gaze flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again. His voice, when it came, was a little rougher. A little deeper. Like heat had sanded it down.

“Oh, that was definitely just you,” He said, that slow drawl curling around the words like smoke. “Ain’t never seen someone ride like that and look so damn calm doin’ it. Thought you were gonna break that bull’s heart.”

You laughed–low, warm, right against the rim of your glass. “Poor thing didn’t stand a chance.”

He leaned in then, just enough that you could feel his breath brush your cheek. Just enough that your knees bumped again beneath the bar and stayed there.

“Neither did I,” He said, voice like gravel dipped in sugar. “Not the way you moved up there. All control. Like you weren’t ridin’ it–you were taming it.”

You glanced at him then–sideways, coy–and your lashes fluttered as you reached for your cherry stem again, turning it slowly between your fingers.

“I like the fight,” you said, soft and easy. “Like seeing how long I can last. Pushing just hard enough to keep it under me without ever losin’ control.”

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your fingers, to the cherry stem twisting like it meant something. Then to your lips. Then your thighs.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, “I noticed.”

You leaned in just a little more, your shoulder grazing his, your thigh now pressed warm and steady to his beneath the bar. Your voice dropped with it–silk-wrapped and scorching.

“You watchin’ for technique, or just lettin’ your mind wander?”

Rhett’s breath caught. You could feel it–the heat rolling off him like summer rising off a blacktop. His hand flexed around the beer bottle again, but this time, he didn’t look away.

“Little of both,” He admitted. “Hard to focus on much else when you’re movin’ like that. All rhythm and fire and…” His eyes dragged down your body, slow and reverent, before landing right back on your mouth. “Hell. You knew exactly what you were doin’.”

You gave him a smile then. Slow and wicked.

“Maybe,” You whispered, dragging your finger through the condensation on your glass again. “But I liked the way you looked at me. Like you didn’t know whether to get on your knees or run for your life.”

That made Rhett laugh–quiet, breathless, and a little strained. He leaned back just a touch, but it wasn’t to retreat. It was to restrain. Like he was keeping himself in check with the last thread of composure he had left.

“I’m still tryin’ to decide,” He said, voice thick, jaw tight. “But you keep talkin’ like that, and I might not have much choice left.”

You reached out and touched his wrist then–light, fleeting. But it landed like a thunderclap. His skin burned under your fingertips.

“Good,” You whispered. “I like when they break a little.”

He stared at you. Eyes dark. Body tense. The air between you so tight it felt like the whole bar might collapse under it.

And when he spoke next, his voice was low. Dangerous.

“Truck’s parked right out back.”

Your smile grew slow and hot.

”Then finish your drink, cowboy,” You purred, “So I can show you what else I’m good at ridin’.” The moment the words left your mouth, low and laced in sin, something sharp flickered in his eyes–something hot and immediate. His hand flexed once more around the neck of the bottle, and without a word, he lifted it to his lips and drained it. Tilted it back and finished the whole thing in one long swallow, throat working, jaw tight.

You watched it happen with an appreciative hum in your throat, heat blooming low in your belly.

When he slammed the bottle down on the counter, it was soft but final–like a decision had been made. A quiet, controlled yes that rang louder than any shouted answer ever could.

You didn’t even give it time to settle.

You picked up your Red Russian with one hand, let the condensation slide across your fingers, and finished the whole thing in two unhurried gulps. The syrupy liquor coated your throat, leaving warmth and spice trailing down your spine. You licked the last drop off your bottom lip–slowly, deliberately–then set your glass beside his, neat and empty.

Rhett’s eyes were molten when you turned to him.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

He reached for you first. Not your hand, not your waist–your hip. Fingers curling into the denim there, firm but measured, like he was already thinking about the rhythm he’d felt earlier and couldn’t wait to see what it was like underneath him.

You let him pull you in that half-step closer, boots toe-to-toe now, the space between you practically vibrating with heat.

“You sure about this?” He asked, voice a gravelly murmur, his forehead dipping just barely toward yours. “Ain’t exactly gentlemanly what I’m thinkin’.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you leaned up–so close your lips barely grazed his ear when you spoke–and let your voice spill soft and wicked against his skin.

“Good,” You breathed. “I wasn’t lookin’ for a gentleman.”

That broke something in him.

Rhett’s grip on your hip tightened just enough to make you gasp, before he quickly put a few bills onto the counter to cover both your drinks and a tip. He didn’t say goodbye to the bartender, you didn’t say bye to your friends, and neither of you glanced back.

The both of you exited the bar in a bundled mess.

Outside, the heat hit different.

The air was thick with late-summer weight, still clinging to the pavement like it hadn’t let go of the sun yet. The gravel lot behind the bar was quieter than the front—less neon, less chatter, less everything. Just the low hum of cicadas, the creak of the wooden porch settling behind you, and the sound of your boots crunching in tandem with his as Rhett guided you through the dark.

He didn’t hold your hand.

Didn’t need to.

His fingers were still resting at your hip, steady and sure, and that subtle grip told you everything—possessive, deliberate, still holding the ghost of the rhythm he’d felt watching you ride. The kind of touch that said he wasn’t in a hurry, but he was done wasting time.

His truck was parked near the back edge of the lot–older model, clean but rugged, navy paint dulled slightly by dust and heat. He opened the passenger side door for you with one hand, the other still on your hip like he couldn’t let go just yet.

You climbed in without a word, denim brushing the edge of the seat, your skin still humming from the way his fingers had lingered.

Rhett circled around to the driver’s side, slid in beside you, and shut the door with a quiet click–like sealing something in.

He didn’t start the engine right away. Just sat there, hands on the wheel, letting the silence stretch while the tension pulsed like a heartbeat between you.

Then he turned toward you slightly, one arm resting on the back of your seat, his voice low and rough.

“Gonna take you somewhere a little less public.”

You arched a brow, slow and teasing. “What, so this is how it ends? Sweet talkin’ cowboy turns out to be a backwoods murderer?”

Rhett snorted–one of those quick, sharp laughs that came from deep in his chest. He turned the key in the ignition, engine rumbling to life beneath you both. Rhett glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into something crooked. “Nah,” he said, voice warm and amused, “Murderers don’t usually open the door for ya first.”

You let out a real laugh then–one of those unguarded, honeyed bursts that settled between you like heat off asphalt. Rhett felt it in his chest.

“Well,” You grinned, settling back in your seat and tossing him a sidelong glance, “Good to know you’ve got manners even if your intentions ain’t pure.”

He shot you a look, teasing and dark under the brim of his hat. “Darlin’, I think we both made our intentions pretty damn clear back at the bar.”

You hummed and turned to the window as he pulled out of the lot, tires crunching softly over gravel. The streetlights thinned the further he drove, buildings falling away into the long stretches of open dark. Moonlight painted soft edges on the dashboard, and the cicadas hummed low in the background.

“So,” You said after a few quiet miles, your voice relaxed, “Is takin’ strange women into the dark back roads a hobby of yours? Or am I special?”

Rhett huffed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re the first one I’ve let boss a bull around like that and still managed to get me flustered enough to forget my own name.”

You smirked. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a hell no,” He muttered, turning onto a narrow road lined with trees, the path barely lit by his headlights. “There’s a place up here I like–quiet, no folks around. It’s nothin’ fancy, but…”

You let him trail off, watching him drive. His hands on the wheel were steady and confident. That same quiet control you’d felt from him all night.

“I like quiet,” You murmured. “Grew up around noise. Kinda nice when it’s just…” you gestured at the empty stretch of road, “This.”

Rhett nodded once, like he understood that more than he could say out loud.

“Me too,” he said. “Always felt easier to breathe when I’m away from all the noise. City folks don’t know what they’re missin’.” You smiled, settling deeper into your seat.

“So what do you do, Rhett Abbott? Besides, ruin the hearts of mechanical bull riders and flirt like it’s a full-time job.” He gave a low laugh at that.

“Used to ride real bulls actually. Circuit stuff. Got outta it a few years back–bad fall. Now I help run the ranch out west of town. Horses mostly. Sometimes cattle.”

You raised a brow. “A real cowboy, huh?”

He shot you a look. “You doubted?”

“No,” You said, slow and sweet. “I just like when the fantasy turns out to be real.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “And you? What’s a woman like you do when she’s not showin’ off on saddles and makin’ grown men lose their minds at a bar?” You grinned, stretching your legs a little where they were curled in the cab.

“Right now? Between gigs,” You said, voice low and easy. “Used to work with a fabrication crew–wood and metal mostly. Signs, custom builds, furniture. Stuff with some weight to it.” You glanced at him with a tilt of your head. “Like makin’ somethin’ that lasts.”

Rhett’s eyes flicked toward you, interested. “So you’re strong and dangerous, huh?”

You smirked. “Only if someone mouths off.”

That got a real laugh out of him, one that curled low in his throat and settled warm between you. “That explains the way you handled that bull. Kinda figured you were used to workin’ with your hands. You moved like someone who doesn’t second-guess herself.”

You shrugged. “Gotta trust your grip when the thing you’re ridin’ is trying to buck you clean off.”

He glanced sideways at you again, and there was something darker in his gaze this time. “Pretty sure that’s a metaphor for somethin’.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, letting your fingers trace along the edge of your seat like you were thinking it through. “Maybe. But you’re gonna have to earn the answer.”

Rhett made a low sound–half amused, half something else entirely–and shifted his grip on the wheel. His knuckles were pale from how tight he was holding it. Like talking to you made him want to put his hands somewhere else entirely.

“So…Builder by trade, heartbreaker by night,” he said, a little teasing.

You gave him a sidelong glance, lashes lowering. “Who says I break hearts?”

He looked at you then, full on. The truck bumped a little over the road’s uneven shoulder, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “I watched half a bar stop breathin’ when you got on that bull. Think you underestimate your effect, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, looking back out the window. “And what about you, cowboy? You always this smooth or am I just bringin’ out your best material?”

Rhett shook his head, lips twitching. “If this is me at my best, we’re both in trouble.”

That earned him another laugh, and this one was breathier–laced with something warm that settled in your chest. The trees were growing taller on either side of the road now, shadows stretching long across the narrow lane as the headlights washed over trunks and underbrush.

He slowed a little, the tires crunching gravel as he turned down a path almost completely swallowed by trees.

“Almost there,” he said, voice dropping.

You looked over at him again, this time more curious than teasing. “So what’s at the end of this mysterious road? You gonna show me your secret cabin in the woods or somethin’?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t mischievous–it was soft. “Nah. Just a clearing. Good view of the stars. Ain’t much…But it’s quiet. And mine.”

Something about the way he said that made your chest tighten just a little.

And sure enough, not thirty seconds later, the trees opened up–and the sky swallowed everything. A wide, empty field stretched out under the moonlight. The grass was knee-high and silver in the glow. Beyond it, dark hills rolled out like soft waves.

Rhett pulled up near the edge, killed the engine, and sat for a second in the hush.

“You weren’t kiddin’,” You murmured, looking out through the windshield.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached over, slow and steady, and pushed the gear shift into park. His hand lingered near yours on the console.

“Figured you deserved a little privacy.” The clearing fell into silence the second the engine cut.

No crickets. No frogs. Just the long, stretched hum of summer heat lingering in the tall grass and the low creak of the truck settling under its own weight. The moon was full overhead, casting everything in that washed silver that turned skin into porcelain and shadows into ink. The cab was dim now, the dashboard lights fading to black.

You were still facing the windshield, but your eyes weren’t on the field anymore.

They were on him.

Rhett sat there for a beat–forearm resting on the wheel, chest rising slowly beneath his button-down, jaw ticking like he was chewing on a thought. And then, without a word, he reached up and pulled his hat off.

It was a quiet gesture. Simple. But it felt intimate. Like stripping something away.

The shadows shifted when he did. His hair–thick and messy and darker than you’d expected–was flattened at first but slowly began to lift with a few rakes of his fingers. It curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, soft and unruly like it hadn’t been tamed in days. Moonlight bled across the slope of his cheekbones, highlighting the rough stubble that scraped across his jaw and throat. His eyes, darker now without the brim shadowing them, flicked toward you.

And you–God, you were staring.

Wide-eyed. Lips slightly parted. The kind of look that said he could’ve asked you anything in that moment and you would’ve said yes.

Rhett’s breath hitched as he caught it–that softness, that stunned hunger pouring off you like heat. He blinked once, slow, and placed his hat behind the seats. Then his body shifted.

He leaned in.

Slow at first, one knee turning slightly on the bench seat, his thigh brushing yours, arm braced lightly behind your shoulder. You felt the weight of him in the air before you felt the touch–his gaze locked on your mouth now, like he was testing whether or not you’d move.

You didn’t.

So he did.

The first brush of his lips was rough. Not because he meant it to be–but because he couldn’t help himself. He kissed like a man who’d been holding back all night, and now he had you within reach. His mouth crashed into yours with heat and intention–firm, urgent, full of all the tension that had been simmering since that first lock of eye contact by the bull.

His hand was on your jaw before you could even register it–fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek like he wanted to hold you still and memorize the taste of you all at once. His lips parted slightly, coaxing yours open with the kind of confidence that felt lived-in. His tongue swept past your teeth like he was claiming territory, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat as you met him stroke for stroke.

There was nothing slow about it.

No delicate build. No tentative start.

It was need. Straight and uncut. The kind that had been brewing like a storm since you sauntered across that bar and took your seat beside him.

You gasped softly as his other hand gripped your thigh–fingers digging into denim, pulling you closer across the seat. The slide of your legs against his made your breath hitch, and he took full advantage of it–swallowing the sound with another bruising kiss, one that left your head spinning and your lips slick.

He kissed like he’d been starving. Like every part of him ached for friction, for pressure, for the slide of you under his hands. You could feel it in the way his chest pressed to yours, in the way his hips shifted, the way his thumb dragged along the underside of your jaw like he was mapping it for later.

When you whimpered into his mouth–just barely–he pulled back half an inch, enough to speak against your lips.

“You kiss every cowboy like this,” He rasped, voice hoarse, “Or just me?”

You smiled against him, dizzy and breathless.

“Just the ones who earn it.”

He groaned at that. Something deep and low that vibrated between your ribs.

And then he was kissing you again–harder this time. Rougher. No hesitation.

His hand was already under your shirt before the next kiss even broke.

Calloused fingers skimming the slope of your stomach, up and over the curve of your ribs, until his palm found your breast. He groaned into your mouth the second he felt it–the way you arched into his touch, the soft weight of you in his hand, the faint catch in your breath that said yes without a word.

You tugged at the hem of your own tank top, and Rhett helped–eager hands dragging it up, over your head, flinging it somewhere toward the footwell. You didn’t care where it landed. Not when his eyes dropped and locked onto the purple lace he’d been fantasizing about since the bar. It was barely a barrier, practically translucent in the moonlight, and when he exhaled, it came out ragged.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, his voice gone rough with want. “You really were tryin’ to kill me.”

He bit his lower lip, hard enough to leave a dent, and reached behind you with one hand. The clasp came undone in a single, practiced flick–his breath catching as the straps slid from your shoulders.

The bra dropped to your lap.

And Rhett’s restraint shattered.

A low, guttural moan broke from his throat, and then his mouth was on you.

He latched onto your nipple with zero hesitation–hot, wet, desperate. His stubble scraped harsh against the softness of your breast, but you didn’t care. You gasped, back bowing into the seat, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circled, sucked, licked you like he was drowning in the taste.

He palmed your other breast while he devoured the first, thumb brushing over the peak, just enough to make your toes curl inside your boots. His hips shifted–rolled–and that’s when you felt it. The thick, solid press of him straining against his jeans, hot and hard beneath the weight of your thigh.

The moment your hips moved–just once, slow, deliberate–grinding down over him, Rhett bucked.

He pulled off your breast with a wet, gasping sound, forehead dropping against your sternum like he needed a second to breathe. He huffed a breath against your sternum–half laugh, half groan– before lifting his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. His gaze was molten when it landed on the waistband of your jeans.

“Kinda feelin’ like that bull right now with you grindin’ on me like this.” Your laugh was breathless, broken by the heat still simmering between you, but it faded the moment his hand slid down your stomach. Slow. Purposeful. Thumb tracing the edge of your jeans.

You looked at him, head tilted back against the window, lips parted–but you didn’t stop him.

Not when he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband.

Not when he popped the first button open with a practiced flick.

Not when the sound of your zipper lowering filled the cab like a goddamn gunshot.

His eyes dropped, zeroed in on the reveal, and when he caught the first glimpse of what was underneath–matching purple lace, delicate and damp–he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered, almost reverent. “You really came dressed to ruin me, huh?”

You arched a brow, smirking lazily even as your skin burned. “Maybe I just had a feelin’ tonight was gonna get interesting.”

He let out a low whistle, fingers brushing the waistband of your panties now, rough pads dragging slow against the lace.

“A feelin’, huh?” His thumb traced the dip just below your navel, and then lower–teasing just shy of your center.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, letting your knees fall open slightly, brushing his thigh. “Turns out I was right.” His fingers dipped lower–slipping beneath the lace with a practiced boldness that sent heat blooming through your gut. And then he touched you.

Direct. Smooth. Just enough pressure to make your hips twitch and your thighs part wider.

“Oh, fuck,” You whispered, voice catching in your throat as his thumb found your clit and circled, slow and devastating.

Rhett groaned like he felt it too–like your reaction was dragging it out of him. “That’s it,” He murmured, voice thick, “Just like that… Jesus, you’re soaked.”

You whimpered as his middle finger slid down and eased into you, thick and slow, curling just right. Your whole body arched toward him, breath coming in shaky bursts, and your hand–god, your trembling hand–fumbled for his belt.

“I need—” You gasped, not even sure what you were asking for, just chasing the friction, the heat, the him of it all.

He caught your mouth with his again–kissed you open and messy and panting while his fingers worked you in slow, addictive strokes. Every curl of them was deliberate, precise, dragging moans from your lips that he swallowed down like a starving man.

Your hand finally popped his buckle open. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged the zipper down, the sound loud and obscene in the still air. Your palm found him, hot and hard, pressing against the cotton of his boxers, and he shuddered.

“Fuck,” He rasped, voice guttural now. “You touch me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

“Then don’t wait,” You breathed, thumb tracing the curve of him through the fabric. “Wanna feel you too.”

He cursed again–low and rough–and shoved his jeans down just enough for you to slide your hand inside. Your fingers wrapped around him, thick and pulsing and god, he was big. Hard. Leaking against your palm already.

Rhett bucked into your grip, forehead crashing against yours, panting like he’d just run a race. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart,” He groaned, voice breaking, “I swear to God…”

But he didn’t stop.

His thumb pressed harder on your clit now, circling tight and filthy while he pushed a second finger inside you, stretching you just right, dragging the kind of moan from your throat that made his hips jerk.

“Fuck, I love the way you sound,” He growled, mouth finding the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing there. “You hear yourself, baby? Soundin’ so fuckin’ pretty on my fingers.”

You rocked against his hand, desperate now, grinding down as your strokes on him faltered from the way your thighs were trembling.

Your breaths tangled in the heat between you–his lips on your cheek, your chin, your neck. The windows were fogged now, the whole cab heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and summer air.

“Don’t stop,” You whispered, eyes fluttering as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, sharp and hot. “Right there–God, please–”

“Say my name,” He begged, hoarse and wrecked. “Say it when you come, darlin’. Wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

And that did it.

The orgasm hit like a freight train–your walls clenching around his fingers, your thighs snapping tight around his hand as you cried out into his mouth. “Rhett–oh, my God–”

He groaned loud, hips stuttering as he watched you fall apart. His free hand clutched your waist, grounding you. He held you through every last tremor–jaw clenched, breath shaky, fingers still buried deep inside you. Your muscles fluttered around him, slick and pulsing, and he bit back another groan as you slumped forward against his chest, wrecked and panting.

And then, rough and low, like gravel in his throat:

“I need to be inside you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a confession. A prayer. A need so raw it cracked something open between you.

You didn’t answer with words.

You kissed him–hard. Dragging your mouth over his like you were trying to drink him down. And as you shifted in his lap, knees straddling his hips, he groaned into your mouth, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight. The moment your soaked panties brushed the length of him, he cursed, the sound punched from his lungs like he’d taken a hit to the chest.

“Fuck, darlin’–you’re gonna ruin me.”

You made quick work of it–shimmying your jeans down just enough, dragging the drenched lace of your panties to the side. His cock was already hot and heavy in your hand, slick from your touch, and when you lifted your hips and lined yourself up–

“Oh my God,” he growled, head tipping back against the seat, eyes rolling as you sank down onto him.

He was thick. Stretching you wide. Filling every inch.

The stretch burned in the best way, made your breath catch, made your thighs shake. And Rhett? He was gasping like it was killing him–like the feel of you clenching around him was too much to bear.

“Jesus Christ,” He choked out, nails digging into your hips. “You feel–fuck, you feel unreal.”

You started to move.

Slow at first–rocking your hips in slow, deliberate circles, watching his jaw lock tight, his hands twitch like he wanted to grab, to thrust, to lose it. His eyes snapped open, blown black with lust, fixed on where you were joined like he couldn’t look away.

“Don’t stop,” He rasped, voice shredded. “Ride me, baby–just like that–fuck–just like that.”

You ground down harder, the friction brutal and perfect, and his hips bucked up into you instinctively–meeting every roll with a sharp, hungry thrust that made you gasp. Your hands braced against his chest, nails digging in as you bounced now, full and fast and desperate, sweat slicking your thighs as the truck began to creak around you.

The windows were already fogged.

Then your palm slammed against the glass behind him, leaving a streaked, smeared handprint as your rhythm snapped into something wilder.

Carnal.

Unfiltered.

The truck rocked beneath you. His hands flew to your ass, gripping hard, helping you move, driving you down onto him with each thrust like he couldn’t get deep enough.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” He groaned, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his temples. “Ridin’ me like this–you tryna make me lose my fuckin’ mind?”

You moaned loud in answer, thighs burning, body trembling, chasing that second high with reckless abandon. His name left your mouth again and again, breathless and broken and gasping.

He fucked up into you now, faster, rougher, sweat-slick and savage, every slam of his hips making you cry out. The slap of skin, the creak of leather, the fogged-over windows–it was all heat and friction and nothing else mattered but this.

Rhett growled your name–harsh and desperate–before dragging your mouth back to his.

“I’m close,” He rasped against your lips, voice gone.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “Me too.”

And then it hit again–your body locking up, mouth falling open as the second orgasm shattered through you, your whole body seizing as you clenched around him, sobbing his name.

Rhett followed a heartbeat later, hips jerking up hard, burying himself deep as he came with a guttural moan, spilling inside you while your name tore from his throat like it was the only word he knew.

The truck went still.

Just the sound of your panting breaths, your sweat-slicked skin sticking to his, your heart pounding against his chest like thunder. Rhett’s arms slid around you the second the tremors subsided, pulling you flush to his chest like he didn’t want even the air between you. His breath was still ragged, chest rising and falling against yours, but his hands–God, his hands were gentle now. One splayed across the small of your back, the other curling around the back of your neck like a secret he wanted to keep safe.

You felt him exhale–deep, steady–his breath warm against your temple. The kind of breath a man took when the storm inside him finally broke.

“Jesus,” He whispered into your hair. “I ain’t never–” He broke off, let out a soft, stunned laugh. “Ain’t never felt anything like that.”

You smiled against his neck, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me either.”

There was a beat of quiet–intimate now, not charged. Just the hum of the world spinning outside the fogged windows and the slow, steady thump of his heart under your cheek.

Then Rhett shifted slightly, just enough to lean back and look at you. His eyes were soft now, hazy but clear, and his lips curled into the kind of crooked smile that made your chest ache.

“You, uh…” His fingers traced the edge of your jaw, featherlight. “You think maybe I could get your number? Unless this is the part where you climb out the window and disappear into the cornfield like some kinda beautiful ghost.”

You blinked–then burst out laughing, the kind that made your stomach ache and your chest feel too full. You ducked your head against him, shaking with it, and felt his own chuckle rumble beneath your palm where it rested on his chest.

“You asking for my number after all that?” You teased, voice still breathless with laughter. “Bit backwards, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” He grinned, nudging his nose against yours. “But I figure…Might be worth makin’ a habit outta seein’ you like this.”

You smiled, soft and slow this time, cupping his cheek.

“I think you’re right, cowboy.”

And there it was again–that look. The one that said he’d chase this feeling wherever it led.

Outside, the moon hung high over the field, casting the clearing in silver and shadow. Inside the truck, the heat lingered–on your skin, in your breath, and in the way Rhett looked at you like he’d just found something he hadn’t even known he was searching for.

And when he kissed you again–soft, slow, grateful–it wasn’t a promise.

It was a beginning.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott smut #lewis pullman #outer range #smutty smut smut #the hot hot heat of my steamy mind #lewis pullman characters #x reader #Lewis Pullman the man you are #Spotify

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jinxvex · 6 months ago

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heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough + punishes reader, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), degradation/praise, cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, she slaps your cunt once, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight—as rare as it is in the gloomy grey atmosphere of zaun.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ‘SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

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stromuprisahat · 7 months ago

Text

According to my green dream, what could've fixed Maegor the Cruel was a fifteen years older Stark Lord for a lover.

#ASoIaF #What if/AU/...#Maegor Targaryen #valyrianscrolls #because I'm presenting this as a crack-ish theory.#maybe #Roderick Stark #Being born around 3 BC would make him likely one of Torrhen's sons or something.#Once I had a Dream #V #Maegor was 25 #which would put the timeline around Aegon's death #and fit with Balerion being kinda new thing in the dream.#The Stark Lord had a mentally bit slower younger sister with prophetic dreams he was very fond of.#Visenya didn't exactly approve #but she sort of respected the Lord.

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miraiq · 2 years ago

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" Heh-- Bebelet. "

@lueurxtactique

#lueurxtactique #( skye ic. )#( v; crack. )#ish #jazzhands bebbeeeeeeeeeeeeeee boooyyyyyyyyy #hmmmm what to call twin au #without making it memey #the struggle

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veryiincredible · 1 month ago

Text

kurt nods slowly, hanging on every word. when she speaks, it's that tone that he feels can only speak truth. she says it like she's certain -- and he finds himself nodding.

"i -- yes. of course. no freakshow here," he straightens up, tapping a knuckle against his chest. "i'm an x-man!" then he laughs.

"but i do miss the gehlhaar. i guess you always miss your first home, huh?" he tucks the packing cylinder under his arm, he motions his other hand toward where his bedroom is, where the poster is likely to be relegated to after all.

"where did you grow up, frau raven?" he asks, suddenly curious, with the topic of home still so present in his mind. "i remember you told me in cairo that you had known herr mccoy a long time. since you were kids?"

HER EYES darken at the memory of where she found him . of that reminder of her failure . she'd gone back , of course , used some AGGRESSIVE NEGOTIATIONS to get the ring shut down completely , but that doesn't mean she didn't fail kurt . if she couldn't even protect him , couldn't even keep HIM , of all people , from a fate like that , what use was she to anyone else ?

kurt's words tug her back to the present and the frown on her brow doesn't disappear . ❝ you're not a freakshow , ❞ she confirms for him , maybe a little too intensely , but there's no lack of conviction in her voice . ❝ you shouldn't have had to run . you should have been safe with your - family . ❞ and even if she second guesses her abilities , her place in this resistance , it's THAT right that keeps her going : the right for mutants to be safe . so even if she has no idea how much she can really do , she'll keep doing it .

#(main v.)#rvndrkhlme #guess who had to crack open a transcript of the XM:A movie to remember all the conversations our blue family even had in canon #i dont think he knows that raven & charles are siblings #i guess we haven't said is this is pre or post family-reveal but...#i know we did write a parental reveal-ish thread way back when :')

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strawberry-nugget · 24 days ago

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Synopsis: Your stomach drops. Because he’s right. You didn’t mean for this to go this far—but you didn’t stop it either. And he knows it. He knew that one day you’d crack.

Pairings: Izuku x reader, married!Bakugo x reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, office sex, p in v sex, cheating (but not really, no spoilers tho), m! masturbation, sleazy-ish Izuku, talks about reader & katsuki having a baby, slight angst (for Izuku) bc of the ending, big huge plot twist, do NOT hate me for this lol. Bear with me and don’t click out😂 All characters are 20+

Izuku is out of breath. Sweating beady droplets down his face, chest, his glasses are foggy even if they’re still pushed to his forehead, one handle almost broken—he knows he’s gonna have to need a new pair by tomorrow. However with his chest heaving underneath you, he couldn’t care less.

“We—ngggggh— shouldn’t be doing this” you gasp

“Oh, oh you’re— i fffucking know”

Fundamentally, you’re right. You know it deep down, in your gut that this is sinister, evil. You're both two huge iredeemable assholes for doing this. Because there’s a small crucial detail that stalls between you right now. Katsuki is your husband. Izuku’s best childhood friend. There should be no excuse as to why he’s balls deep inside you right fucking now.

You were only supposed to drop by to try and talk to him, convince him to accept Katsuki’s offer to take that enhanced suit and be a hero again. Not fuck him like your life depends on it.

How you ended up on top of him, bouncing on his lap, his leaking dick seethed inside you in his cluttered, dim office, straddling him in his goddamn work chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world, is beyond both of you.

You’ve always been kind to him. Since basically infancy, you always stood up for him. Always helped him, sweet talked him. He was the only person who knew you wanted to get into UA and at one point you were the only person other than All Might who knew how he obtained his quirk. You always put yourself between him and Katsuki, often scolding the blond for his behavior, even stopped hanging out with him after the swan dive line. It was only natural that he formed a crush on you. One that he tried to hide away and shove inside himself for years.

You never told him that you’d shared your first kiss with Katsuki in middle school (and many others after that, before and after the swan dive incident), never talked to him about your first time with Katsuki in his dorm before the war. You just popped up in public together that one day in the hospital and absolutely demolished his heart. He had to be the best man at your wedding because he was your oldest friend, for both of you.

And now? Now you whimper into his shoulder as his hands crush your hips down harder, and Izuku let’s out something like a chuckle. Soft. Dry. Bitter.

“Oh, now you feel bad?” he pants, head tilting back against the worn leather. “Didn’t seem like you felt bad when you were begging for it two minutes ago.”

“Izuku—”

He cuts you off with a sharp thrust, his smirk cruel but so tired. "Nah. You don’t get to act shocked. You came here wearing that pretty little blouse. You sat on my couch like you knew I’d crack. So don’t pretend this just... happened.” His fingers tag on the ripped hem of your blouse, chuckling down on how it looks like a subtle reminder of what it once was.

Your stomach drops. Because he’s right. You didn’t mean for this to go this far—but you didn’t stop it either.

And he knows it.

He knew that one day you’d crack.

Now, your pretty pussy, the one he could only ever imagine, is taking every thrust of his cock like a champ. It’s sucking him in your saccharine walls. Snug and warm and perfect.

His hands snake up your spine, slow and possessive, like he wants to memorize the way you feel under his fingertips. Like he wants to carve you into his memory before it all goes to shit.

“I should stop,” he says. “I want to stop. But I can’t. Not with you like this. Not when I’ve wanted you longer than I’ve wanted anything.”

You don’t reply.

Both you and Katsuki have tried to push him to Ochako, given him lectures on how he should man up and just do it. And in all righteousness he should have. He thinks he ought to have accepted that you are married to his best friend for years. That you were planning an even bigger future than just your marriage. Setting up a nursery. Last week, when he visited him at UA. Katsuki told him you were trying for kids.

For fuck’s sake he should have gone for Ochako. Melissa. Anyone else but you. He should have let it go.

But no one could ever have one up on you.

Izuku has always wanted you.

It’s not just lust. It’s not just love. It’s something uglier than that. Something deeper, deformed with claws and teeth, something that’s been sinking into the marrow of his bones since he was thirteen years old. Since the first time you pulled him and Katsuki —the latter by the ear— behind the school and defended him with tears in your eyes and your fists clenched, shaking. Since he watched you break down in tears that day when Katsuki refused to walk you home and only guessed the reasoning behind it when you forgave him the next second.

He hated you a little bit for it. Hated how kind you were. Hated how much you looked at him like he was good and still chose Katsuki.

Hated how hard it was to let you go.

So now he’s fucking you like he’s punishing you for it.

Your knees are starting to burn against the office chair cushion, but you don’t dare fucking stop. Not with the way his fingers are digging into your ass. Not with the way he looks up at you—hair stuck to his forehead, forest green pupils blown wide, mouth parted like he’s watching a miracle fall apart in front of him.

You moan, and he leans forward, catches the sound with his tongue in your mouth, eats it up like it’s the last thing he’ll ever be allowed to have. His kisses burn against your mouth. And you’re still so reluctant to give in.

“I should’ve told you,” he breathes between frantic kisses “earlier”

You thread your fingers through his wet curls, yank his head back just enough to make him hiss.

“You didn’t,” you whisper.

“I wanted to,” he says, “but you looked so happy. I figured if I waited long enough, I’d stop wanting you or you’d eventually break up with Kacchan”

You clench around him without meaning to, and he shudders, desperately hard.

“Don’t fucking call him that, you don’t deserve to right now, sweetheart”

You’re right. Katsuki spent thousands on that suit because he loves Izuku dearly and here he is, fucking his wife. The wife Katsuki is so doting of. The wife Katsuki adores more than anything else. His childhood sweetheart.

Izuku’s childhood sweetheart, missed by a fraction.

You roll your hips slow, and the noise Izuku makes is practically animalistic. And fuck he feels so good inside you, hitting every spot, every curve of your cunt even with just a stutter of his hips.

Your tummy is burning, coiling internally in shapes of pleasure and you know you’re close. You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be falling apart like this on the cock of the man your husband would take a bullet for. But your body betrays you, slick and fluttering, choking down each punishing thrust like you were made for him. Your cunt is melting in the shape of him and only him as his mushroom tip bullies the ridges of your cunt.

Izuku feels it. Hears it in the way your breath hiccups, sees it in the desperate flex of your thighs around his waist, the way your nails claw into his traps like you’re trying to anchor yourself to something real.

He grabs your ass, drags you forward harshly and down, makes you take every inch until his throbbing tip presses so deep, you see white behind your eyelids. You practically scream at the feeling, but he doesn’t let up. Just rolls his hips again, and again, until you need to bury your face into the crook of his neck so you don’t look at him.

Still. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now, and Izuku doesn’t shush them. Doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, chasing the sound, dragging impossibly more out of you. One hand flies to your throat again, not choking, just holding, so you can meet his eyes—like he’s actually daring you to pretend this means nothing.

Like he wants to feel your pulse thrum under his palm, wants proof that he is inside you.

Your eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm starts to threaten to burst and he knows it. Feels it in the tremble of your core, the breathless chant of half-formed curses.

“Fuck—you’re gonna cum on my cock,” he pants, voice half-wrecked, yet still so soft and sweet. hips pistoning up his cock inside your tight cunt like a machine. “You’re gonna let me fuck you through it babe?”

You sob against his mouth, and he grins, dark and mean and aching.

Your body spasms, cums hard around him, sleek dripping down onto his balls, with a guttural moan torn straight from your sweat covered chest. He watches your face like he wants to burn it into his brain forever—eyelids fluttering, lips parted in the shape of an ‘o’, thighs clamped tight around him, pussy milking him for everything he has.

Being inside you feels like absolute heaven.

But he wants to ease you through it while he still hammers his hips inside you, opting to bring a finger in between your tight laced bodies to pinch at your clit, hard.

He watches you break and burns the image in his mind indefinitely.

Izuku sees the way your whole body jerks—twists against him, legs trembling from overstimulation as your cunt tries to push him out, fluttering with every brutal thrust. But he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow, doesn’t even breathe right, because he’s chasing it—chasing the way you shake and sob into his freckled shoulder like you hate yourself for how good it feels.

His finger still works your clit in ruthless, tight little circles, dragging your orgasm out until it’s messy. Until it’s mean. Slick squelches between you obscenely, dripping down over his thighs and the leather of the seat. You’re trembling, shaking so hard now it’s a miracle you’re still upright.

He doesn’t care enough to slow down.

“You take it so fucking well,” Izuku mutters, breath hot and sticky against your ear, lips finding your earlobe and sucking, sinking his teeth in, his tone somewhere between awe and something condescending. “Like you want me to ruin you.”

“Bet he doesn’t fuck you like this,” he grits out, and there’s something sharp behind it—something bitter and broken and barely held together. “Bet he doesn’t even touch you like this anymore.”

You shake your head, incoherent. “He does. He’s so fucking good to me. Don’t talk about him right now. Please”

His voice is cracking now. Just a little. You wouldn’t catch it if you weren’t still so close—if his chest wasn’t rising hard and fast against yours like he’s panicking underneath it all.

“I shouldn’t have waited,” he breathes against your temple, his rhythm faltering as his cock starts to throb violently inside you. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Your thighs are trembling now.

The chair beneath you creaks with every movement, unstable and barely holding, but Izuku’s grip is the only thing anchoring you. His hands never stop moving—fisting the fat of your hips, sliding over your spine, branding the curve of your waist like he’s trying to leave fingerprints in your soul.

You cry out as he drives up into you again, the slick sound of skin against skin echoing off the filing cabinets and scattered gear prototypes, the whole office pulsing with heat and sweat and betrayal. He watches your body move fascinated and furious. Your blouse is a ruined thing now, hanging off one shoulder, one sleeve caught under his boot. He yanks the fabric down further until your chest spills out, and his mouth is on you instantly, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that’ll be impossible to explain later.

His teeth graze your nipple, and your hips buck. One arm snakes around your back, holding you flush, and the other slips between your bodies, hand dragging low, knuckles brushing your clit with the same reverence he used to hold hero relics in the dorms.

Except now he groans against your skin like this—you are— the holy thing.

There’s a sick rhythm to it. Something that feels too practiced, too perfect—like he’s imagined it a thousand times. In the dark, in the shower, in hotel beds in missions, while you were sleeping down the hall beside Katsuki.

The worst part is the way it feels. The way your body responds to him like it was made for this; grinding down, fluttering cunt sucking him deeper, your nails raking angry little crescents into his shoulders that make him grunt and groan.

Izuku’s head falls back against the chair, jaw clenched, throat flexing with restraint he doesn’t have the strength to hold onto.

His cock twitches inside you, and you feel it—feel the tension ratcheting up, the quiet breaking point edging closer. His stomach muscles jump under your palms, his breath coming faster, ragged, broken up by soft, desperate gasps he keeps trying to swallow down.

You don’t know what’s worse—the pleasure or the guilt.

He thrusts up harder. Sharper. There’s no rhythm anymore, just raw, primal, lust ridden drive. Like if he fucks you hard enough, the shame will burn away with it. But it doesn’t. It only gets thicker in the room. You can smell it between the sweat and the sex. Feel it in the way his fingers tremble when he presses them between your legs again, flicking over your clit with ruthless intent.

You clench around him so tight it punches a groan straight from his chest, and that’s it—he loses the very last scrap of self-control. He grabs the back of your neck, pulls you down into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and guilted pain. His hips stutter. Then slam again and again until the chair jerks backward half a foot, banging into the desk.

You can barely breathe. Barely think.

He’s so deep it aches. So deep it feels like you’ll never get him out again.

Izuku buries his face in your shoulder when he cums—hard, hot, drawn out and full-body. His arms wrap around you like he’s bracing for a bomb to go off, like if he holds you tight enough, maybe this moment can exist without consequences.

But it won’t.

You both know it.

Because when he pulls back—sweaty hair in his eyes, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like he’s just survived a war—he looks at you like you’ve just killed him.

His thumbs press under your jaw, your heartbeat wild against them.

“You’ll go back to him like none of this ever happened.” He pants against your lips.

You want to say no. Want to say this means something. But your mouth won’t open. Your body is betraying you in a thousand tiny ways.

Izuku’s gaze darkens.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says. “Tell me you’ll leave him.”

“Izuku, I won’t leave my husband” you speak, finally, voice as steady as you can manage and then you whisper “I love Katsuki so much”

“You’re still gonna wear his ring after this?” he asks suddenly, mouth curved in something you can’t quite read as his cock finally softens enough to slip out of you. “Gonna go home and let him kiss you with my cum still inside you?”

“—Zuku?”

Oh the way you say his name; it’s dripping like warmed up honey from your watery lips. It makes it hard to tame the beast that growls inside him when you chant the syllables like a mantra.

He wants to—

“Izuku?” you say again, voice tilting into concern now. You reach forward to touch his hand, still pressed onto the plastic handle of the chair “You good? You zoned out a bit.”

He flinches like he’s been shot.

“No,” he says too quickly. “No—I’m. Fine. Sorry. Just—tired.”

Fuck. He blinks once. Twice. You smile at him now. Innocently unaware of what his head just made up right now.

Your legs are crossed, tucked modestly under you. Not split open over his thighs. Your shirt’s buttoned all the way up. Not ripped. Your hair is in place. There’s no sweat, no guilt, no scent of sex in the air.

“If there’s something wrong you can speak to me.”

“No it’s fine i—” he begins to speak but you cut him off, a faint, awkward smile gracing your lips.

“I really don’t mean to pressure you with the suit. But Katsuki said you’d listen to me. It’s taken such a toll on him and I can see it, he just spends all his time at home trying to do anything with his hands. He finished the nursery. Set up a whole crib too. My poor baby… he wants a kid so much and my hormonal therapy is still not even halfway through. I just figured you taking the suit would push him to feel a little relieved.”

Izuku can’t fucking breathe, but he moves from the chair to the couch by your command, struggles to compose himself as your hands cradle both of his in your grip. You’re looking at him with those big, desperate eyes, those fantasy driven parted lips.

He gulps as he glances down at your denim skirt, when he sees your plush thighs and soft skin poke through the fabric, rubbing against each other.

For a second he’s back there, in his head. Caressing your thighs with his knuckles, eliciting the softest, most guttural and loud moans from your lips.

“And I also want you to tell him that everything will be alright. He panics every time we go to the doctor. He thinks that he’s failing to give me a baby when we both agreed we’d have one at twenty five. But this is all me, not him, I was almost cut in half during the war.” Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears that are threatening to spill as you continue speaking “Please Izuku, please, help him too, I love him so much and he keeps thinking it’s his fault.”

The room feels like it’s caving in around him. His skin prickles with sweat that shouldn’t be there. His fists curl uselessly into the couch cushion beneath him, nails biting into the fabric. He’s still half-hard under his sweats, humiliation coiling hot in his stomach, shame crawling up his spine like mold.

You’re looking at him like you always have. Gentle. Completely unaware.

Not the woman who had just fucked him senseless in his fantasy. Not the one who whispered that she’d never leave Katsuki with his cum still dripping from her thighs.

Izuku blinks. He really is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours instead of your perfect looking tear-pricked lashes or the hem of your skirt, or where your thighs kiss each other too softly for him to stand it. He inhales too fast through his nose and coughs.

And the worst thing is you’re still holding his hands because you trust him. Like he isn’t falling apart in front of you. Because you don’t feel your skin burning in his touch like he does feel for you.

“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, voice breaking against the silence. “Of course. I’ll tell him.”

Your thumbs stroke the back of his palms, soothing, smiling all the way as your face breaks in ugly tears.

Naïve. You’re so naive and oblivious. He wishes you’d stop. He wishes he could yank his hands away. He wishes he could bury his face in your lap, lift your skirt and pull your panties to the side, eat you out like he always wanted and forget all of this.

But he doesn’t move. Just lets you touch him. Lets himself rot inside your hands and the look behind your eyes.

His mind keeps dragging him back, to the burn of your thighs straddling his hips. The slap of skin. The desperate way you held his face as you came, whispering things that don’t exist outside his head. He can still feel the phantom squeeze of your cunt when you begged him to ruin you.

He shudders. It didn’t fucking happen. It never would happen.

His best friend is probably creampieing you every single night, probably pushing it back inside, with his cock, his fingers. Whispering things to you about breeding you, giving you babies. Izuku even wonders if Katsuki fucked you before you came to visit him, if you’re walking with his cum stuffed inside you, only held back from it dripping down your thighs from the barrier of your panties.

He rubs his thumbnail to the inside of your palm, desperate for some friction. You mistake it for empathy. Squeeze his hands tighter.

“Thank you Izuku, I love him so much it’s impossible. That’s why I want you to take the suit, I just want to see him happy.”

Izuku’s heart cracks.

Because he’s selfish. Because all he wants is for you to stop talking about Katsuki. Stop crying for Katsuki. Just look at him instead. Like maybe he could give you something, even if it’s ugly and wrong and soaked in betrayal, like it could mend all those years he’s spent apart from you.

“I’ll take it,” he blurts. It comes out sharp, bitter on his tongue. You blink at him.

“The suit?” you ask.

He nods once. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.

Because the guilt is white-hot behind his eyes and your words still echo in his skull ‘my poor baby… he wants a kid so much…’

A kid. A crib. A fucking nursery.

And Izuku had just imagined splitting your pussy open in his lap, fucking you like he wanted to erase the fact that you belonged—were married— to someone else. To Katsuki. His best friend.

His mind drifts again. Not as vivid this time, but still dangerous.

You smile—god, why do you always smile like that?— and lean back, nodding in relief. “Thank you. I really think it’ll help. I’ll let him know. He’ll be so happy, Izuku.”

Izuku stares at your mouth as it forms his name. Katsuki will be so happy.

The phrase alone twists like a knife inside Izuku’s heart.

Because all he can think about is how you looked when you were riding him in his mind. How you said his name, not Katsuki’s. How you clenched around him like you’d been made to.

He can’t even seem to stop himself from these monstrous thoughts.

“Does Kacchan know how lucky he is?” Izuku states quietly, one hand detaching from your grasp to scratch the back of his head. He smiles softly, yet secretly, he flexes his bicep, hoping you’ll notice.

You don’t, but your brows furrow, one quirking up, just a little thrown. “Of course he does. He never lets me forget it.”

Izuku nods again. But he doesn’t smile this time.

He should pull away. Should stand up. Should put miles between you and him and his sick, fucked-up thoughts.

But your hands are still wrapped around his like they belong there.

And Izuku, for all the good he’s done in the world, can’t stop thinking about your ring. How it glints in the warm light of his apartment like a warning. How it presses into the top of his knuckle while you hold him like this. Like a reminder that none of this is real.

You sniffle and laugh softly, like you’re embarrassed by your own tears. “Sorry, I’m being a mess.”

“No,” he croaks. “You’re not.”

But he is.

He’s a mess of sweat and guilt and hard-on humiliation. A goddamn wreck. And you’re still looking at him like he’s someone you can count on. Like he isn’t unraveling at the seams, dick so painfully hard, just sitting next to you.

“Izuku…” you say again, gentler this time, and he finally looks up at you fully. “Thank you”

Your eyes are glassy. Red around the rims. Your mouth soft. Your whole expression just open and readable. Fucking hell…You don’t even know what you’re doing to him.

“Can you tell him to come over?” What? “He’ll be so happy to hear it from you, please!”

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, sharp and involuntary, like your words just punched through his chest and grabbed his heart with both hands.

Can you tell him to come over?

You’re smiling now—barely, but it’s real. Your voice is trembling with hope. You’re already pulling out your phone, thumbs moving with sweet, excited urgency, like this moment might be the first crack of sunlight after weeks of thunder.

And you’re asking him—him—to be the one to bring your husband to his apartment.

You don’t know what you’re doing to him.

You don’t know that he’s imagining that same smile tilted up at him, not Katsuki. That he’s spent months biting down fantasies until his jaw ached, trying not to let them surface—but he failed today. He failed hard. And now you’re sitting here, trusting him with the one thing he wishes he could rip from the world and keep for himself.

Katsuki.

Your husband. The love of your life. The man he was supposed to be a friend to, not betray in thought, not crave his girl like something that can be stolen

He can’t even speak. His mouth opens but nothing comes out—just static, lips parted in numbness.

You don’t seem to notice. Or maybe you do, but you’re giving him grace anyway, because that’s the kind of person you are. Too kind. Too blind.

You hold your phone up to him. “He said he’ll come over if you say it’s okay. You can just tell him it’s fine—please? He listens to you more than he listens to me sometimes.”

Izuku takes the phone like it’s poison in disguise.

He stares at Katsuki’s contact name glowing on the screen.

And he wonders how long he can keep this rotting secret inside his chest before it turns him into something unrecognizable.

His thumb hovers. Then he presses the call button. The phone starts to ring, and he hates himself a little more with each pulse.

Because no matter what Katsuki says when he picks up—whether it’s relief or laughter or love—Izuku will still be the man who, just ten minutes ago, imagined fucking his best friend’s wife into an office chair and coming so hard inside her he saw stars.

And when Katsuki’s voice answers, warm and gruff, saying a small ‘hey tsuki —my moon, you call each other moon— and is positive to dropping by in half an hour to hang out, Izuku wants to die. And you’re smiling so hard that Katsuki wants to join that he wants to die twice.

You press your forehead to the back of his hand. A small, grateful gesture.

And that’s what finally breaks him. Izuku pulls his hands back slowly, as if they’ve been burned.

“I need a minute,” he mutters. Voice hoarse. Jaw tight, fingernails scratching the corner of his jaw.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. “Oh. Okay—do you want me to go—?”

“No,” he says too quickly, rising from the couch. “No. Just… sit. I’ll be back.”

He walks toward the bathroom with careful, even steps. Every one of them feels like walking away from something sacred. Every one of them feels like a betrayal. And there’s nothing sacred about absolute betrayal. Just pure dirt, filth in his soul.

He closes the door behind him and presses his forehead to the wood, eyes squeezed shut.

And when he reaches into his sweatpants to jerk himself off with trembling fingers—still half-hard, still aching with the ghost of you—he doesn’t even bother pretending it’s anyone else.

He just bites his fist, stifles a sob, and imagines you crying out his name instead.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

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your-highnessmarvel · 11 months ago

Text

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"

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