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creepytoes88 · 2 months ago

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Party on You

Summary: You hate parties — but you threw this one for him.

A/N: I am going feral crazy over this man. Someone needs to put me down like a sick dog. This is also 100% based on the Charli XCX song "Party 4 U". There is no smut, just fluff and sexual tension (sorry to blue ball). This is also on AO3, as always.

You didn’t even like parties.

Not really. Honestly, hated them.

But tonight, the lights were pink and dripping from the ceiling like honey. The bass trembled through the floors like a heartbeat, and every glittering detail — the custom cake with What Now? piped in gold, the silver balloons curling toward the ceiling, the playlist you obsessed over for hours — was all for him.

Paddy.

The fight was the night before. Bloodied mouth, split brow, roar of the crowd. You knew him before the world did — before pay-per-views and Dana White promo reels and meathead boys in the gym shouting “Lad, you see that KO?!” You were behind the camera, editing reels in your little office, finding that one perfect frame where his eyes went cold before a takedown. You never even meant to specialize in combat sports. But Paddy made it easy.

He was expressive. Fierce and fun. He was a generous fighter; he gave you moments. And you knew it.

The last video you cut — the one that went viral after his win against Chandler — had him in slow-motion, sweat flicking off his chiseled biceps, his mouthguard bloody, jaw tight, veins taught like wire, eyes cool and hard. You paired it with a slowed beat and let it ride in silence at the end, just his breath heaving, eyes locked on the camera like a threat.

Everyone called it cinematic.

Paddy had only said one thing when he saw it: “Didn’t know you could make me look that fit and that scary at the same time.” He said it with a press friendly smile. But you felt the way he watched you after that. Longer. Hungrier.

Now, at the party, you kept to the edges. A few fighters nodded at you in recognition — the quiet girl from the gym with the laptop and headphones always slung around her neck. Someone shoved a drink into your hand. You smiled tight but polite, thanked them, and kept scanning the crowd. You took large sips of your champagne, desperate to get your nerves under control.

And then, like a pull in your chest, you felt him before you saw him.

Paddy was standing across the room, half lit by the pink glow of some terrible LED sign. He wasn’t talking. Just watching the crowd.

You held your glass to your chest like it was a shield. Your dress sparkled — low back, high slit, clinging to you in places he had never touched, begged: notice me without asking you to. You’d done your makeup soft and unassuming. You’d rehearsed the moment in your head so many times: you walking up to him, pretty smile, some flirty quip. But now you were frozen, glued to the wall, watching him from across the room like a shadow.

His hair was still damp from the drizzle outside, and his ends were wisping into curls that clung to his forehead. A group approached him and he laughed. His voice — louder than the music — hit you like a gut punch.

You turned away before he could see you staring.

Go say something. You attempted to give yourself a pep talk, but your nerves were hot and frazzled, a live wire whipping around in your chest. You threw this party for him. He should be thanking you. But that wasn’t the point.

You didn’t throw the party for attention. You threw it to see him.

And when you finally looked back and locked eyes with him across the room, you knew he had caught you.

He was still talking to someone, but his eyes intentionally stayed on yours. His expression softened like he’d just remembered something important. He excused himself, brushing past people, making his way through the glitter-flecked bodies like they were unimportant obstacles to him. Towards you. Determined.

Your heart stuttered so hard in your chest, you briefly thought you might be dying.

Paddy stopped a few inches in front of you, warm and golden under the lights.

"You didn’t tell me you were throwin’ this," he said, stepping a little too close. His accent curled around each word, soft and rough all at once.

You breathed deep. He smelt like expensive cologne and rain, something you’d want to bury your face into and bite and taste and — you rolled your eyes effortlessly. You hoped you were playing off your cool and unbothered facade better than you felt. "Please. You think I’d miss celebrating your win?"

A small smile tugged at his lips. He looked at you like you were something he wanted to unwrap slowly. "Figured you’d be at some rooftop bar, too good for a fight-night afterparty."

You tilted your glass and swirled the champagne around. “Didn’t think I’d be invited to that. I’m no A-List fighter.”

He nudged you gently with his elbow, eyes narrow with mischief, a small grin on his lips. “Don’t be daft. You made me look insane in that video. You earned a red carpet.”

And, yeah. There was no denying you worked your magic specifically for Paddy. You weren’t supposed to have favorites, but you paid extra special attention to his clips. If anyone noticed online, no one said a thing.

“You looked like that on your own,” you smiled up at him. “I only hit upload.”

He chuckled again, this time with his head tilted back. You liked how he laughed — not in the way some people laugh to fill silence, but like he’s genuinely surprised by the things you say.

His eyes flicked to your dress and lingered. "Y’know, I've been lookin’ for you since the fight."

Your stomach flipped, a tiny knot of anxiety unfurling into a red hot heat.

"You found me," you said, tiny.

"Yeah." His voice dropped, lower now. He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips trailing too slow, too soft. He took your cup and set it aside on a windowsill, then leaned back against, elbows resting, body open. His shirt clung to the definition of his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The way he filled out his body, shoulders broad, biceps and legs thick and muscular; the largeness of him was imposing and comforting all at once. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times already tonight.

“You really did make me look terrifying,” he said, voice threading through the music. “Scary. Dangerous. Tad sexy, too.”

“Just a tad?” you teased, leaning ever so closer into him.

He grinned. “Don’t want to sound vain, do I?”

“You don’t mind sounding dangerous.”

His gaze dragged over you, fingers reaching out to gently tug on the end of your dress. “Only if it works on you.”

That made your heart knock against your ribs. His presence was nearly overwhelming, and you wished you had your cup back in your hands. You wanted to reach out to touch and feel him.

“You ever think about putting yourself in front of the lens?” he asked, voice warm and dangerous. “Let someone film you lookin’ that good?”

He let the space hang between you, heavy like a dare. You shook your head and opened your mouth, but Paddy interrupted you.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing the low of your back, slow and casual. “Always watchin’. Always seeing people without letting anyone see you.”

You didn’t mean to look at his lips, but you did.

And he saw.

The air shifted and slowed. Your heart beat behind your ribs like it was trying to say something your mouth couldn’t. His rough hand gripped you now, pulling you close enough for him to lean down and rasp in your ear, “What if I want to see you?”

“I…,” you began, but couldn’t quite finish. Your chest ached with something you had tried to ignore. You stared up at him, trembling and electric.

He didn’t move. He didn’t lunge or press or chase. He just… waited. Letting you choose.

He brushed his hand around from the small of your back to your hip, thumb rubbing intimate circles into your skin. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your hand flew up to his chest. Your fingertips pressed hot against his bare skin as you vigorously shook your head.

He smirked softly, leaning down into your face again. “Say it.”

“No,” you whispered.

He backs you into the wall, cornering you with his arms. You fall into it much too slowly. It's less about feeling good and more about coming alive.

Gently, he presses his lips into yours. His hands have taken to skimming across the skin of your thigh through the slit in your dress. You can hear each sharp exhale when he presses deeper into the kiss.

Paddy is everywhere, but nowhere you want him. He bites on your bottom lip, tugging it a little before kissing over the swollen area.

You pull off, dazed and flushed. Your lips burn and Paddy’s hands are still touching you. He’s looking down at you, eyes dark and hungry.

"This is going to be scandalous," you breathe out, hands gripping his collar. You can only imagine the tabloids tomorrow, and you vaguely wonder how many people have already snapped videos of you two making out. You’re thankful for your nervousness earlier forcing you into a darker corner of the room.

"I know," he swallows. "Far as I know, that don't stop anyone at parties."

"I don't want to be a night for you,” you admit.

His eyes soften as he brushes a hand up against your cheek. "I'm not going to use you like that."

He dips his head to drag his lips against your neck, tender and soft. "Promise?"

The promise was made with a kiss. He’s turned into you, somewhat impatient, but you take your time with it.

His fingers aren't low enough. He knows you want them to press through you, that you want him inside and hard and fast. He meets your tongue when you part your mouth for him. His adoring fingers cage you in, his other hand latched to your hair to pull your head up into him. You whine low in your throat. You want to be taken care of and destroyed all at once. You want to be ravaged and intimately loved. You want him.

He licks into your mouth, pulling on your bottom lip every time you draw away. He catches your hand from his shoulder, intertwining your fingers, and steadies your hip until you’re just swaying and rubbing. Even though he is already hard in his trousers, he doesn’t want it to end so fast.

You laugh breathlessly against the crook of his neck, “Are we going to dance now?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — flushed, blinking slow, almost as if he’s dazed. He lazily grins, lopsided like he’s drunk on you, voice wrecked. “We’ve been dancin’, love.”

The room spins around you in slow motion — glitter suspended midair, bass slow and syrupy, lights pulsing like a heart too full of feeling. He takes your hand and spins you gently, your dress catching the light like spilled champagne. You laugh, dizzy and lightheaded, caught between wanting him closer and never wanting this suspended moment to end.

Paddy’s hands settle at your waist, his touch hot and heavy. His gaze has quieted, softened, the heat still there but tempered.

You smile shyly, “I meant… on the floor.”

He huffs a laugh, leaning his forehead to yours. “This is better.”

You don’t argue. You just stare into each other’s eyes. Around you, the party thrums on — bass pulsing through the floor, laughter cresting over music. But in your little corner of the world, it’s quiet. It’s just him, looking at you like you’re something rare, something worth slowing down for.

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow alone,” you murmur, suddenly nervous again.

“You won’t.” He slides his hand down your back, anchoring you. “Come home with me.”

You pause and search his face. There’s no cocky smirk now, no fighter’s bravado. Just Paddy — familiar, real, and looking at you with a silent confession.

You nod and reach up to kiss him once more.

He grabs your hand gently and leads you towards the exit. The party fades behind you — pink lights melting into the floor, the crowd a blur of shimmer and sweat. You didn’t even like parties. But damn, were you glad for this one.

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creepytoes88 · 2 months ago

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Casual

Summary: You've known Paddy for years. Things have always been casual between you two. You want it to change.

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive! More smut… bc why not. (I feel like I’m running out of ideas. I need some of y’all to pick up the slack and write fics I can read.)

You’ve known Paddy Pimblett since before the Octagon, back in year 10 when he was just a lanky kid kicking rocks on the way to school, shaved head and braces on his teeth. Back then, he was all elbows and untied trainers, more noise than boy and wide smile. He got detention for swearing in the halls at school and made you laugh until your ribs locked up in the back of science class. He passed you notes that said stupid things like “wanna skip?” with a crudely drawn smiley face, and you always wrote back “obviously.”

He’s still just Paddy to you. Even when the fights started — the real ones in cages instead of behind the school bleachers — you were there. You watched the school boy you knew become someone people chanted for. Tall and glorious, brights lights glittering in his eyes, blood on his gloves, and victory in his teeth.

But with you, he never changed. When he sang songs and danced playful in the ring, you still saw that boy you watched climb trees and fail history tests and sneak snacks into the library.

He still called you after big wins, breathless and buzzing, like you were the only person who mattered. You’d say something simple and safe, full of pride — “Proud of you, you absolute legend!” — and when he’d reply, you could always hear the smile in his voice.

You never told him that your heart jumped every time he called. You certainly never asked if his did too. And you definitely don’t talk about the nights you stay up scrolling through clips of his post-fight interviews, or how you hold your breath when he takes a hit, or how your lips tremble until the referee lifts his arm high and mighty. You never ask him what he thinks of you, and he never asks if you’re watching.

You both know the answer.

You've never admitted you love and care for each other. Not in those words, anyway. You say it in other ways. In takeaway dinners dropped off after training. In voice notes sent at 2 a.m. when you’re both delirious, brains racing. In the way he touches you without thinking — your knee, your shoulder, a strand of your hair flicked gently aside.

But then he always pulls back.

And when he’s gone, Liverpool gets smaller.

You notice it on the days he’s training elsewhere or off doing media rounds. He still sends you pictures of his dinner and memes, and you send back long voice notes about how shit British weather is to make him feel more at home. Even then, the city feels quieter, and you stay in more than you should. You become reclusive, and yet, you never really said it aloud. How much you miss him.

You’ve thought more than once that maybe you’d both be happier if you just left and found somewhere quieter, smaller. Somewhere no one expects Paddy to be. Somewhere he doesn’t have to smile when he’s tired, or talk when he wants silence.

You imagine a flat with two mugs in the sink and your jackets tangled on the same hook. Your shoes piled at the doorway together, your pillows next to each other. You imagine waking up late, grocery shopping together on a Sunday, watching old movies with the curtains drawn.

“I ever tell you I hate how everyone stares?” he says once, while you’re both sitting on the steps outside his mum’s house, sharing a bag of crisps. It’s a cool autumn day, and you’re both sat watching the sunset bleed into darkness.

“Only about twenty times,” you reply, passing him the bag. You shiver and rub your arms a bit before pulling your knees to your chest.

He looks at you then — soft, quiet. “D’you ever think about leaving?”

You lean against your knees, and from this angle, the milky reds and pinks of the sunset set his blue eyes ablaze. Your heart stutters.

“All the time,” you say. And after a pause, you nudge him with your shoe, “But I think I’d be real sad without you.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just nods and hands you the last crisp.

And that’s really what it’s about.

It’s about the way he leans into you when he’s laughing, the way his fingers unconsciously tap against your thigh when he’s driving you around places. The way he lets his head drop on your shoulder when he’s exhausted, the way he always gives you the last bite of a snack.

You’ve shared beds before — when traveling, when drinking, when you’ve stayed up so late talking there’s no ride shares. Always under the guise of friendship. Always, it’s too dark, it’s not safe to go home.

You remember one night in particular.

The press was loud with opinions after a match. They reported that Paddy’s fights were rigged, and he wasn’t as good as he was being made out to be. He wasn’t talking much, and you knew it had gotten under his skin.

You stayed with him in his hotel. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t push.

That night, you laid side by side on top of the covers, his arm brushing up against yours, the room wrapped in darkness and silence. You whispered something about hating fanboys. He laughed once, tired.

“I don’t care what they think,” he murmured, shuffling to turn on his side.

“Well, I care.” You crossed your arms and huffed, “I think they’re all braindead losers.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel his gaze in the darkness. You had rolled over to face him, barely able to make out the outline of his face in the dark. Gently, you placed a hand in between the two you, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

And he reached for your hand, linking your fingers without thinking. You stayed like that until the sun crept through the curtains.

When you both woke in tangled limbs, neither of you mentioned it in the morning.

But you think about it all the time.

Especially nights like tonight.

He’s finally home from Miami. He’s a bit bruised and jet-lagged, but he’s buzzing and burning with leftover adrenaline. He is still insistent on celebrating when he lands. At some point, you drift away from each other. You’re dancing with your friends, swaying to the rhythm, the air hot and thick with perfume and sweat and alcohol.

Your eyes keep drifting back to him.

You hadn’t really had the opportunity to talk to each other. You both shared a large group of friends, and they had his attention first. You knew your turn would come, though.

Paddy stood near the bar, one arm resting on the counter, drink in hand, eyes steady with yours. His jaw was tight. Even from across the room, you could tell he was trying to look casual and cool, but the set of his broad shoulders told you everything. He was watching you like he couldn’t help it.

And maybe that was the reason your smile lingered longer than it should’ve. Maybe it was why you swayed your hips just a little more deliberately.

You were barely a few beats into the next song when a guy you didn’t recognize slid up beside you. Tall, with a backwards cap and a cologne that felt like lit napalm in your nose.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in. “You here alone?”

You gave him a polite smile, pushing your body closer to your oblivious friends. “Nah, I’m with friends!”

His eyes dipped lower than they should’ve. “That so? Didn’t see anyone next to you.”

You shifted away, but not too suddenly. No need to be rude. Still, your gaze flicked up, over the guy’s shoulder, and straight to Paddy.

He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t blinked.

You held his stare.

Even from across the club, you could feel it. Something that had been growing for too long fizzled in the air. You hadn’t seen him look at you like that before. It was hot and heavy, and it had you bothered.

His mouth was set in a firm line, eyes darker than usual.

The guy kept talking, but his voice faded beneath the beat. Something about grabbing a drink, or maybe heading outside. You barely heard it. You didn’t care.

“I’m good, thanks,” you said firmly, offering a quick smile before pushing through the crowd, leaving him behind. You headed straight over to Paddy.

He didn’t say anything when you reached him, just raised an eyebrow.

“Why’re you standing over here like you’re guarding something?” you teased, chest rising and falling from dancing. You grab him by the arms and shake him gently, “We’re supposed to be celebrating!”

Paddy smiled crooked at you. “Guardin’? You mean keepin’ an eye on you before one of them idiots tries anything stupid.”

It was probably the alcohol that made you bold enough to slide closer and say, “You’ve been watching me all night. Are you jealous?”

He didn’t answer — just let his eyes wander a little too long over your lips, your neck, the way your chest rose and fell from dancing. The weight of it made your stomach flip. You reach for him, fingers brushing his wrist. He flinches. You’re suddenly nervous.

“Have I done something?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he says too quickly. “You’ve never done anything wrong.”

Later, when the group spills out into the street, a brisk downfall of rain starts, sharp and sudden. You yelp and throw your arms over your head, laughing giddy at the cool relief. Paddy shrugs off his jacket before you can even complain, swinging it over your head. It’s warm from his body, and it smells like him. He pulls you forward, clasping you in the jacket with his hands. You blink up at him in surprise.

He’s grinning, a little smug. “Didn’t want you soaked to the bone.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are hot.

By the time you get back to his flat, your legs are soaked and you’re shivering. He disappears for a second and comes back with a hoodie — oversized and soft.

“Here,” he says, avoiding your gaze, tossing it at you gently. “Get warm.”

You change in the spare bathroom, trying not to overthink it, stay casual and calm. When you finally step into his bedroom, barefoot and swallowed by his hoodie, he’s already in the main bathroom.

You crawl onto his bed. It smells like him too. You curl into the pillows, scrolling your phone, waiting for him so you can pick a movie like you always do. But this night doesn’t feel like always. Your skin is still buzzing from the way he looked at you earlier. From the heat of his hands brushing your waist when he gave you the jacket. From the way his eyes dropped to your lips and —

Paddy walks out of the bathroom in low-slung joggers, a towel around his neck, hair wet and curling. His eyes find you and suddenly you’re embarrassed at how you’re a little too comfortable in his bed and his clothes.

He freezes for a second, like he’s seeing you for the first time and all at once. It’s never been like this before.

You tuck your knees into his hoodie. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares for another beat.

“Patrick,” and you never use his full name, “what is wrong? You’ve been all weird and distant, and I don’t know if I’ve done something or —”

But then he walks toward you slowly, towel dropping from his neck to the floor, hands dragging through his hair like he’s trying to shake something off. He stops at the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been trying to ignore this,” he starts, quiet and keeping his distance.

You crawl closer to the edge of the bed. You feel like a child, desperate for his attention and guidance. “Ignore what?”

“You.” His voice is hoarse.

You blink, heart hammering. You open your mouth, but he’s already leaning in, eyes locked on yours, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

He reaches out and grips your hoodie, lifting you up to your knees. He presses his forehead into yours, and you sit there briefly, just staring at each other. Neither of you say anything for a beat, content to listen to your breathing sync. And then, “You can touch me, Paddy. I don’t bite.”

He smothers his lips along your neck, down to your shoulder, teeth nipping against the skin. He’s quiet for a moment as his hands slide under your thighs. Then he says, “Don’t go back home.”

You pull him down to the bed so that he’s hovering above you. “I’d never leave you.”

He breathes through his nose and grips the nape of your neck closer, licking into your mouth, hand sweeping against your ribcage, pushing the hoodie up and over. It sparks a hot feeling down in you, quick and liquid fire.

You don’t have the chance to be timid when you’re both undressed because he is crashing his lips back to yours. He is not careful or slow. It’s years of longing and frustration and everything unspoken burning hot to the surface. He kisses like he fights — fierce and focused.

He settles himself over you, pinning you down with his weight and trapping you against the bed. Your kisses become more urgent, and you wrap your legs and arms around him. You hope you never get over the feeling of skin against skin, because it feels so good every time he touches you. You just want to be consumed by the heat of your bodies pressed tight together. You fit so well into him, and it spreads that molten heat further into your body.

Eventually, his hand finds its way between the warmth of your thighs, fingers lightly dancing around your clit and entrance. A shockwave of pleasure rolls through you as he thumbs at your clit. His rough fingers spread your folds and dip to press in without warning. He slips two fingers into the knuckle, slowly pulling out to push back in, rhythmic and playful. Your breathing is shallow already, but when you look down at his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you, a broken sound escapes your throat.

When he presses his erection hard against your thigh, you can feel how heavy and thick it is. You throw your head back, bucking into his hand, eager and hungry.

“I’m going to fuck you tonight,” he promises, whispering huskily against your throat.

You shudder at the words, sharply breathing in.

He quickens his pace, fucking his fingers into you. His other hand rests on the trembling plane of your stomach, pushing down as his fingers hook up and glide roughly. A bundle of nerves tightens and flexes in your stomach. You’re near-sobbing, writhing and whimpering and drawn tight. You bury your hands into his hair, huffing shakily into the air between the two of you. His fingers curl against that bundle of nerves again, shooting electricity up your spine. You hold your breath, stars dancing underneath your eyelids. You instinctively spread your legs wider, trying to take his fingers in deeper.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Spread your legs for me, just like that, pretty girl.”

You grip at his shoulders, squirming, “Paddy, please.”

He kisses a trail up your neck, “Please what?”

You writhe under him, needy and dripping into the sheets, “Please, Paddy, please fuck me!”

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s pushing his cock inside, slow and steady, inch by inch, and god, he fills you just right. He praises you with his lips, pressing kisses against your face as he forces you open, stretching you open. You screw your eyes shut, gasping out as the air is pushed out of you. You pull him down by his hair, curling your body up and off the mattress into his chest. His body covers yours so easily, and it feels so right to be there.

“Open your eyes,” he demands, “I want to watch you.”

He wants you to see him, to know who was fucking you and claiming you. When he shifts his hands to your hips to yank you down into the thrusts, you roll your hips down with a needy whimper. He thrusts hard right up into you, and you cry out, digging your fingers into his shoulders.

“Baby,” he says, body covering yours again, pressing sloppy kisses on your collarbone, “so good for me.”

He grabs you by the chin, kissing you forcefully. He raises your hips up off the bed, tilting them so that he’s deep inside of you, right where you want him to be. Where you’ve wanted him for so long.

You clench and quiver around him, and his thrusts speed up, brutal and punishing. He fucks you into the mattress, hammering into the spot that makes you feel ready to fall apart with pleasure.

You shudder and shake against him, clinging onto his back for stability as you finish hard with a bright, keening sound. The bundle of nerves in your core unravels and explodes, igniting your nerves. You feel him everywhere, shaking numb with pleasure. You clench hard around him in waves of sensation, milking his cock. He goes to pull out, but you lock your ankles around him.

“Cum in me,” you beg between kisses, “I want you to fuck it into me.”

Paddy groans low in his throat as his body shudders, and he’s coming with a growl, spilling his seed deep inside, pushing it deep into you with solid, sure thrusts. He collapses on top of you, blanketing you with his body. You close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. You can feel him twitch inside of you, his forehead pressed to your cheek, both of you slick with sweat.

“Hey,” he pulls you closer to him. You turn your cheek against his arm, peering up at him through wet eyelashes. “Are you - are you okay?”

You realize you’re shaking, skin vibrating and flush. You have no idea what to say, except, “I’m pretty sure I love you.”

He blinks, slowly, shocked. “Do you?”

You feel vulnerable and soft and small. “It scares me. Saying that.”

“That’s okay.” He reaches out, running his fingers from your cheek down to your shoulder. He smiles sweetly and whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your chin. “I love you, too.”

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creepytoes88 · 2 months ago

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Don't Play

Summary: You are an olympic weightlifter who is friends with Paddy Pimblett. You agree to train each other in your respective discipline for fun, but Paddy's roughhousing takes things a step too far. (shameless smut tbh)

A/N: This was originally on AO3, but someone asked me to post the fic here. Your wish is my command! I hope you enjoy <3 I haven't written fanfiction in so long, and I kind of miss it. Low-key might write another who knows...

“Is that all you got, pretty boy?” You playfully tease, shoving your palm into Paddy’s Shoulder.

Despite Paddy being substantially taller and larger than you and having the advantage of being the stronger grappler, there was something fun about messing around with you on the training room floor. He was always careful with you when it came to getting physical in a playful way, even though you found this to be boring.

You had agreed to train with each other even though you were in different disciplines. You competed in Olympic Weightlifting, something you had done since you were 15 years old. You met Paddy at a training event, before his UFC days, and had constantly begged him to show you how to grapple. It had taken years of begging for him to consider it, and he finally broke. You wanted to know what it was like to roll around on the mat, but he was still ever so careful with you.

“I’m only 5 kilos less than you! Stop treating me like I’m made of glass, dickhead,” you whined watching as he easily twisted out of your grip with no retaliation.

He nudges you with his hand, raising his fists in defense, “5 kilos is a heavy difference, love. Don’t want you to break.”

“I’m just curious,” you yell as you attempt to lock your arm around his neck. “I want to know how strong you are. If you could really hold me down.”

Paddy scoffed, expertly rolling you off and tossing you to the ground. “Why? You’ve seen me dismantle men bigger than you. I’d crush you.”

You attempt to grab at his legs, but he sidesteps, gently putting a palm on your forehead and pushing you back. You huff and cross your arms, “Yeah, well I’m not learning much if you just love tap me and call it a day. I want you to stop holding back!”

“I don’t want to go so hard that you sleep, love,” Paddy replies, real concern in his voice. You go to swing at him again, harder this time, but he simply catches your fist in his hand.

“Well, I want you to pin me down and shit,” you muttered, trailing off. Your eyes looked at your first as you tried to wriggle it out, but he remained quiet. Fist still stuck in his hand, you nervously peered back up at his reaction.

He was staring down at you. He took a step closer, his eyes dark. His body filled the space, broad shoulders tensed, jaw set and fist clenched tightly around yours. He felt and looked so impossibly large. You knew this look from watching his fights. If you hadn’t been friends, you might have actually been scared of him at that moment. He was testing you.

He smirked ever so slightly and firmly said, “I’ll happily pin you down, love.”

Before you can really think, your bodies collide and his hands cling to your arms. You try to use his taller frame to your advantage, clawing onto a bicep while desperately trying to get behind him. Paddy uses his strength to grip the back of your leg, sending you both to the ground. Your wish has been granted as he pins you down, hard. You squirm in place, quickly getting frustrated as you try to find a way out.

He grapples you and you inadvertently squeak out a gasp as he applies pressure with his arm on your mid section. His dark eyes soften just a fraction. He leans down closer, his body filling the space between you. The smell of him, musky and clean, like he was sweating through a fresh shower, was overwhelming. You suddenly became aware of a warm, blossoming sensation making its presence known in between your thighs. It was heavy and light all at once, a familiar pang of need. You were turned on.

“Have you had enough, princess?” He mocks you in a sing-song voice, fingers gently pinching at your sides.

You go to push his face out of yours but he grabs your wrist in his large hand, easily pinning it to the side of your head. He was manhandling you and making a joke out of it. You grumble, face red and chest heaving as you try to push up against his larger frame.

“You’re such a dick, Paddy,” you gasp out, still struggling against his grip.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He laughs and grins dangerously at you from above, using his knees to stretch your legs wider as he bends down lower. The thought of his body stretching you open, leaving you no room to escape made you tremble. He was a dangerous man who had you cornered and laid bare for him. He had you where you wanted, but you were a sore loser. You wanted to see how far you could push him.

Before he realizes it, your free hand shoots up from your side and into his armpit, viciously tickling him. Paddy yelps and launches away from you covering his torso with his arms. You laugh gleefully at this, scrambling away from him on your hands and knees.

Suddenly, your ankles are grabbed and you fall, chin thudding on to the mat. He drags you back to him, and he is much rougher this time.

“I don’t take kindly to cheaters, love,” he hisses out at you as he forces his arm around your neck. He pulls you into his torso, your back engulfed by his larger frame. You’re both on your knees before he locks his inner elbow around your neck, choking you, and falling back onto his back. He’s got you in a full nelson hold, locked in tight.

You gasp and shudder in place. An intense red blush painted your cheeks, and you are suddenly so happy he can’t see your face. He had you in his grip and shaking. A predator after its prey.

He instinctively uses his other hand to grab your wrist, trapping your arm. He puts his knees in between yours, spreading your legs painfully again. You whimper at the pain and fall back against him, body pressing into him fully. And you feel it.

His cock was forming a tent in grey sweatpants. You could feel the heat of it burning against your ass. You almost felt like begging. Instead, you carefully wiggled back on it, applying pressure. His elbow tightened around your neck, forcing the air out your lungs, but he released your hand.

His breathing becomes ragged in your ear, short and sharp breaths as you again grind back on him. Your fingers twitched nervously at your sides. You didn’t know what to do.

Paddy slowly brings one of his hands up to caress your side, lips pressed against your ear. His fingers brush against the waistband of your shorts. “Is this okay?”

Your voice is meek and shaky when you respond. “Yes, please.”

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand lifts your shirt, tickling your sides. The idea that the man who voraciously beats other men to a pulp, gripping you tightly was so intoxicatingly delicious. He could have so easily crushed your windpipes in his grip, and it sent a thrill of shivers up your spine. Teasingly, his hand squeezes and kneads at the small of your belly before slipping under your gym shorts.

Surprised, he slides his fingers through down to your folds. “No panties, eh?”

Your fingers pull his arm back just enough to squeak out, “Fuck you, Paddy.”

“Lift your pretty little bum, love,” he murmurs in your ear, and you do as he demands without a sound of protest. He removes his hand just enough to rip your shorts off and down your ankles. You bite your lip as his calloused hands travel back down from the swell of your stomach to between your thighs. Harshly, he tugs your thighs apart again. You feel vulnerable and small.

Paddy’s fingers languidly played between your folds, spreading the wetness evenly. He made sure to apply just enough pressure that you squirm. You preen, your hips bucking up and a pretty whine escaping your lips as he circles your clit before pushing his fingers in. Just like that, you’re gone, moaning intensely as your eyes roll back. Your breathing is ever more erratic as he pumps his fingers, languidly spreading the digits at your entrance.

He hooks his fingers, rubbing them along the top of your walls. A noise catches in your throat, and you clench hard. “G-Go back, Paddy, do that again,” you pant out.

Paddy keeps his fingers inside of you in one place and tightens his arm around your neck. He lifts your head back and pulls you in close. Your lips quiver, as do your walls around his fingers. “Beg.”

You could cry at how embarrassing it was to feel this needy, but you oblige, “Please, Paddy. P-Please, do it again.”

And so he does. He drops you back to his chest and ups the pace he was at. You press down, and it’s obvious when you’re going to come. He moves his mouth by your ear and kisses and nibbles, pumping his curled fingers in and out of you. And just like that you come around his fingers, in hot, wet pulses. Before he can pull back, you suck his wet fingers right into your mouth. He runs his fingers over your teeth and then pulls them out with a pop.

He releases you and places you on the ground. You all sit there for a few seconds, dazed and horny and shocked.

You glance abashedly at his hard cock in his sweatpants. You briefly imagine his muscular legs hidden away before scanning your eyes up his body. His stomach is flexed hard, hair is strewn across his pecs. He’s got his strong arms on display, resting his full weight on his legs. He’s staring hard at you through his wispy layers. He’s always had a strong nose and well defined chin, and god, do you want to sit on his face so badly right now. You swallow and shuffle a little.

This hasn’t happened before. Sure, there were longing glances and touches, and you definitely couldn’t lie and say that watching him fight set something off in you. The way he moved with such predatory grace was mesmerizing. You remember the animalistic look in his eyes. He didn’t just fight in the ring, he hunted. His brutality was beautiful.

You run your fingers through your hair before nervously patting it back into place. You sheepishly motion to his cock pressing against his sweatpants. “Do you, uh… want help?”

Paddy doesn’t respond, so you glance up. He’s still staring at you intensely, like he’s sizing you up. He’s hunting.

Then it came. In an instant, before you could even react, Paddy was on you—like a predator closing in on its prey.

Paddy lunges forward, knocking you on your back. There was a slight smirk, the barest hint of amusement, that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours as he quickly closed the gap between them, almost as if his goal was to overwhelm and smother. He was aggressive and quick tearing off your clothes. He had no patience for removing his own, shimmying his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free, hot and heavy and thrumming against your stomach. His cock was just like the rest of him—big, and thick, and angry.

He brought his arms up, trapping and encasing you. He bent down, lips dangerously close and eyes burning into yours. He brought one of his hands up to caress your neck, lips following shortly. He liked to play with his prey.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as his hand wraps gently around your throat. Teasingly, he dragged his lips down your throat before biting hard.

“Fuck,” you whimper out into the hot air, hands grasping at his arms. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.”

He pulled back for a moment, as if to check this is what you wanted before he attacked your mouth with his own, almost violently. His teeth clashed with yours, pulling on your bottom lip just enough to break skin. He pulls back to lick the blood off your lip, moving his hand over your hips, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

You bite your knuckles, knees shaking as Paddy continues to move down you, tasting you with kisses down your navel to your pussy. His palms clamp around your thighs, bringing them to his shoulders as he surges closer. You open your mouth to say his name, but it fizzles out as his tongue darts out, lapping a long stroke across your folds. Suddenly, his tongue finds your clit, and your whole body arches, lightning racing up your spine.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the tension building to the point of almost unbearable as his tongue pushes up inside of you. You whine in frustration when his mouth withdraws, your heart pounding madly. Gently, teasingly, he rubs his thick shaft up and down your folds. Spit and your natural wetness coat his heavy cock.

“Please,” you beg, eyes closed and sick from desire. He eases your thighs from his shoulders, holding them wide as he gazes down at you.

“Open your pretty eyes, love. I want you to see me fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” you choke out, eyes fluttering open to look at him. “Please, Paddy, fuck me.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he rumbles, rutting his hips against your thigh.

You preen at his praise, spreading your legs further for him as he took his thick cock in hand and began to line himself up. He grabs your chin forcing you to look at him as he begins to enter you.

The air is knocked out of you, he was so big. Your body shudders as he finally drives into you to the hilt, possessing you fully. He tilts his head back to the ceiling and groans low from deep in his throat, a noise that has you clenching around him.

There’s a small fraction of time where all he does is rotate his hips, relishing in the whine it pulls from you. Paddy kisses your neck, pushing in deep before pulling out and slamming back into the tight heat. You see stars, arching your back, pressing tight against the thick cock drilling into you.

You barely have time to gasp for air before he’s all over you again, pinning you to the floor with strong, sure thrusts and calloused hands. He grasps your throat in one hand, turning your head to the side and dragging his tongue along your cheek, cock pounding into your needy, dripping pussy. You look so good, pliant and needy under the weight of his body. He wraps his arms around your thighs in the bends of your knees, leaning down to drill harder and faster into you.

He leans back a little to watch his cock disappear deep into you, letting out a deep, satisfied growl as your eyes roll into the back of your head, back arching and fingers twitching. His cock stretches you in all the right places, almost as if he’s pushing up into your stomach. He leans back again and rubs your thighs as he watches you twitch around his thrusts, pink and stretched so good.

He slows his pace, hitting into you with deep thrusts that leave you seeing stars. “Your pussy was made for my cock, princess.”

You pant for breath, stomach full and thighs shaking. “Paddy,” you manage to choke out between your mantra of high moans. You sound like you’re about to cry.

He pulls out halfway, only to thrust back into you roughly. He must’ve hit the right spot because you gush around him, coming hard with a bright, keening sound. Your body clenches around him in waves, pulling him in, milking his cock.

Paddy curses and slows down for a moment. He takes his hands off your hips and moves them to spread your ass and squeeze, drawing himself deeper inside. You grab desperately at his shoulders, the air knocked out of your lungs. He’s just toeing the edge when he hears your voice, raspy and dulcet in his ear. “Finish inside me, please. I want you to fill me up.”

And that’s it. He bites violently into your shoulder, coming hard, spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

They stay there for a moment, quiet and sore and tired. Carefully, Paddy stands straight again, slowly pulling his softening cock from your weeping pussy. You wince from the pain of emptiness. Paddy stands there briefly mesmerized as he watches his cum drip out of you. It would almost be enough to make him hard again.

He gingerly leans down to capture your swollen lips in a soft kiss, so different from before that it causes you to whimper against his lips. He pulls back, worried, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You smile up at him, smoothing his worried brow with your fingers. “No, you didn’t. You were perfect.”

He kisses you one last time as he shimmies his pants up, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He grabs his sweaty towel from earlier and goes to wipe at you. You push him away, laughing, “You’re sick in the head, Paddy Pimblett. At the very least get me a clean towel!”

“I’ll be whatever you like, love,” he grins cheekily, reaching into a nearby bin for a clean towel. “As long as you're down for a rematch.”

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creepytoes88 · 2 months ago

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Wrong Side of the Bed ⋆First Part⋆

Summary: When Dean and the reader get hit by a curse that stops them from sleeping, they start dreaming instead. (A bit of plot as an excuse for a bunch of different smut. This part- Shower sex, Impala sex, Bed sex. Next part- Demon Dean, Sweet Dean).

Warning: Smut.

A/N: Dream bits should be fine in both dark and light mode but let me know if there's any issues. This was originally one long one-shot but it got long so I split it in two, second bit will be up soon

~~~

"I can't stand these freaky genies" Dean sighed, wiping the blood from his face and checking his knife. You'd made swift work of them, happy to done for the day. You looked over to him, chuckling slightly as he shot you a smile.

"Clear down here!" Sam shouted up to you both.

You both started to head towards his voice, Dean elbowing you lightly as a job well done. You smiled at him, his toned body making you pause for a second as you watched him move. A creak from the cabinet in the corner of the room brought your attention back in. He shot you a deep questioning look, neither of you speaking as you edged back towards it.

In one swift move the cabinet flew open, a Djinn leaping out at the two of you, his hands pressed against both of your skin, a blue light emanating from them. You felt a wave wash over you, knocking you back for a moment as you tried to pull yourself together. Dean brought his knife down into the Djinn's shoulder, pushing him off the two of you. Your own knife came up to his gut, and he collapsed.

Dean grabbed your shoulders, shaking you to look at him. "Are you okay?"

You felt the wave flow through you, hoping it was just the adrenaline. You nodded tentatively, "Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Are you?"

He nodded.

As Dean drove you let your head rest against the window of the passenger door. You felt the aching from the fight filling you, a long day of hunting finally getting to you. Sam sat in the back, talking to Dean, and you let the sounds wash over you. You watched Dean's movements carefully, enjoying being able to stare without him seeing.

By the time you got to the motel you felt exhausted, desperate for sleep. When Sam spoke up with the idea to share a room you cut in, "Separate rooms. I'm not dealing with both of your snoring all night. I need some real sleep for a change."

You made your way down the motels tight hall, finding your adjacent rooms. As soon as you were in yours you stripped off, stepping in the shower to wash the grime off of you. You let the water burn into your skin, the heat soothing your exhausted muscles, steam filling the bathroom.

You heard a knock at the room's door, shutting off the water and wrapping a towel around yourself you made your way over. Dean was on the other side as you poked your head around the door to look at him.

"We're going to find some food, you joining us?" He looked at you, your dripping hair beginning to leave a small puddle on the floor.

"I'm gonna hit the hay, I don't know what's going on with me but I just need to lay down-"

He nodded, leaving you to it.

You sunk into the bed, your body still aching despite the hot water, desperate for the sleep you craved.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours as you tossed in your bed. You rubbed your eyes, exhausted as the clock ticked over to the early hours.

The water washed over you both, Dean's naked body pressed against you, his hands on your hips. He shook his head, letting the heavy water drip off his hair as he looked back down at you, a gawky smile on his face.

"I don't think shower sex is as hot as I remember," he laughed, his mouth pressed against your jaw as he kissed your skin.

You looked back at the clock, 10 minutes had passed, yet you still didn't feel the affects of sleep, your half dream state keeping you exhausted.

Your hand combed through his wet hair, pushing his face into your neck as his kissing became heavier. He nipped at your skin, biting down lightly as you cooed into him.

His hand tightened at your hip, fingers digging in to keep you, and himself, balanced. He lowered his mouth, kissing at your collarbone, one hand rising up to your breast. He pinched your nipple lightly and you let out a gasp, grabbing his shoulder as the water beat down on you both.

Your other hand reached down to his hard cock, wrapping around it lightly as he let out a deep exhale, nestling his face back into your neck. You stroked him slowly as he continued to play with your nipple, flicking it gently. He groaned against your skin as you began to speed up. You felt so needy for him, dick feeling so large in your hand.

His foot slipped lightly against the damp ground and he took in a sharp breath as he grabbed your hips hard again for balance, both hands wrapping around you tightly. He chuckled again into your neck, his heart pounding in his chest.

You tossed over again, you could feel your neck slick with sweat as the clock's hours wound by.

His fingers pressed forcefully into your skin, his lips soft against your neck. Feeling secure in his hands you slowly lifted your leg up around his back, pushing his cock against your opening. He let out a low whine against your skin.

He pushed into you slowly, wiping the shower water from his forehead with a light chuckle, kissing your neck. You let him sink into you, rocking your hips against him as he sped up, pushing deep. You laughed lightly as his grip tightened on you to keep stable, and he looked up at you with another gawky smile.

Resting his forehead against yours he settled into you, and you felt your orgasm rising. Your hands rested again on the back of his neck as you looked into his bright eyes, the water washing over the both of you like rain.

He let out a soft breath, kissing you lightly. "Baby I'm gonna-"

Your alarm blared as the morning rays shone through the window. You rolled over and shut it off as you wiped your eyes. You couldn't understand how it was morning already, the night had fled by yet you felt like you hadn't slept a wink.

With a large yawn you shuffled out of bed and back into the bathroom, splashing your face with cold water. You wanted desperately to go back to bed, to fall asleep on the hard mattress, but as you pulled your clothes on you knew the brothers would be waiting for you at the car any moment now, and you didn't want to keep them waiting. Tugging your boots on you gave one last look at the bed, weighing up the decision, before heading out the door.

Dean stood lent against the Impala, his long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed. He eyed you up and down as you approached, and you felt your core tightening, images from your dream filling your mind. Your dream- it still felt so real, and you didn't feel like you'd slept at all, but you shook your head, what else could it have been?

"Are we heading out?" You called as you walked towards him, drinking him in, his tight jaw, his tall figure.

He gave a light nod and rubbed one of his eyes with an outstretched finger, "As soon as Sam gets back with coffee."

"Coffee?" It was unlike Dean to start a drive with a coffee, he'd often complained to you that you'd spill it when you brought one in the car.

"I didn't sleep a wink." He looked over your shoulder towards Sam, walking up with three drinks. "Right, let's get going."

You reached towards the handle of the passenger side. Dean reached out a hand to stop you "Sam's in the front, you're in the back."

You cocked an eyebrow over at Sam, who replied with a confused shrug, handing you your coffee.

Being in the back ended up being a blessing. You spent the journey watching Dean from behind, his head nodding along to the music. You watched as he took the occasional sip of coffee, the cup brushing against his lips, his jaw tightening as he swallowed. You knew if you were in the front seat you'd be able to see his arms better, his legs- you'd be able to reach out and touch him-

You brought your eyes to the road, staring straight ahead to avoid looking at Dean. Sam looked back at you from the passenger seat.

"You okay?" His brow furrowed.

"I didn't sleep great." You said with an involuntary yawn.

He looked over to Dean, "That makes two of you, he's been complaining since we got up-"

"It was your damn snoring that kept me up!" He replied, irritable.

Sam rolled his eyes, "We pulling over for a bite anytime soon?"

Dean looked over at the time. "I'll pull over for gas at the next stop, you can grab something there."

"Come on we should sit down-"

"We'll never make headway if we keep stopping- five minutes and then we keep moving."

He pulled over into a small gas station. You almost wanted to stay in the car, slumped on the back seat, but you pried yourself up.

Stretching your legs, you let the fresh air wash over you, the coolness only slightly alleviating your drowsy state. You walked in with Sam as he went to pay for the gas and you walked over to the snacks, eventually settling on a some cans of soda, and a pack of jerky.

You paid and walked back out, watching as Dean pushed Sam's shoulder, hard. You ran over to them, confused and weary, standing next to Sam.

"What the hell?!" You threw your purchase into the cars open window, looking up at Dean.

"I told him he couldn't keep driving if he's going to fall asleep at the wheel and he blew up!" Sam replied, angry. For the first time today you got a proper look at Dean's full face: small crinkles at the corner of his eyes, dark circles under them, his unshaved face looking clearly disheveled. You hadn't realized quite how tired he actually looked.

"I'm fine I just need some sleep, when we stop tonight I'll-"

You cut him off, resting your hand on his chest lightly, instantly regretting it as the the heat coming off his chest reminded you of last night's dream. You moved it back to your side quickly, Deans eyes flickering between your own. "Let Sam drive and get some sleep."

You both sank back into your respective seats, you lay stretched out across the back, an arm under your head, Dean in the passenger seat, his jacket serving as a makeshift pillow.

He pulled off his shirt as he looked up at you, wetting his lips as he watched your almost naked body rolling in the moonlight, your underwear the only thing between you as you grinded against him. You'd been making out for hours, the steamed up windows of the impala hiding you both from the outside world. His hand rested on your stomach, his eyes greedily taking you in, your breasts clad in a lacy black bra, your thighs wrapped around his body. His other hand flowed over your skin, tracing patterns across it.

You shuffled, restless, looking up at the trees soaring past as Sam drove. Your eyes fell on Dean, who yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

You lifted yourself up as you leant over him, his hands tugging at your underwear and then his own. He pushed you back into a sitting position, yearning to look at your body as you moved against him. You sat on his stomach, giving yourself a second to catch your breath.

"Baby I need you-" he begged, grabbing your hand to kiss your fingers, your palm, your wrist, desperate to touch you. "Please-"

You liked his needy sounds, liked him wanting you. He placed his hands on your thighs, gently pushing you backwards. You lifted yourself up on your knees, sinking onto his length, a moan escaping your lips as he gritted his own teeth to keep himself quiet.

You rolled your hips into him, taking control as he grabbed your thighs, rolling his head back in enjoyment. You let your clit knock against the base of his cock, only pushing you further as you began to bounce on him. You brought your own hands up to your tits, grabbing hold of them as you moved. Dean looked up at you again, his eyes going wide in a hungry haze, following your movements.

You felt your orgasm rising, a small pit in your stomach forming as you half remembered your liminal state. You tried to stave it off, desperate for longer with this Dream-Dean. He pulled you closer to him, thrusting his own hips now in time with you, drinking in every inch of your body as you moved above him. On each thrust he knocked against your clit, pushing you further and further to the edge.

The car braked suddenly, and you reached out to steady yourself, blinking desperately to come to reality. You watched in a numb bubble as Dean began to raise his voice at Sam, stroking the dashboard of the Impala and saying something about how he shouldn't have let Sam drive. Once again you felt desperately tired, not understanding how long had passed.

"Was I asleep?" You cut through their argument. Both of them turned to look at you, reminding themselves of your presence amongst their bickering.

"You both looked kind of outta it-" Sam started, looking at you both.

"I don't feel like I got a second." Dean cut him off, stretching his body out against the cramp front seat.

"I don't know, you weren't exactly asleep, Dean you were nodding along to the music-" he looked back at you in the mirror, "but neither of you were really here."

The hours wound by as Sam drove, you and Dean both trying desperately, and failing, to sleep. You couldn't believe this was only one night awake, you'd pulled all nighters before, but this was different, tiredness aching throughout every inch of your muscles, you head beginning to spin, dizziness making you feel nauseous.

By the time you reached the hotel you felt like you could drop, every movement taking a lifetime, your limbs heavy and slow. You petitioned again for two rooms, the idea of another night without sleep unfathomable, but when Sam came wandering back with only one key dangling from his finger you knew that was a battle you'd lost.

"I'm telling you there was only one room left!" Sam stated as he pushed open the door to the room, and you let out a heavy sigh, met with the sight of a double bed and tiny couch. It had become tradition for the boys to take the bed and for you to take whatever scraps you could when left in this situation.

"I guess this is me then." You pointed to the couch, desperate for the too soft cushions to envelope you.

"Nah go on, that's mine tonight." Sam guided you towards the bed, "Least I can do is let you and Dean try to get some real sleep."

Normally you'd care about sleeping in a bed with Dean, especially under the circumstances, with images of his naked body filling your head any time you closed your eyes, but you were unwilling to pass up the chance for a real bed. You stripped off your outer layers quickly, your need to lay down out weighing any bashfulness, and slid under the covers. Moments later you felt Dean follow suit, his warm body instantly heating you up in the small space.

Sam shook his head, looking at both of your exhausted selves, and began to get to work on sleep himself, eventually settling down on the couch to rest.

You felt hot under the covers, the heat radiating off Dean leaving a sticky feeling all over you. You thought about getting up, splashing yourself with the ice cold tap water, but you could barely will your legs to move, let alone stand. The feeling of him so close to you, his deep breathing the only sound, enveloped you. You thought back to your dreams, to him pushing into you, his hands on your thighs, his mouth on yours.

You inched your hand down to your waistband, listening to Dean's heavy breathing in the desperate hope that he was finally asleep.

His hands slipped into your underwear, lightly hesitating for a moment before he let his fingers push into your folds. You bit back a moan, as he glided through your wetness, his fingers carefully pressing against you.

You pushed a finger into yourself deep, taking in a sharp breath at the feeling. The images from the last day filled your mind. You added another finger and sped up your movements, desperate for the release you'd been missing.

He pushed his fingers deep into you as you began to gently rock your hips against his movements. In the thick heat of the covers, the feeling of him inside you flowed through your body, your legs tensing in enjoyment.

You let out a small gasp into the nights air, your own fingers a feeble attempt at replicating his, but still filling you with arousal. Dean shifted in the bed and you paused, waiting to hear another movement, so wrapped up in your own mind you'd forgotten completely that you'd been hoping he was asleep. Another movement from his side, the sound of a hitched breath, a small grunt, you waited. You wanted to speak up, ask if he was still awake, but the feeling of your fingers still inside yourself stopped you - you just needed release.

You reached out to him, your hands finding his body under the covers, gliding over his skin. He was hot to the touch, you felt the curves of his muscles as he breathed deeply. He cupped your hand, pushing it down to his erect dick, letting out a quiet gasp as your wrapped your hand around it.

You started to stroke his cock, your hand finding a steady rhythm as you gripped him tighter. You felt as his hand found you again, pushing his fingers into you. Both of you pushed against each other, your hot breaths the only sound in the room, hips thrusting lightly, fingers gliding over each other.

You pushed your fingers into yourself deeper, faster, needier. You felt desperate for a release, the feelings only growing. But you felt no closer to orgasm, your arousal filling your body, pounding in your ears.

Dean shot up, shocking you in the silent nighttime air, your hands quickly pulling out of your underwear and resting back above the sheets as you feigned innocence. Dean made no note of you as he stormed into the bathroom, moments later you heard the shower turn on and pictured the feeling of cold water splashing over you, annoyed you hadn't thought to go in first.

Doubt crept over you as you thought back to your actions- was he awake that whole time? What had he heard, how loud had you been? Had he felt your movements next to him?

You looked over at the time. Once again it seemed like moments had passed in hours, and you were still desperate to sleep. With Dean still in the shower you shuffled out of the bed, slipping on a loose flannel and pair of pants. You took another glance over at Sam, fast asleep on the couch, before stepping out the door, letting the cool air hit you.

You walked down to the parking lot, rubbing your eyes and letting out a long yawn. You lent against the car for what felt like forever as you watched the sun begin to rise, the golden light hitting the dew covered ground.

Dean made his way out of the motel room, following your footsteps down to the Impala, his hair still damp from his shower. You smiled at him as he walked over, shielding his eyes slightly from the bright morning light with his hand. He stood next to you in silence, both of you watching the sun continue to rise.

A breeze blew through the trees, chilling your skin. Dean took another look at you, pulling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around you, draping a large arm over your shoulder. He pulled you into him, your head leaning against his chest, warming you up. You stayed like that, both of you surrounded with silence, enjoying the feeling of resting against one another.

He took in a deep breath, breaking the ice, "It's more than just sleep isn't it?"

You looked up at him cautiously.

"You feel like you're going to drop? The night feels like it barely exists, filled with weird dreams, and you can't work out why? Your muscles ache more than they ever have before?"

You nodded.

"Me too." He wiped his eye with an outstretched finger, "Something happened on the hunt. Sam's fine so it's got to be something to do with that freaky genie. He's awake, I've already got him looking into some stuff."

"Dean, I'm so tired-" you felt like you wanted to cry, desperate to sleep.

"I know, I know." He shifted his body, enveloping you in a deep hug. "Me too, we'll work this out."

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creepytoes88 · 3 months ago

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my back arched like a cat.ᗢ⋆˚࿔

DEAN WINCHESTER X CATGIRL!READER

SUMMARY: A witch hunt gone wrong leaves reader with some unexpected furry features. dean wonders if the hentai gods have finally answered his prayers. 4.1k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). cat-hybrid reader. which means mentions of animal ears, tails, meowing, etc (do not read if you don't likd that kind of stuff). piv. unprotected sex. dean is a nerd and a freak but we knew that. one (1) mention of tentacles.

NOTES: i can't stop thinking about dean watching "cartoon smut" so here it is. the author is a virgin so there might be unrealistic details but reader is a catgirl so actually anything could happen. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

Focused on using your last witch-killing bullet before the old woman in front of you finishes chanting a spell that’s apparently sucking all the air out of Sam’s lungs, you don’t notice the black cat behind you.

The case had been simple enough. Another witch causing mayhem in a small town, leaving hex bags scattered around for you three to find. You spoke with the locals, identified the suspect, and followed her to the small abandoned house she used as a lab. It looked almost like a real lab—petri dishes everywhere, concoctions bubbling. The smell of spices and herbs would’ve been overwhelming if you weren’t so focused on fighting for your life.

The black cat, apparently not too fond of you shooting its mistress, sinks its teeth into your ankle with a strength no normal house-cat should have. You shriek and try to step forward just as the cat tries to dart away. You do your best not to step on it—the animal might be the familiar of an evil witch, but you still refuse to hurt a kitty—which only causes you to trip. You and the little feline end up rolling away in a tangle of claws and limbs. You stumble into one of the lab tables, and because your luck is the worst, a sticky liquid spills all over you. Thankfully, it isn’t one of the bubbling concoctions, so there’s no third-degree burns. Instead, you’re drenched in a purple, syrupy substance that smells like… candy?

You spit out the cat fur that somehow made its way into your mouth, while the source of this whole disaster hisses at you, as if it’s all your fault. The cat walks off, offended, head raised high and tail flicking in the air. Then, suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot makes both you and the cat turn. Dean had regained consciousness after being knocked out by a blow to the head and had finally killed the witch. You and the feline both make noises of displeasure, but for very different reasons.

The cat runs off, meowing in sorrow for the loss of its guardian. You groan, because with the witch dead, it’s going to be a hundred times harder to figure out exactly what the hell you’re covered in.

So now you are in the bunker, all three of you reading any book you can find on magic and candy-scented potions. You leave Rowena a voicemail, but you doubt she’ll get back to you anytime soon.

The substance had absorbed into your skin a few minutes after the accident, not even giving you time to try and wash it away. It had basically disappeared, only leaving a faint glow and a sweet smell on your skin as proof of the whole ordeal.

After hours of finding nothing useful, you drag yourself into the kitchen to make your third batch of coffee. Something feels off, but in a weird, unfamiliar way. Everything smells stronger, sharper, and more complex. You suddenly have the urge to stretch and lie down in the sunlight, even though you’ve always been known for your vitamin D deficiency. And for fuck’s sake, you still can’t get rid of the sensation of cat fur in your mouth.

“Stupid witchy cat.” You grumble as you wait for the coffee maker to finish its job.

A snicker coming from behind you makes you jump, and you quickly turn around to find your boyfriend leaning on the kitchen island. Dean gives you one of his signature grins, but you can see the undercurrent of worry in his eyes. He’s just as desperate as you to figure out exactly what’s happening.

“Are you done pouting at the coffee? I think Sam is about to pass out.”

That only makes your pout deepen, and Dean chuckles lowly before he starts to walk around the island.

But suddenly there’s a pressure on your head, and your vision gets a little blurry. You lean back against the counter, blinking slowly until the dizziness fades. Once you’re able to focus your eyes again, you turn to Dean.

Your boyfriend is frozen, staring at you with wide eyes and his jaw dropped. You start to get a little worried. What if the potion gave you some horrid, irreversible mutation, and now you have to be sent to the middle of a labyrinth like the Minotaur?

“Dean? Dean!” But he doesn’t even blink, he doesn’t move, he just stares at you. But no, he isn’t looking at you, per se, his gaze is laser-focused just a little higher, right into the top of your head.

That’s when you feel the pressure on the sides of your scalp, and then something twitches. Dean lets out a choked sound, and your hands shoot up instinctively, finding two furry triangles nestled in your hair.

“What. The. Fuck?”

You turn around and find your reflection in the glass of the microwave. Indeed, there are two black cat ears sticking out of your head, the same color of your hair and— the same color of the familiar’s fur.

“That son of a bitch!”

Something behind you stiffens, then shoots upward in response to your anger, and this time Dean curses loudly. In the reflection, you can see it sticking from behind your shoulder, a long black—something—that twitches at the same time your new cat ears do. You hope it’s not what you think it is, but it looks a lot like…

“Are you fucking kidding me? A goddamn tail?”

You turn your head around to look, and there it is, sticking from under the black skirt you had changed into when you got home from the hunt. Same color as your ears, and swinging slowly, lifting your skirt a bit.

“Holy shit.”

Your head snaps up, locking eyes with Dean. His expression is frozen somewhere between awe and disbelief, but there’s something else too—something heated lurking beneath the surface. You’re too busy panicking to dwell on it.

“Guys! I think I found some– oh.”

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom for what feels like hours. Turns out, the ears and tail weren’t the only side effects of that unfinished shape-shifting potion. No, you’ve also grown fangs—which, okay, you have to admit, are kind of pretty— and you are feeling a little… kittenish?

Like, you have to fight the urge to hiss every time Dean yells through the door for you to come out. You keep catching yourself wanting to rub your side against random furniture—scenting, Sam called it. And worst of all, you’re battling an overwhelming impulse to knock every delicate object in the bunker straight onto the floor.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can’t stay in there forever.”

You sigh, ears flattening against the top of your head. Dean’s right, if you want to fix this you have to leave the bathroom. With a defeated huff, you finally unlock the door.

He’s waiting on the other side, smirking, but he immediately tries to hide his amusement when he catches sight of your frown. You swallow down another hiss, striding past him and into the room you two shared, head high, tail flicking in clear offense.

But as soon as you brush past Dean, an overwhelming smell hits you. You admittedly liked the way Dean usually smelled, like whiskey and motor oil, something musky but sweet at the same time that you had grown to associate with home. But now, with your newly developed sharp senses, it is intoxicating.

“Baby, wait–” Dean tries to stop you from walking away, but you’re already moving, pressing yourself against his chest before you even think about it. “Uf. What…?”

You bury your nose in his neck, sniffing. Dean makes a small, strangled sound when the tip of your nose brushes behind his ear, but you ignore it.

“You smell good.” You mumble, hands pawing at his chest and keeping your face pressed to his skin.

“Thanks?” Dean huffs out, his hands wrapping around your waist. Your boyfriend smells like heaven, but something is missing. A deep, instinctual frustration wells up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you start nuzzling against him, rubbing your cheek against his skin with frantic determination. He tries to pull you away, and a loud whine rips itself out of your throat.

The sound makes you snap out of it, and you’re suddenly jumping back. You press your back against the wall while you try to catch your breath. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the heat crawling up your spine.

“Sorry.” You whisper after a long moment. “I don’t know what happened.”

Dean blinks at you, still standing where you left him, hands half-raised like he’s not sure whether to reach for you or give you space. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Uh. So it is that bad, huh?”

You don’t answer, still pressed against the wall, mortified.

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Look, sweetheart, no need to freak out, okay? You’re just, uh—adjusting.” His lips twitch. “Though, gotta say, not used to you being this eager to cuddle me in the middle of a crisis.”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Dean, please.”

“I’m just sayin’" He lifts his hands defensively. "if this is a side effect, I’m not exactly complaining.”

Your glare sharpens, but Dean just grins, eyes flicking to your still-twitching ears. His smirk falters for a second, though, when he remembers that sound—the desperate little whine you let out when he pulled away. His fingers flex at his sides.

“But, uh… you’re okay, right?” His voice is softer now, eyes scanning your face.

You nod, still rattled but slowly coming back to yourself.

“As okay as you can be after being physically-modified without your consent.”

Dean watches you for a beat longer, then huffs out a breath and shakes his head.

“Alright. Well, if you feel the urge to, y’know, scent-mark me again, maybe give a guy some warning next time.”

The words ‘scent-mark’ make you grimace, and you cover your eyes with your hands again.

“I will murder you, you know I can.”

The threat only makes him laugh, and you sigh in defeat. You will never live this down, that you are sure of.

“Did Sam find anything about how to fix this?”

You hear Dean shift closer, and you drop your hands, meeting his gaze.

“Rowena called back while you were locked in there.” He hesitates, pressing his lips together like he already knows you’re not going to like what’s next. “Since the potion wasn’t finished, the effects are temporary. You’ll just have to wait it out, baby.”

“This is a fucking nightmare.” You scoff, leaning back against the wall in resignation.

Your cat ears flatten, tail curling low around your thigh. The kitten fangs feel too big in your mouth, and the sheer overload of sounds and scents is driving you insane.

Dean steps closer. It’s only then that you notice his pupils—blown wide, dark with something unreadable. You frown, about to question it, but before you can, he moves.

And then he’s kissing you.

The kiss is hot and sudden, stealing the breath from your lungs before you can even react. It is a little rougher than Dean usually is with you in moments like this, but you’re not complaining. His hands find your waist, pulling you in as he swallows your surprised little gasp.

His palms roam your sides, fingers pressing in like he needs to feel every inch of you. Your hands clutch his shoulders as he leans in closer, deepening the kiss until your head spins. It’s only when your lungs start to burn that you break away.

“Dean, w– ah!” As soon as you pull your lips away, he starts kissing down your neck. “What’s gotten into you?”

He hums against your skin, warm and insistent, sucking softly just below your collarbone. His teeth graze you, and a sound slips past your lips.

A. Literal. Mewl.

Dean groans like you just wrecked him. Before you can even process your own humiliation, his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.

You yelp, arms flying around his shoulders as he holds you against him.

Next thing you know, your back hits the mattress.

Dean looks possessed—breathing heavy, eyes dark. You glance at the door, which was already closed. Your eyes return to Dean when his hands slide under your skirt. You’re about to ask what’s going on again, until you notice the way his eyes are locked on your kitten ears.

Your tail sways, slow and deliberate against the sheets. Realization hits you suddenly, and you grab Dean’s shoulders to stop him from leaning in again.

“You’re into this shit.” It is more an affirmation than a question.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

Dean’s weirdly specific interest in anime. The late-night “cartoon smut” Sam always rolled his eyes at. The alarming amount of Japanese erotic magazines you’d found in the Impala’s trunk that one time. His utterly feral reaction to your new feline features.

You inhale sharply, scandalized. “Dean. Do you have a catgirl fetish?”

He scoffs, but a blush creeps into his cheeks. For the first time in your life, you’re seeing Dean Winchester flustered.

He tries to straighten up, but you stop him, still gripping his shoulders. Your grin stretches wide, ears perking up with curiosity.

You just stare, eyebrows raised, as Dean struggles to compose himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His comeback is so lame you can’t help but laugh. Just like that, the stress of the potion incident vanishes now that you had an opportunity to tease your boyfriend.

“You little freak!” You slap his shoulder, still a little embarrassed by the whole situation. “Oh my god, I can't believe this.”

“Shut up.” He grunts.

You open your mouth to tease him again, but he shuts you up with another kiss.

Your tongues tangle as Dean tugs your skirt down in one swift motion. You let him, arms lifting when he starts to pull your shirt over your head.

Sure, you’re still freaking out a little. And yeah, Dean being into the catgirl thing is mortifying.

But the heat pooling in your stomach drowns out your embarrassment. Your chest rises and falls, breath hitching as Dean’s hands roam your bare skin—every touch heightened by your new, razor-sharp senses.

Your panties are soaked through in seconds, and you wonder for a second if it is a cat hybrid thing. Your little fangs brush against Dean’s tongue, and he breaks the kiss with a groan.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, baby.” Your underwear is gone in seconds, and you moan when his fingers slide in between the lips of your swollen cunt. “You’re so wet, shit.”

Your back arches off the bed when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles while his fingers press lightly against your entrance. You spread your legs, giving Dean more room in between them. The sound that comes out of you when his middle finger finally buries itself inside of you is so kitten-like that it makes you flush.

“Dean, please.” You mewl, not sure what you’re asking for.

The moment you open your mouth, Dean’s eyes lock onto your little fangs. His thumb brushes over your upper lip before tugging it up, eyes going wide.

"Son of a bitch." He mutters, running his finger over the sharp point of one. "Look at that. So fucking cute."

You brush your tongue against the pad of his thumb. The sensation has you drooling, your mouth forced open, and before you can process it, Dean shoves his middle and ring fingers inside.

You suck on his fingers, your head bobbing and tongue curling around them. Dean groans, pushing his digits deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He only pulls away when saliva spills down the corner of your mouth, wiping his hand on the sheets before kissing down your neck.

“So damn messy for me, kitten.” He licks and nips at your chest, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. You push your hips down, trying to get him deeper inside you. “You’re so needy, baby. Like a kitty in heat.”

Dean’s words are hushed, a little rambly—you’ve never heard him like this. Mr. Confident and Nonchalant, completely unraveling. He’s so crazily into this crap, it’s almost funny.

Your laugh comes out breathy as Dean presses his thumb a little harder against you. That makes him pause, eyes flicking up. He looks as disheveled as you expected him to be, but he is now frowning.

“What are you laughing at?” He grunts, settling between your legs.

“I should’ve known your hentai-ridden brain would be into this shit, but I never imagined you’d get this—hot and bothered over a pair of cat ears.”

You wait for Dean to yank off his shirt before leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Are you into tentacles too? Or maybe—”

You are silenced by Dean slapping your pussy.

The smack echoes around the room, and it makes you choke on your words.

“You better shut that pretty mouth before I shut it up for you.”

The “don’t threaten me with a good time” dies on your tongue when two more fingers enter you. You were loose and wet enough for it, throbbing with the need to have Dean inside of you.

Maybe you are in heat.

You whine when the digits suddenly pull out, but then you’re being turned around into your front. Dean helps you positionate on all four, face low against the mattress and ass raised high, back arched in a perfect, flawless curve.

You almost get knocked down when Dean suddenly presses against you. The blunt tip of his cock brushes up and down your slit, collecting the obscene amount of slick that is steadily dripping out of you. He slowly presses against your entrance until only the head is inside. Dean waits a few seconds, making you whimper desperately before he buries himself to the hilt in one swift motion.

You let out a high-pitched moan at the sudden feeling of fullness.

“Hell, look at you.” Dean starts to thrust immediately, hips rocking mercilessly against you. “Look at your pretty tail, fuck.”

That makes you turn your head around, and you catch sight for your tail swinging in contentment at being fucked. Your blush worsens and you hide your face against the covers.

“You feel so good, kitty. Such a tight, warm cunt, just for me.”

Dean’s hips shift and suddenly he is slamming against that spot that makes you grip the blankets for dear life. You mewl helplessly, ears twitching and pussy tightening around Dean.

“Yeah, Dean. Ngh- right there.”

Dean keeps thrusting into you at a brutal pace, and the only sounds your enhanced hearing can pick up are your loud whines and Dean’s rough moans. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope Sam is reading away in the library, far enough not to hear.

Amidst all the burning sensation, you almost miss the way Dean’s hand curls around the base of your tail. It makes your shoulders tense up, and then he tugs at it.

The sensation that runs up your spine is like nothing you had ever felt before. Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back. You let out a yowl of pleasure, totally overwhelmed by it.

The way you tighten around Dean makes him still for a second, surprised by your intense reaction. You whimper and rock your hips back.

“Again. Dean– again.”

There’s one more second of stillness before Dean resumes the roll of his hips with new-found vigor. It is almost violent in the best way, and it makes your nails drag down the blankets, your tongue lolling out of your mouth.

“You like that, baby?” Dean whispers, and he sounds wrecked. His voice is strangled and the hand that is not on your tail is gripping your hips so hard you just know it will leave marks.

“You like having your tail pulled? What a needy little thing.”

You nod as best as you can while being rocked back and forth insatiably, and you are rewarded by a harsh tug to your tail. You moan and mewl repeatedly, asking for more.

Dean keeps pulling at your tail, his other hand leaving your hip and sliding around your body until he finds your swollen clit. He starts rubbing it and tugging your tail at the same time, making you throw your head back and scream.

“I’m close.” You cry out. “Fuck, Dean. Gonna come.”

“Cum for me, kitten.” The head of his cock keeps hitting that sensitive spot, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. “You’ve been so good for me, get this cute little cunt all messy for me.”

You let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a meow as you cum, wetness dripping out of you and running down your thighs.

Your boyfriend keeps fucking you through your orgasm, thrusts now sloppy and desperate.

“That’s it. So goddamn tight, fuck. Fuck.”

He grunts loudly as he comes inside of you. Thick ropes of cum cover your inner walls, filling you with warmth. You hum in satisfaction at the feeling. Dean stays deep inside you even after his climax ends, panting and stroking your tail softly.

You whine, ears going flat against your head when he slowly pulls out. It makes him chuckle, and you pout. It quickly disappears when Dean lays down next to you, pulling you against his chest before draping a blanket over your naked bodies.

“You like getting your tail pulled.” He breathes out, like he is still marveling at the discovery.

Still recovering from the most intense orgasm you have ever had, you hide your face against Dean’s neck and groan.

“Shut up.” You grumble. But after a second, you end up whispering. “It felt good.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

That earns him a slap on the chest. He just laughs, pulling you closer. Too fucked out to care, you nuzzle your cheek against his skin—scenting him. He already smells like you after everything that just happened, and the thought fills you with a deep, lazy satisfaction.

Then, suddenly, a low, rumbling sound vibrates deep in your chest. It rolls through your whole body, making you melt further into Dean’s arms. His hand, still tracing up and down your back, abruptly stops.

He calls your name, voice tinged with shock.

“Are you… purring?”

That makes you pause.

You are fucking purring, from getting railed.

You’re about to die from embarrassment when Dean curses loudly, his forehead dropping against the top of your head. Your kitten ears twitch and brush against his cheeks, making him groan again.

“God fucking damn it. There’s no way—this has to be some messed-up fever dream.”

If you’re being honest, your boyfriend being so affected by it makes all the shame wash away. You giggle, still purring.

“You fucked me so well you made me purr.” You whisper in his ear, and he looks like he’ll combust.

“You can’t say shit like that.” He grunts, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Just saying the truth, love.”

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other, chests pressed together. The steady rumble of your purring fills the space, low and soothing. At some point, your tail curls around Dean’s arm, and he just chuckles, tracing lazy shapes along your back with his fingertips.

You scent him one last time for good measure, this time dragging your lips along his neck, leaving little bruises and imprints of your sharp teeth all over.

He lets you, exhaling softly, his other hand finding your kitten ears. The gentle scratch behind them pulls a sweet, contented sigh from your throat.

“Y'know,” Dean murmurs after a long stretch of silence, mischief lacing his voice. “There’s one more thing we should probably check before the potion wears off.”

You hum, too relaxed to question it.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"Do you have a rough tongue?"

You turn to him in disbelief, catching the way his eyes darken.

"We already kissed, dumbass. Your fingers were literally in my mouth. You know I don’t."

You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, that cocky grin only widens as he leans in further, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Maybe… but we should make sure. Plus, y’know, cats love milk—”

"You absolute perv!" You push him again, harder this time, and he finally falls back against the mattress with a chuckle.

You shake your head, laughing at his audacity. “Shut up before I tell everyone big bad hunter Dean Winchester is a fucking nerd with a catgirl kink.”

By morning, all kitten features are gone. You celebrate while Dean mourns the loss, But you already know—eventually, you’ll be asking Rowena for a similar potion.

You simply like making your boyfriend feel good, even if it includes some weird hentai shit.

It had nothing to do with how good the tail-pulling felt, of course.

NOTES: yes, i had to watch catgirl hentai while researching for this (no other reason). I can't believe this is so long but I am unable to shut the fuck up. anyway, hope you liked it!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

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creepytoes88 · 3 months ago

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x p!link ۶ৎ ⋆ ˖ ࣪ [ cw: use of “daddy” in blurb ]

older!bf!dean who seats you on his lap after a long day. maybe you spent the day researching. maybe you just got back from a case. who knows?

the point is you’re finally together. and alone.

dean strips you down and grabs you by the hips, dragging you to sit on his lap. his semi-hard cock pokes into you, his length eager from eying down your bare body.

he brings his fingers to his mouth, moistening them, before letting them meet the wet folds between your legs. “shit, so wet for me already, baby. how long’ve you been needing daddy?” he purrs into your ear from behind, his hot breath brushing against your skin as his fingers tease your clit.

you whine, feeling your cheeks blush, and you mumble out a response, “too long.”

dean chuckles at that, and you feel his chest vibrating against your back. “that’s my girl.”

it doesn’t take long for dean to work you up into a whiny mess, your broken voice begging for him to give you more, your cunt weeping desperately onto his pruned fingers.

he pulls out your pretty pink vibrator and flicks it on, the sounds making your cunt drool and heart thud in anticipation.

dean brings it to your sensitive nerves, letting the vibrations kiss against you in the most heavenly way. you can’t help the gasps and mewls from flying out of your mouth as your hips start moving on their own, dancing with the friction against your swollen cunt.

“there we go. that’s it,” dean coos. “being a good girl for daddy. taking it so well, sweetheart.”

he presses it against you more, holding it right at that sweet spot that makes your head spin. a wave of hot pleasure finally crashes over you; your hips jerk around, and a chorus of pretty moans escapes your parted lips.

“atta girl. aaatta girl. just like that,” dean hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “being so good f’me.”

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creepytoes88 · 4 months ago

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Simon Riley with a user who basically kidnaps herself. CW : Masturbation, mentions of oral

It started with the little things. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise more frequently. You heard heavy breathing and a slick sound at night coming from your slightly open window. A blank account following your public instagram account.

You then started seeing him. A tall burly man that seemed to always appear In the corner of your eye. You never saw his face because of the balaclava he wore. And that frustrated you.

Hell, if a guy is going to stalk you, the least he can do is not hide his face.

Eventually, you got sick of it. You let the brute of a man follow you home as usual. Let him watch you 'sleep' through your window while he fisted his cock. And then when he went home, you followed him.

You honestly thought he'd catch you. Feel you watching him. Following him home. But it seemed that his post orgasmic haze rendered him vulnerable.

You followed the man to a nice looking home. Not huge or anything, but It was cozy.

You then watched through a window as he drank a glass of whiskey, before walking through the home to his bedroom.

You quickly rushed to the bedroom window, glad the blinds weren't fully shut.

The man then sat down on his bed, pulling something from his bedside drawer-hey wait, are those your fucking panties you lost? Sneaky bastard. Those are your favourite.

And now he's fisting his cock again. Only this time, he's taken off that stupid balaclava to sniff them and-oh.

Oh.

Fuck, he's hot.

Those scars, the dirty blonde hair, the slightly crooked nose from being broken so many times, Jesus H Christ.

Yeah. To say you were thinking of this mans face between your thighs was an understatement. He might genuinely be one of the hottest men you've ever seen.

You quickly went home, going to the blank account that had followed you, and with a few clicks, you found the guys private instagram. Simon Riley. He's not the only person who's good at stalking.

You then found out that he was in the military. A Lieutenant. Seemed to be really private. No matter though, you already knew where he lived.

The following day, you took the day off work, and broke into Simon's home. Moving almost all of your stuff in. He wouldn't mind.

Then, when Simon walked into his house he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you, sipping from one of his mugs, on his couch.

The woman he'd been stalking for nearly a year.

"I-what-what are you doing here?" He muttered, eyes wide as he took off his balaclava.

"You should have shown me your face earlier. I would have moved in ages ago" you shrugged.

"Moved in?" Simon almost squeaked.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

before you all panic, yes. There will be a part two :p

Edit! ~ there's a part 2 you thirsty animals ⟢ right here! ❤︎

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creepytoes88 · 4 months ago

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Part two of Simon Riley with a user who kidnaps herself. CW: Cunnilingus, Somnophilia, PiV, they're both a bit crazy, brief mention of blood (in a ring) part one here if you missed it!

Simon was currently stood over his bed. Staring at you. Under his covers.

You smelled so good too. Simon didn't want to get in bed and disrupt the scent of you with his own. He'd never forgive himself.

It was strange. Simon thought that if you found out he was stalking you, you would scream, call the cops, anything but this.

Maybe you were as crazy as he was. A thought that both terrified and excited Simon. Although the excitement definitely weighed out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon merely watched you as days went by. He watched you eat, watch tv, sleep, bathe. And it didn't creep you out in the slightest.

You knew there was always an adjustment period when two people moved in together. So you let him watch you. He was like a wary cat. It was rather cute.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You can get in bed, you know" you hum tiredly one night. Opening your eyes and looking up at the behemoth of a man that would have terrified anyone else if they saw him watching them sleep.

"Don't want to make the bed smell like me when it smells like you"

"If you cuddle me you'd be close enough to smell me really good"

Simon stared. Brows furrowing in thought. Before he gives in.

Simon awkwardly slid into the bed next to you, tensing slightly when you grabbed his arms and wrapped them around your waist.

But as soon as Simon seemed to understand that he was touching you and you wanted him to keep touching you, he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you flush against him with your legs around his thick waist so he could bury his face into your chest.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After that, Simon could barely keep his hands off you. As soon he got home from base, he would find you somewhere in his home and wrap his arms around you. Refusing to let go for at least ten minutes.

He also gave you the best head you'd ever received. Definitely a bonus.

Every guy you'd been with before Simon, treated the act like a chore. Lazily licking you until raising their head and asking if you'd finished yet.

Simon though? He does it for his own pleasure.

Simon will find you wherever you're lazing about the house. Drop to his knees. And go to town.

Sucking on your clit until your legs shook, moving his head down to lick the wet slick coming from your hole. The first time he shoved his tongue in your hole to taste more of you? You nearly screamed as you came unexpectedly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

And the way Simon fucks? You could barely think a coherent thought afterwards.

Sure, the first time you two fucked Simon came almost as soon as he thrust into you. But you couldn't blame him. He was fucking the woman he'd been stalking for over a year. He was bound to get overwhelmed.

Now though, Simon could fuck you for multiple rounds. There'd been times you had to call out of work because you either couldn't walk, or your body was so exhausted afterwards.

And after telling Simon it was okay to fuck you while you were asleep? He was even worse. The amount of times you woke up to Simon fucking into you while cuddling you and drooling into your shoulder was immense. But you loved it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon's favourite part of you being his sweet little stalker, was that sometimes he would tell you he's going out. And then he would see you in the corner of his eye.

But Simon's favouritest part of his favourite part, was when he would go out with his team, and they'd point it out. Unfortunately it only happened a few times. The team getting used to seeing you watching Simon from afar. But whenever Simon noticed you, he got the stupidest smile on his face. Knowing he was definitely going to marry you. Propose to you with a ring where the gemstone was made of his own blood.

"tha' lass been followin' us bar tae bar all nigh'" Soap muttered. The rest of the team being concerned.

"Yeah" Simon grinned dumbly "she's the best ain't she?"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon was just over the moon that you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. And you moving into his home unannounced had to be the most romantic thing Simon had ever experienced in his life. You were perfect for him.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Tag list ~ @thefutureastronaut @illyanam1011 @likewhyareyousoobsessedwith-blog @hbaasaad @idknowwhattdowhitmylife @maybe-a-bi-witch @thatpersonnamedrook @miss-chanandler-bong @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @baduzzxy @skeletonsucker @drewsuncrustables @milanriol @aceywaycy @jooba @morallygrayboys @logansblackgf @dreamland08 @nicolebarnes @spacecola7 @teapartydreams @callsignao3 @garejuremuzum @laduenadelswing @xxkay15xx @simonsslut @princessbitchybucket @unclearblur @emily-roberts @nightreverie @huehuehuehuehehe @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot @wandabillywrites @mcira @klttn @ditzydoefx @vmaxis @keldeleine @persephone-kore-law @adrislibrary @arcvenes @thicksexxualtension @ltrileys @tbhiddlestan83 @lia-36 @happyficlibrary @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @hellshire-harlot @saturnspector @foo1ishs3renity @fishsinsareacknowledged @werebear-roams @cutedumbbunny @masterclassofescapism @lovelylocs @lady-of-death @fwoarmachine

guys I was even super nice and tagged a few reblogs that seemed super into this + made me giggle when reading. So so sorry if some of the tags didn't work/if I forgot someone. Feel free to scream at me in the comments if I did <3

just wanted to credit @feline-flame-fatale for the second last paragraph of this. Their comment was honestly perfect for this. Thank them in the comments RIGHT NOW.

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creepytoes88 · 6 months ago

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Right In Front Of You

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Sometimes, the thing you most need is right in front of you...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, smidge of dirty talk, orgasm. Friends to lovers, only one bed.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Request fill for @eecummingsandgoings, who asked for only one bed trope with Benedict. Thanks to the awesome @colettebronte for beta reading and for the title suggestion! This is a seasonal-ish fic set in early December. Enjoy! <3

“You guys are so late!”

Melanie draws you into a bear hug after her fond chastisement.

“Blame this one,” you roll your eyes and signal a thumb over your shoulder to Benedict as he wanders up the path behind you. “He was supposed to be on map-reading duty after we ran out of phone signal.”

With a big smile, he mimes being stabbed in the chest before he receives a welcoming embrace as well.

“He’s been shit at directions since uni; why the hell did you have him navigate?” she chimes, taking your coats as you peel them off and hanging them in the hallway cupboard.

“Because you have experienced his driving,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, good point,” Melanie guffaws.

“Starting to take this personally now,” Benedict pipes up with a good-natured chuckle as she ushers you both further into the cottage.

“This is nice!” you comment as you survey the place.

Its snug warmth is like an enveloping embrace on this cold, early December day. It's an Airbnb rental in the Lake District and looks suitably rustic but modernised with an open-plan layout—a perfect venue for a uni friends reunion.

“Well, I'm afraid you two are so late that everyone has already nabbed the good bedrooms,” she announces. “You will have to share the other attic room, two floors up.”

“I'm sure we will be fine,” Benedict blithely responds.

“It's only got one bed,” she cackles.

“Bagsy the bed!” you crow, turning to look at him triumphantly.

“Fine, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

While chivalrous, it also seems fair payback, given that he got you so horrendously lost on a single-track country lane, going miles in the wrong direction. Sharing the drive up from London was supposed to take about five hours, not the almost seven that it ended up being by the time you eventually got back on the right road.

Leaving your bags in the hallways, you greet and join the gaggle of friends in the living room area, crowding onto the sectional sofa and beanbags. Melanie, always the mother hen of the group, stands across the room at the kitchen island, stirring a huge casserole dish that smells delicious.

“Alright, you bastards, come and get it,” she calls not long after you settle.

So, all twelve of you decamp to the long table, and drinks flow as you tuck into a hearty, tasty stew. The group have come without their spouses or other halves, except Dave and Andrea have been together since the second year and are still going strong more than ten years later—well, and one other exception.

“Matt brought Vanessa?” you comment into Melanie’s shoulder while conversation flows in little groups.

“Yeah, I know,” she winces. “Sorry…”

“No, it's not that. I just think it’s a bit odd. She’ll have to endure so many old uni tales and in-jokes all weekend. She’ll have little idea what we are all on about…”

Matt is your ex, yes, but you broke up almost a year ago now. You didn't get together until five years after uni, and in hindsight, you wish you never had. Vanessa is his first girlfriend since your breakup. You've been alone since—the only singleton left in the group.

“Drink up,” Melanie advises sagely, refilling your wineglass almost to the brim. “They have the other attic bedroom that backs onto yours, and even though the stone walls here are thick, I've heard rumours she is a loud one.”

“Urgh…” you take a large gulp, not savouring the idea of hearing your ex and his new woman having sex through an adjoining wall.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly: wine flowing, a lovely time as you all catch up and trade stories. Jon recounts a hilariously disastrous holiday in Portugal that ended happily with him meeting his current partner Simon on the plane home, which earns him a round of applause.

The first to turn in is Matt and Vanessa, and not long after, others start to yawn and make their excuses, the drive from various corners of the country taking its toll on everyone.

Benedict grabs your bag as well as his, you trailing behind, making your way slightly gingerly up the second, narrower, steeper staircase to the attic rooms.

“I guess this is us,” he notes, nodding to the only door without a faint lamp glow leaking underneath.

You follow him into the room as he dumps the bags and flicks on a sidelight. It's not big but it’s homely, if a little chilly compared to downstairs, heated by the fireplace as it was.

“Ben, you can’t sleep on the floor; there's a draught,” you remark as you sit on the bed and pull off your fuzzy socks, a coolness wafting over your toes.

“I’ll be alright,” he assures genially, opening the wardrobe to gather a pile of blankets.

“And there's not much room,” you assess, realising the floor space is minimal unless he lays near the chimney, likely the source of the problem. “Seriously, we can share.”

An odd expression clouds his face briefly before he agrees and quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. You do the same after he returns. He is already under the covers, peering at his phone through reading glasses when you shuffle back into the room in your PJs.

“Are you sure about sharing?” he checks as you round the bed to climb into the other side.

“Yes, you idiot,” you chuckle, playfully swatting his leg through the duvet. “Nothing for Paul to worry about,” you add in jest, referring to his boyfriend of over two years now.

He goes so still that you twist to look at him. He is biting his lip with an almost sheepish mein.

“We, umm, broke up about a month ago,” he elucidates quietly.

“God, I'm so sorry; why didn't you say before??!”

It strikes you as odd that he never even mentioned it in the hours you were stuck in the car together. He had just sat dutifully, supplying supportive words as you lamented the dating scene.

“Well, you’ve been away travelling…”

“I meant today.”

“Oh, well, I guess I didn't really see the point, seeing as everyone has left their plus-ones at home,” he shrugs, then tilts his head back. “Well, apart from that idiot,” he adds, referencing Matt through the wall.

“Yeah, I thought that a bit odd he brought her… but anyway, do you want to talk about it? Paul?” you offer, wanting to give your good friend the opportunity to vent.

“Very kind,” he smiles briefly. “But no. I'm sick of talking about it, to be honest. Daph has been non-stop trying to agony aunt the situation, and Eloise has been plying me with alcohol and barbs about all of my terrible life choices, not just Paul,” he grimaces mildly.

You chuckle, knowing exactly how that has likely been going.

“You know he just brought Vanessa to make you jealous, don't you?” Benedict changes tack, keeping his voice soft even though it's unlikely to carry through the thick stone wall.

“Maybe,” you hesitate, then sigh: “I'm over him and his nonsense, to be honest.”

“You were always far too good for him.”

“Hah!”

“I mean it,” he insists, an abrupt intensity to his gaze that causes butterflies.

There’s no point denying your attraction to Benedict; he's a very handsome man. But it's always felt like a harmless crush; you doubt you are his type, and he’s not been single for many years.

“You are just trying to butter me up before you take over the whole bed like an octopus and snore in my face,” you deflect with humour.

“You never could take a compliment, could you?” he chastises gently, taking off his reading glasses and setting aside his phone.

“Please, I would never take any compliment from you seriously,” you riposte dryly. “I knew of your charmer reputation from the very first day of uni. Everyone did. Your Bridgerton reputation preceded you.”

“Entirely unfair to be tarred with the same brush as my lothario of a brother,” he sighs with mock burden. “I mean, yes, okay, at uni, I was a little…”

“Slutty?” you interject

“... adventurous..” he corrects with a narrowing of his hazy eyes, “but nothing like the rumours suggest. I just got with a couple of raconteurs early on who vastly overstated my abilities and skills,” he demures.

You know the truth is somewhere in between the polyamorous, bisexual playboy reputation and the modest version he is claiming.

“Besides, that was years ago,” he points out with a dismissive gesture. “I've had a total of five lovers in the last ten years.”

It is indeed true. Before Paul was Tilly, Tessa, Gen and Henry. He’s been surprisingly monogamous since his earlier, sluttier years.

“Ready to sow your wild oats again?” you ask, bumping him lightly with your shoulder.

“Hah!” it's his turn to scoff.

Just then, a distinct female moan filters through the wall. When it happens again, your eyes dart to each other.

“Oh god, Mel warned me this might happen,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands.

“Told you,” Benedict clucks. “This is definitely designed to make you jealous.”

“Pfft, please. Believe me, he's not that good; she's just a really vocal one, apparently.”

For some reason, you are keen for Benedict to know Matt is not the best you've had. Not bad, but not exactly worthy of the decidedly rousing review Vanessa is now giving through the wall.

“Want to beat him at his own game?”

His face is all permission and danger, making your pulse race, uncertain about what that could mean. But then he breaks into a goofy grin and throws back the covers, athletically jumping to his feet on the bed next to you, looking equal parts adorable and attractive in navy tartan pyjama bottoms and a dark grey t-shirt. He takes a few test bounces, the metal springs of the bedframe under the mattress squeaking mildly in protest as he does so.

“C'mon!” he coaxes, grabbing your arms and hauling you upwards onto your feet. “I think with a few bounces and choice noises, we can make our point.”

Perhaps it's mostly the three glasses of wine, but it seems like a funny idea. You both start to bounce, grasping each other's hands and giggling, the bed beginning to rattle against the adjoining wall as you work up a jumping pace.

“Make it sound like you are having the time of your life,” he proposes, laughing.

Your attempted noise of pleasure has you flushing with embarrassment at the feeble result.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that!” Benedict incites, eyes glittering with mischief.

“I really can't,” you protest.

“Follow my lead. I’m not above a touch of theatrics,” he winks.

Benedict groans loudly, and despite the absurdity of the situation, it makes something run hot and electric through your body. He peers at you expectantly, awaiting your rejoinder.

You cringe as, once again, your second attempt is lacking.

“Loosen up,” he rags lightly before repeating his very distracting noise. “C’mon, just imagine I am the best sex of your life.”

Your traitorous mind finds it remarkably easy to settle on that idea. Supplying a vivid picture of Benedict looming over you, a beguiling lopsided grin on his face as he takes you apart with long fingers buried between your legs. Just the thought has you biting your lip, but not before a feral noise escapes entirely without you meaning it to.

“Oh yes, that's much more like it,” he looks slightly taken aback but entirely approving. He leans in close as he requests: “Just a little louder.”

Then with a grin, he turns to face the wall and pounds his fists onto the thick, rough stone.

“Yeah baby!!” His decidedly Austin Powers-like call echoes up along the ceiling as he tilts his head back, going fully theatrical.

“WE GET THE FUCKING HINT, BRIDGERTON!!”

Matt’s muffled, annoyed yell through the wall has you exchanging looks before collapsing back down onto the bed and rolling around in fits of quiet giggles.

“Well, it worked… I don’t think you were much help at all, though, if I’m honest,” Benedict opines breezily. “I definitely did the heavy lifting.”

“Perhaps I’m just not a loud sex noises person,” you posit.

“Then you haven’t been having the right sex. Which, given you were dating Matt, is sort of a foregone conclusion,” he needles genially.

“Not all of us are Vanessas�� or apparently Benedicts.”

He laughs heartily before countering: “I bet you could be. I’d happily try to have you screaming the roof down if I thought you’d ever bloody let me…”

It's a record-scratch moment that has your stomach flipping even as outwardly, all you do is scoff at the patently ridiculous idea. He must be kidding. He has never given you any vibes of being remotely interested in you in that way.

“Let you?! Bitch, please. As if you’d want to!” you rebut, wine stealing your filter.

He turns towards you, seemingly in slow motion, breathing slightly heavy from the recent exertion, his cadence dropping low with words that sound like a warning.

“Don't play that game.”

“I’m not playing any game,” you frown even as your heart speeds up at the challenging glint in his eye. “Ben, honestly, I… I'm not,” you stutter, all your assumptions about him scattering. “I… I didn't think you saw me that way…”

He twists up to hover over you. It appears he reads the honesty behind your stilted words, surprise rippling across his features before a breathtaking, troublesome look takes its place.

“You never could see what was right in front of you, either, could you?”

Although rhetorical, you have no response anyway. Buffering as his lip quirks appealingly, a burst of heat behind your ribs as he leans down closer.

“Will you let me?”

“Let you what?”

Your whispered response is entirely too breathy and wanton. A delicious crackle in the air as Benedict stares down at you, inches apart, lips and cheeks flushed dark, likely a mirror of your own.

“Test your theory.”

The slow sweep of his glistening tongue over his lower lip breaks your resistance.

“Yes…”

Your shaky exhale of permission may be barely audible but seems so loud to your own ears.

And suddenly, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss starts soft and almost hesitant, but alcohol and desire coursing through your veins make you impatient, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to tug him closer, craving his weight and heat to engulf you. And that is what he does as his lips part yours, his tongue seeking permission you readily give as he presses you into the mattress. It’s a blur as you take from each other greedily, open-mouthed, demanding kisses that never seem to end.

“I need to hear you make that sound again,” he rumbles, kissing over your cheek, snagging your earlobe between his teeth, breath gusting hot into your neck.

Boldly, you grab his wrist and, throwing all caution to the wind, guide it lower between your legs. His fingers curl into the cotton, sinking into the heat, knowing you are seeping through the thin material.

“Are you always so wet?” He whispers, impressed, kissing a line over your throat.

You don’t answer, not wanting to say that it’s all him, instead pulling him in for another searing kiss, hoping he will get the hint. Sure enough, as you suck greedily on his questing tongue, he slowly swipes, locating your swollen clit with just one move. Just that slight nudge has your body alight, stuttering into his mouth, spine arching up off the bed, pushing your breasts into him.

“I want to make you come,” he admits breathily, dilated pupils trained on you as you squirm under his touch.

“Please do.”

His groan is poetic, an insistent mass nudging your hip promisingly as he leans into you. You glance down, mesmerised by the veins on his hand as he moves to pluck at the bow at your waistband until it relents. His touch spiders under the material, trailing through your trimmed hair and then between your legs, a delicious noise in the back of his throat as his bare fingertips slide into your wetness.

You want to ride his digits until you are screaming, want them buried in you so far you see stars. Want him to make you suck your juices from between his knuckles, him calling you all the filthy words under the sun as you do so.

“Whatever you are thinking of, tell me,” he pleads, his other hand sweeping into your hair, cradling the back of your head, a slight pull on your scalp that just heightens everything. “I just want you to use me. Take what you need from me; just please make that perfect noise again.”

“God Ben….” You stumble, never having had someone make such an offer before. So much pent-up desire you are quaking as you answer without artifice: “I was thinking of your fingers inside me.”

You don’t even have to ask him for it, he twists his wrist, and you moan as two fingers breach your weeping pussy, a slick noise filling the air as your body suctions onto his invasion. He utters a curse, perhaps taken aback by just how soaked you are. You inhale sharply, grasping the corded muscle of his forearm as he slides deep, his knuckles grazing your walls, reaching places you cannot.

He begins to softly stroke you, massaging in a rhythm that has your mouth slack, staring at him wide-eyed; then his thumb nudges your clit at the same time, and you are unable to prevent the loud staccato groan it elicits.

“Yessss, there it is..” he hisses triumphantly, kissing your temple.

You nuzzle his cheek until he takes your hint, kissing you again, plundering, you making the noise again, open-mouthed, against his teeth and tongue, dripping onto his palm as he takes you higher, an electric hum racing under your skin. His thumbnail catches deliciously under your clitoral hood as he strums your swollen nub. Somehow it feels illicit, both of you still clothed in your nightwear, a tented outline in his pyjamas nudging your hip as you shamelessly ride now, a dewyness gathering inside your tank top at the flush of desire enveloping your skin..

“Come on, sweet girl,” he goads, “ride my hand properly. Use me.”

That term of affection would usually make you bark a laugh, but right now, it’s just blisteringly hot, him wringing the most filthy sodden noises from your body as he rocks in and out of your pussy.

So you do.

Scrunch your grip into the duvet beneath you and undulate on him, baring down as he surges inwards, moving like a wave together as he makes noises of encouragement, his lips warm on your cheek. His eyes don't leave your face except occasionally to glance down your writhing body, gaze lingering on your nipples pebbled against your vest.

His feet entwine around your ankle, holding you down just a little bit, giving you just a little fight that you need, reading you like a book. With a nod and lopsided smirk, he silently bids you to keep going. And you do, getting overheated, chasing that high he is aiding and abetting.

“Don’t hold back,” he tutors silkily into your damp temple, intuiting that you are swallowing back some of the noises you want to make.

So you follow his bidding. Stop modulating yourself, letting go, leaning into the simmering in your body, each perfect glide of his fingers spiralling you so high it's almost dizzying, your desire running down between your cheeks now. Something daring in you wants to be louder than Vanessa. To make the whole house jealous. Hell, for the entire world to know how good this feels.

He angles to catch your g-spot as well, and it hurtles you rapidly over into the blissful abyss; unable to stop yourself from spasming almost violently, screaming out, him fighting against your convulsions as you fracture apart and reassemble, breath stolen, blood pounding in your ears. You float both high above yourself and grounded in your body as that wondrous quake spreads to every corner of your being.

“That was bloody perfect,” he exhales, a thread of pride etched into his tone as you collapse down, heaving breaths as he withdraws from inside you.

“WE GOT THE FUCKING HINT EARLIER!!”

Matt’s yell through the wall makes you both still, eyes going comically wide before you both start giggling. Benedict lands a kiss on the tip of your nose as he rolls on top of you, his rigid cock nestled against your inner thigh.

“Well, that just sounds like a challenge to me,” he quirks a seductive eyebrow. “Let’s give them something to really complain about…”

Then, without warning, his soaked fingers yank down the neckline of your vest, his warm lips suctioning onto your nipple, and you are calling out loudly once more.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette

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creepytoes88 · 8 months ago

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Benedict Bridgerton xFem!Princess Reader

Dearest Gentle reader, as another season starts so do the surprises. It has been said that we are to welcome the Queen and King of Genovia for the first half of this season, and not only that but to witness the very first public appearance of their eldest, Princess Y/N Devereaux. I'm sure the Queen will want us to be the most gracious hosts, even if this family of royals have a reputation for enjoying scandal. Isn't it exciting when life becomes a fairytale of sorts?

(Bridgerton x Princess Diaries crossover)

ALRIGHT, I'm writing a Bridgerton fanfic, since none of you will read my mind and do it for me. I'll start posting this in November, but you can join the taglist in advance HERE.

I expect this to be a short series, and although the first part occurs during Colin's season, I won't be using much of the show's plot unless it's to fill up space lmao. This WILL be an 18+ story (Minors DNI!) so yes it's mostly smut with a lot of plot

See you soon!

-Danny

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creepytoes88 · 8 months ago

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Kinktober Drabble #12: Hate Sex/ Squirting

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, fingering, squirting, smidge of vaginal sex, arguing as foreplay.

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is also an anon suggestion fill from a while back here (idea: ‘lovers in public, rivals in secret’). Nonny I hope you enjoy this, same for everyone else. <3

In public, you are his intended. You appear on his arm and dance together, the picture of a chaste romantic match. In private, you argue, bicker, and then fuck mercilessly. Your antagonistic dynamic makes for quite the most explosive secret sex.

The night of the Bridgerton Ball, you goad him more than ever before, perhaps crossing a line by flirting with his brother. Touching the man’s arm, you see the look of confusion flit over his face and, across the room, the look of thunder upon Anthony’s.

“Miss y/l/n,” suddenly Anthony is next to you, “I shall give you a tour of my London home.” It sounds like an offer, but it’s not; it’s a command to follow him. You’ve seen almost every corner of Bridgerton House by now, especially the quiet ones he can fuck you in. But you acquiesce, looping your arm in his and smiling, people giving you polite nods as you move through the crowd, looking like a happy courting couple.

Tonight he leads you to his private study.

“How could you?!” he barks the minute the door is shut and locked.

“What?” you smirk, knowing full well what he is so riled up about.

“My brother? Really?” his tone dripping with disdain.

“Don't pretend you don't love it when we goad each other. Just last week, you flirted with that young widow; just to make me so angry, I took you out into the grounds and into my throat.” you volley at him.

His eyes flash heatedly, but his nostrils flare in annoyance. “There's a line, and it’s my family,” he insists.

“Well, what's done is done. Are you going to fuck me or not, my darling intended?” you challenge, hands on hips, the last three words a snarky retort.

“Maybe I won't,” he opines haughty, crossing his arms.

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, moving towards the door. “I'm sure that bohemian artist brother of yours will be up for some fun….” You cannot resist the low blow, knowing it's like picking at a proverbial scab that will scar if you keep messing with it.

“Don't you dare,” Anthony growls, grabbing your arm and manhandling you against a bookcase, breathing heavy.

“Then give me a reason to stay,” you draw your lips into a thin line and raise an eyebrow, your grip on his shoulders harsh, digging your nails into his jacket.

“I’ll do more than that,” he tugs up your dress and chemise, his cool hand questing hard against your mound.

You inhale sharply and groan at the sensation.

“No undergarments, why am I not surprised,” he chides, “you act such a wanton hussy.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out the harshest language you can think of, base words you seldom utter even under your breath, but still push against his fingers, now sodden as they slide against your clit.

“You’d better,” he snarls, “but first, let's get you to ruin your dress shall we?” two fingers plunging into your pussy without warning.

You cry out and huff breaths through your nose as his fingers curl and start to rock almost violently forward, swinging hard against a spot a few inches inside. Instead of it being painful, you pant wide-eyed, feeling something entirely new, like nothing you've ever experienced.

“So there are still some things I can teach you, it appears?” he growls, panting with the exertion, using the strength of his whole arm to push in and out at a blistering speed.

“What the fuck Anthony?” each word a harsh staccato as your whole body tenses.

“You've never had anyone do this before, have you?” his face just a touch conceited.

“No,” you exhale hard, holding onto him for dear life, keening with each fast stab of his fingers.

“Good. I'm the only one who can bring you this intense pleasure, only me.” The possessive, arrogant litany rockets you towards something hot and intense.

He is forcing filthy sodden, squelching noises from your body, and all you can do is hunch over him, the need to curl up against the overwhelming sensation so strong, wordlessly panting needy noises.

“Now let’s make a real mess,” he rumbles and his thumb rounds on your swollen clit, pushing it up against your body harshly. You scream, uncaring who can hear, your whole world pinpoint focussed on a pressure that suddenly releases as a strong gush, your knees giving out, and you feel nothing but a blinding wave of pleasure.

You hear him proudly saying, “Oh fuck yesss,” but it’s distant and fuzzy.

He is holding you up against the bookcase as you come around to realise you have soaked his arm, your dress, stockings, shoes even the rug beneath your feet.

“Look what a pretty mess you made of yourself and me.” He comments as he removes his fingers gently from inside you.

“Anthony,” you can barely form words, “what the fuck was that?” You are disconcerted by what you see but also so sated you can't bring yourself to do anything but cling to him.

“That, darling, is what you get if you challenge me,” he chuckles, nuzzling your face as you hear trouser buttons opening. “I can't wait to find out how you feel now,” he adds, pulling one of your legs over his hip. He surges his cock deep into you before you can do anything but cry out.

“Oh god, yes, you feel amazing,” his voice thready and debauched.

You wrap your arms tight around his neck and bite his earlobe.

“So do you,” you murmur, “now let’s do this.”

You proceed to fuck so hard against the bookcase that three books fall out and narrowly miss your heads. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

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