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[lemonsuponlemons]

Watching The Gentlemen is great but the desire to be Raymon Smith’s trophy wife is GREATER.

[lemonsuponlemons]

A violent man calling me a good girl would fix me

[lemonsuponlemons]

[warning: sexual content]

Billy excuses himself from the table. Walking towards the restaurant bathroom, he catches a glimpse of the men sitting nearby - they've been getting on his nerves all night. Snickering, whispering and shamelessly gawking at you in a way that even made him uncomfortable. Although, in all fairness, he understood the commotion. It was part of the reason he needed to leave your vicinity for a moment.

He locks the bathroom door behind him and lets out an exhausted sigh. Were his trousers always this uncomfortable? Billy shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his pants. With all the strength he can gather, he tries to take deep breaths and not think of the short button-up dress you're wearing. Especially, not the first two buttons you have, definitely on accident, left open. Or the way the peach-coloured material wrapped around your hips and waist, luring him in like a siren. You really are testing his patience.

With another deep breath and a ragged sigh, Billy leaves the bathroom, appearing as though he didn't just go through a small crisis. Walking towards you, his eyes watch the chattering men who are pointing at something in your general direction. Billy's angry eyes catch the stare of one of the gawkers. The thought that any of them could have a chance with you would be funny in its delusion if it didn't piss him off so much. He snorts mockingly.

Looking back at you, his eyes linger on your cleavage a little longer than befits a gentleman. To be honest, he'd love to just rip that flimsy dress off of you and creampie you right against the restaurant table for the shameless men to watch. He could stare into their envy-ridden eyes as your pathetic whimpers fill their ears.

The lovely fantasy plays in his mind while he sits down across from you. You're nearly done with your americano and soon enough, he'd take you anywhere he wants. Anyhow he wants.

[lemonsuponlemons]

I died, went to heaven and was promptly kicked out.

Something Unholy | Rhett Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 3,600 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Fem!Reader, unprotected sex in a church, mild size-kink, and a dash of Rhett having a corruption kink and getting off on the idea of cumming inside you.

"I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, dollface."

Oh, the things you would give to wrap both your hands around this motherfuckers thick neck and—

"—Can you please, just put the paper towels on the shelf?" Speaking in the firmest tone you can muster, cheeks flaming so hot you fear they may turn cherry red.

"And why does this have to involve me?" God, Rhett just keeps going; the choir girls are starting to notice, casting wayward glances from under false lashes as they whisper amongst each other behind open palms.

"Because you're tall enough to reach the shelf, and I'm not," pushing the paper towels toward him once more, forcing him to take them, "and if God wanted me to put them up there, he would have made me taller, or he would have given me a stepping stool."

For the first time all morning, Rhett's quiet, and for as much as he's fussed about this, you'd think this momentous task would take him longer than three seconds to complete. You're starting to see why Cece doesn't drag him along to Sunday services more often.

He continues to loom in the corner, leaning up against the wall like some sort of hot shot whilst he just watches. Wild blue eyes follow your every movement as you finish setting up the coffee booth like he's getting some sort of enjoyment out of watching you mull about. Doesn't offer help, just watches.

Asshole.

As soon as you start to walk away, ready to settle into the corner of an old, stained church pew, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk too. Like a shadow, following each and every step until all of a sudden, you're sitting between the end of the bench and Rhett Abbott.

"Do you have to sit so close to me?" Grumbling, you try to scoot further off, but there's not enough space for you to do so.

Rhett's jeaned thigh presses harder against your own, "yes, I do, actually."

"You're an ass," it comes out louder than you intend to, but if anyone overhears, they don't mention it. Not yet, at least.

"Wow, swearing in church now, are we?" Smug.

You're still contemplating strangling him right here and now; an attempted murder charge sounds a lot better than sitting in this hell for an hour and a half. The bastard is probably into it, knowing his reputation. The only thing that actually stops you from finding out is the sudden booming voice from the podium, commanding all eyes and ears on him, silence falling upon the room.

Usually, the preacher's go-to is to have everyone shake hands and welcome one another, but you're thankful that he skips right over the tradition in favor of jumping straight into his speech. A direct continuation of last week's sermon, according to the woman whispering behind you. You're not quite sure how, but you know Rhett would have given you more trouble if you got up to greet people.

As if on cue, a calloused hand settles on your exposed knee, just below the hem of your Sunday dress. Maybe it's because the air conditioner is running in the middle of December, but his hand feels so hot you fear it may melt right through your skin.

"Rhett," whispering as quietly as you can, "get your hands off me."

It only serves to make your situation worse because he leans over to whisper directly into your ear, "seems to me you're in need of someone to keep you warm."

Teeth nip at the lobe of your ear, tugging on it for a fleeting second. His hand slides off your knee, if only for a muscular arm to drape over your shoulders instead. Great, absolutely wonderful.

But God, he's warm, and he's changed his started wearing that seasonal cologne he wears every December. Something bordering hot chocolate and vanilla, not overly sweet but so, so warm. It matches him in the strangest of ways, you conclude, as you reluctantly melt into his side.

Okay, this is...alright. There are several couples doing this very thing in front of you, nothing weird about this at all. It's not like you can argue when Rhett is practically a blazing furnace right next to you; this dress is cute, but it definitely was not made for the colder months. 

For a long minute, all you find yourself doing is curling into Rhett Abbott's side and listening to the preacher's voice as it grows louder and louder. A relaxed conversation about coming clean to those around you devolves into a rant about sinners and sex before marriage. The longer it goes, the stiffer Rhett becomes next to you, until all of a sudden, he's drawing away from you.

Without a word, he gets up and walks out. 

Strangely, you don't hear the front doors squeak open, nor do you feel the icy draft that always sneaks inside. For a minute, you reckon he's just gone to the men's room. The more time passes, the more you don't think that's so true. 

Fifteen minutes after Rhett vanished, you excuse yourself and quietly venture out into the hallway. 

"Rhett?" You try, but your voice vanishes under the preacher's louder one.

Even so, the felt brim of a cowboy hat pokes out from behind a door, dark brown in color and a little ripped in the front. You only know one man with a hat like that. It seems he didn't hear you because he's eyes brighten at the sight of you like he's been waiting on you to come looking for him this whole time. 

"There you are," he breathes, struggling to fight off the shit-eating grin that's working its way across his face as he reaches for you. "Did I even manage to get under your skin?" 

"I thought you were kidding when you suggested this shit," you hiss, but you don't stop him from guiding you into this tiny little office space with its large mahogany desk and beat-up loveseat. "Of course, you got under my skin, you ass!"

Rhett shoves you down onto the couch with a soft thump and drops to his knees so swiftly that you hear them hit the floor. The force of it jostles his hat, but he's not concerned in the slightest with readjusting it, "good." 

There's no teasing or beating around the bush in the way he pulls your hips toward the edge of the couch, rucking the skirt of your dress up in the process, "then I suppose you won't mind me making it up to you?" 

Hot breath ghosts up your cold thighs, sparks a newfound heat directly between your legs. Okay, that, that...

"Was this your plan all along?" Leaning into the cushions of the couch, this is all so sudden, but you're not one to complain when his nose is brushing against the only fabric he hasn't pushed to the side yet. 

"Do you expect anything less from me, darlin'?" Long lashes bat themselves up at you as he speaks, bordering devilish in tone and something soft in gaze. 

A hot tongue drags up the front of your panties, forces eye contact as he does so. So much all at once, but not enough. The vague pressure of his tongue isn't enough when there's such a thin layer of cotton separating him from where you want him. Only when you're about to pull them off yourself does he reach up and hook his fingers under the thin elastic waistband. 

"Bring your hips up, doll," murmuring into your thigh, and you're just barely able to muster the strength to do so. 

Finally, finally, he pulls your panties off, neatly folding and tucking them into his back pocket like a trophy. Sure hope you get those back; those are one of your current favorites. 

Your thoughts are cut short by the sudden sensation of a dripping tongue swirling at your clit, sloppy and oh-so-wet. It's so abrupt that you find yourself jolting away, only to be drawn back in by steady hands on your hips, holding you in place as he licks you up and down in fat stripes. 

"Rhett," gasping for a breath you can't seem to catch, "fuck, did you forget we're in church?" 

He hums into you, sends a shock wave up your spine with it. His wandering tongue finds your entrance, lapping at it incessantly but not quite pushing inside at first. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, "been thinkin' of havin' you on my tongue since that alarm went off this mornin'." 

"So that's why you volunteered to come along?" Whining as he nods his head, "bastard—ah!" 

Just like that, Rhett's tongue slips inside of you, working in and out in languid thrusts as his nose presses harder into you. This little room is so quiet that you can hear the slick sound of his tongue working itself into your quivering cunt, his mouth so wet that it feels like he's drooling. 

Reaching down, he gets ahold of your thigh and guides your leg up over his shoulder, gives him better access to your writhing body. Practically fucks you open with his tongue, the soft tip of his nose bumping into your clit over and over. Enough to make you squirm, not enough to get you off. 

"Rhett, if you don't," the beginning of your threat is shaky, not intimidating even in the slightest, "get off that floor and fuck me right now."

His eyebrows raise, and his tongue slips out of you with the wettest noise you've ever heard. Fuck, he really must have been drooling, swollen, spit-slicked lips and wet chin glistening in the light, "yes, ma'am." The bastard just has to say it with a smile, too.

He makes no move to come up, though, and as his dominant hand lowers between your legs, you realize he's planning to lick you as he works you open. But you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

Lowering your leg from his shoulder, you seize him by the collar and pull. It takes him a moment to comply, and for a brief second, you think he's glued himself to that thinly-carpeted floor. With the softest whine, he rises, settling into the empty space next to you like a big ol' puppy. His eyes wide and confused, and it's not until you curl your fingers into his hair and drag him in that he realizes what you're doing.

"Kisses?" Whispering directly against your lips, surprised, but oh, does he just melt right into it. 

Soft, at first, just the simple mesh of lips that haven't touched each other since you first woke up, but then Rhett's finding his footing. Kisses you with a dizzying intensity, one hand cradling your cheek, the other slipping between your legs to tease the pad of his finger against your dripping entrance. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer, impossibly so, and it's so sloppy that you can't tell who's in control or who's calling the shots here. His thick finger presses into you, working in and out until he's knuckle deep, but he kisses you so softly, following your motions like a shadow. 

"Is that you clenchin' on my finger, or have I really not fucked you in a while?" His finger works in and out of you so slowly, a soft, simple motion that drags his knuckles against a gooey spot inside of you. Shit, when was—when was the last time you actually...?

"Both," you blurt, breathless, "I think this is the longest we've gone." Coincidentally, you think the last time you had sex was also on a couch. Given it was your couch and not some dingy thing in the back office of a church. 

It's only been a few weeks, three at the most, but it's been long enough for there to be a little bit of an ache as a second finger works into you. There's no way you're going to be walking out of here without a slight waddle in your step.

In and out, over and over, until he can work in a third. A thumb on your clit distracts you from the stretch, rubbing soft circles for every centimeter he eases into you. You're squirming, not sure if you're running away from the stimulation on your clit or chasing the feeling of those thick fingers delving in and out of you in short little thrusts. 

"Why are your fingers so fucking big?" Gasping as he kisses down your neck, those fingers curling against that little spot again. 

"Are they big?" And he's nibbling at the meet of your jaw, almost speaking directly into your ear, "or are you just small?" 

He's just big. 

Shaky, you fumble with his belt, absolutely relieved when you find that he isn't wearing one of those oversized rodeo buckles that are so hard to get open in times like these. Rhett chuckles against your skin, makes no effort to help or stop you as you pop the button to his jeans open. His fingers only quicken, properly fucking you with them now, and it makes it that much harder to reach past his waistband. 

"Shit," he hisses, jolting as your hand wraps around him and draws him out. Only letting him go to spit into your palm, wetting it just enough to stroke him smoothly. He's hard as a rock in your hand, heavy like one, too. Slow, he eases out of you, and with how empty you're feeling now, you hate to imagine how it's going to feel in a little bit. 

Your back hits the couch with a soft noise, the furniture creaking under the sudden placement of your weight. Then, Rhett's between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing against your freshly stretched rim but not pushing inside yet. 

"Didn't bring a condom," he breathes, "sure hope that ain't a problem, sweetheart." 

He sure doesn't sound apologetic. 

"Has it ever been a problem?" And there's more you want to say, but it's hard to speak when he presses into you, makes your back arch as he splits you wide open. 

Your legs clamp down around his lithe waist, lungs burning as you try and fail to regain your long-gone composure. Don't quite realize you had made a noise until he's shushing you, easing deeper inside until you feel his head fully enter you. Moves so, so slow that it's agonizing. 

Rhett pauses for just a second, chest heaving, "so tight, baby." 

"Can you move any faster?" You're intentionally leaving out the part that the longer he takes, the harder it is for you to keep your thighs from shaking around him.

"Hold on, darlin'," seizing your hips in his hands as he speaks, holding you still as he just about fucking stops, "I'm a little big for you, ain't I?" 

Big is a fucking understatement. Rhett's only about halfway in you, and you already can't fucking breathe. Never can. No matter how many times he's fucked you, slow, hard, it doesn't matter; you can never seem to get used to how big he is. 

His hands aren't big just for show; they're a fucking warning.

Finally, finally, finally, his hips come flush to yours, and you don't think there's any room for your lungs even to function anymore. Panting so hard that you don't realize Rhett's dropping to his forearms, kissing sweetly at your cheek. Such a stark contrast to the devilish roll of his hips between your legs. 

"Such a good girl for me," he soothes, "takin' every single inch just like that." 

His hips roll in tight little circles, getting you used to his size until you can catch your breath, long enough for your head to stop spinning, at least. All you have to do is nod your head once, and he's drawing back out of you, so familiar with your cues that he knows exactly what you're asking for. 

Then he's pushing back into you, and it's not even a long stroke, but it's enough to have you whimpering anyway. So thick that the head of his cock effortlessly massages the gooey spot inside your stretched pussy; you think you could cum just from this alone. 

"That preacher don't know what the hell he's talkin' about," and it's only now that you realize the sermon is still going, muffled but very audible through these old walls,  "every little lady deserves a man that can fuck her right." 

Rhett punctuates his sentence with a harder thrust, sending stars sparkling behind your eyelids like a light show.  Well, you can't argue with that statement. Not when he's doubling down and drilling into you in sharp, deep strokes that bullies his fat cockhead right into your sweet spot, kissing it with each and every stroke inward. 

"Rhett!" Fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, threatening to tear right into the thin material of his dress shirt. It's a kiss that smothers the whimper that boils out of your throat, dizzying but so, so tame compared to how his hips are working between your legs. 

"Look at you," leaning back until he's on his haunches, "innocent little thing gettin' fucked good by the big, bad cowboy." 

With that, he draws his hips back, snapping them back into you with a force that has you yelping. Hope nobody could hear that. Rhett's pace is changing, unrelenting, as he punches each and every breath out of your burning lungs. Feels so, so good that you can barely keep your eyes from fluttering shut, and it's all you can do to keep quiet when he licks his thumb and presses it into your swollen clit. 

"Oh, your hips are buckin' like mad now," and he has the absolute audacity to chuckle as he says it like he isn't in the middle of ruining you, "damn, girl."

"Hard to keep still when—" you can't finish your sentence, cut off by a wickedly sharp thrust, and he just holds it there. Grinding into you and eliciting this wet squelch that sounds absolutely sinful. 

It feels so good that the edges of your vision is starting to go white, and you don't know when you've started shaking, but you can't stop. Pussy throbbing as he settles down atop you again, legs just barely able to stay hooked over his hips. Rhett's moaning into your ear, deep and breathy, and you're not doing all that much, but it sounds like you're making him feel just as good as he's doing to you. 

"Do you wanna feel me cum inside you?" He whispers, biting at the shell of your ear, "do you wanna feel that?" 

All you can do is hum, barely able even to nod your head. The simple notion of Rhett cumming inside you is enough to have a coil tightening between your legs, clamping down impossibly tight around his thick cock. 

"Oh god," he's just barely able to keep talking, and the longer he goes on, the closer you can feel yourself getting, "so bad," punctuating it with another heavy thrust, "so bad."

You want to reach down between your legs and urge his thumb to rub you a little bit faster, but you're not even sure you can take any more than what he's giving you. Not when he keeps whispering dirty things in your ear, with these breathy little grunts that keep adding to the fire burning up in your lower belly. 

"So bad, but you make it so good," no, no, now you're batting his hand away from your clit, because if he keeps rubbing it while he's talking like this, your orgasm is going to his you right this very second. With another little grunt, Rhett starts talking again, "oh, baby, I'm gonna fill you up." 

His thrusts are quickening, hips getting twitchy and messing up his rhythm in the most delicious of ways, "'m gonna fill you up with my cum." 

All of a sudden, you can't breathe anymore, your body going taut as you cum around his twitching cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, heart pounding so heavily it just might break its way out your ribs. Everything's spinning; you can't fucking think; all you know is Rhett's grunting quietly into your ear, and his hips are stalling. Filling you with hot spurts of his cum, until there's not a single millimeter of empty space left inside you. 

"That's right," you can just barely hear him, but he's there, "that's fuckin' right, takin' every last drop of me." 

You're not sure how long it takes you to come back, to get your head out from the clouds and back down to earth, but when you do, Rhett's already eased himself out of you. Tucked away inside his jeans again, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as his thumb pushes his cum back inside your swollen cunt. 

"You alright?" He asks sweetly, kissing the inside of your knee. 

It takes every fiber in your being to bring yourself to nod your head. Yeah, yeah, more than alright. 

"How 'bout I carry you outta here before they start lettin' folks out," he's so soft compared to just a few moments ago when he was drilling into you and whispering such filthy things, "get all settled up in a bath and have a nice, lazy day." 

All you have to do is hum your consent, and he's gathering you up into his chest, lifting you like it's the easiest thing he's ever done. It's hard to be cold when he picks his coat up off the rack on the way out, draping it over you like a big blanket. Yeah, a nice, lazy day sounds better than whatever the hell you had planned. 

And if anybody notices your sudden disappearances or the unmistakable sounds that came from the preacher's old office, they don't say a damn thing. 

[lemonsuponlemons]

Rhett Abbott + breeding kink

<The Rhett Abbott simping side of Tumblr has left its mark on me. Also Rhett Abbot loves giving creampies and you can't change my mind.>

The moment your friend announced she and her husband were "trying for children", something broke inside of you as if only then did you bother to entertain the thoughts of parenthood with Rhett. He wants kids, plenty of them - you are well aware of that, even if he's not straightforward about it. And the longer you thought about it, the more domestic images were being replaced with carnal desire to have Rhett's cum fill you; to let him possess you in a way no man ever did or could.

He's pushing down your legs and you know they're going to be sore in the morning. No one comes out fresh and painless from being folded in half but you don't care. Not at the moment.

Rhett knows all the magic tricks, stretching your vagina at just the right angle to elicit the most embarrassing cries and pleas. Desperate for any sort of release, you're leaving scratches along his back but Rhett's too lost in the moment, too focused on how divine you feel around him, to realize that.

Feeling his teeth graze your neck and earlobes, you collect the remnants of your coherence to voice that one plea he was secretly fantasizing about. Somewhere between moans and whimpers you manage to whisper to him:

"Don't pull out. Cum inside me, Rhett. Please."

You feel him stop for a moment and it makes you think that, maybe, you just managed to turn him off completely but you stand corrected very quickly: Rhett shifts above you, his hands grabbing you rougher than before and surprisingly, you feel his cock sink even deeper inside you making you let out a choked gasp. A tear escapes your eye but it's not a tear of pain. Whatever button you pushed, it's a damn good one.

"Wanna be round with my kid so bad?" he whispers back. A hint of condescendence hides in his voice. Rhett gives you a dry chuckle-turned-groan before speaking again. A hard snap of his hips makes you moan loudly. "Show people you're a whore for me?"

"I don't fucking care," you grit through your teeth. It's hard to stay on track with your thoughts when Rhett is fucking the sanity out of you. Feeling his dick reach deep inside you, another tear rolls down your cheek and you're about to literally beg him to grant your wish. "Please, just fill me up, Rhett."

Truthfully, he could never deny you anything. Especially not when you're asking to make one of his deepest desires come true. It's one thing to start a family with you but another to let everyone know you belong to him, that he is the one to fuck you as often as he wants to.

"Once I get you pregnant, you'll fuckin' stay like that."

Even though it's supposed to be a warning, you're hoping he keeps his word:

"Fuck yes, breed me, Rhett."

He groans in response, his hands tightening their grasp on your legs. With your knees beside your head, you look completely pathetic - spread open for him, begging to be bred like a champion horse.

Rhett's thrusts become slower but harder - he's snapping his hips into you and you feel yourself only growing more excited and impatient to have him cum inside you. The ragged breaths and groans he lets out against your already bruised neck make you move your hips to meet his.

With a low moan, he gives in and you feel him spill inside you. He's still thrusting into you, making sure every last drop of his cum stays inside you.

"Fuck, you're one hot momma."

You chuckle at his words, in your head already imagining the many more nights with his cum spilling out of your throbbing pussy.

[lemonsuponlemons]

I always thought that the saying "Keep his stomach full and balls empty" was disgusting but Rhett Abbott makes me reconsider.

[lemonsuponlemons]

If Miles Miller wants to keep a tape of me he's free to do so 😌

Edit to add I’d happily make one specifically for him

[lemonsuponlemons]

You know that wiggle you gotta do to squeeze your butt/thighs into jeans? Now, I'm not saying Bradley absolutely loves it but somehow he's always around when you're doing it.

[lemonsuponlemons]

Honestly, if you’re inexperienced and told Rhett that you don’t know what you like he would have a field day, except it’s night and he’s in your bed.

[lemonsuponlemons]

Playing strip pool with Matt Murdock, would he:

Win in one round to "see" you strip naked in one go or…

Strategically lose to be a lil hoe and give you a show?

[lemonsuponlemons]

Do you need Matt Murdock to put you on a leash or are you normal?

[lemonsuponlemons]

Rhett Abbott is the kinda guy to buy you flowers before and/or after ploughing your pussy.

I do not accept criticism, only 2nd Thots (TM)

[lemonsuponlemons]

teasing!reader is giving rooster a head, rooster was on reader's mercy and was begging for more fiction, begging for u to touch him, to do so something to him. cue reader saying "don't tell me what to do or i swear ill stop." 🥵

I AM SCREAMING SIS

Boy's so frustrated he doesn't even have a preference, he's just begging you to do something - whatever you want.

You're just slowly stroking his beautifully pink cock, licking it or kissing from time to time, letting precum trail your cheeks. Your eyes never leave his flushed face and although meeting your stare makes the whole thing a lot more unbearable for him, Rooster can't help himself - the only thing better to watch than your lips around his dick is his cock disappearing in your wet cunt.

"Fuck, princess, please," he breathes out, reason has left his body quite some time ago. The last bits of grip on himself he has are slowly leaving him but it's still too much. You made it clear beforehand: he's not getting anything unless that stupid pride and smugness is out of him. "Stop teasing me."

Momentarily you let go of his swollen cock and move towards his face to make sure he understands and takes you seriously:

"Don't tell me what to do or I swear I'll stop."

And Bradley shuts up instantly, knowing that it's not an empty threat. You pat his cheek condescendingly before going back to denying him that sweet release he's been praying for.

Everyone is welcome to share their 2nd thots ^^

[lemonsuponlemons]

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Rooster's angry voice resounds in your bedroom. You can't help but smile to yourself, knowing that your little plan worked perfectly. It's always so easy and fun to get him worked up.

He's just standing there, in the doorway, clenching his jaw and trying to breathe evenly - all in vain when presented with the divine sight you are.

Bradley's Hawaiian shirt looks ridiculously big on you, one of the sleeves is falling off your shoulder, showing off even more of your bare body. A ragged moan escaped your lips as you felt the dildo slide in and out of your ass, creating a perfect duet with the leftover smell of Rooster's aftershave lingering on his shirt. Your hand gropes one of your breasts before sliding down between your legs, slowly rubbing your clit in circles.

"Thinking about you," you answer with ambivalence as if you're not a complete menace to Bradley.

[lemonsuponlemons]

Matt would love shibari/kinbaku.

It all started because you joked about the ropes he had around his hands.

"Hey Devil, gonna tie my up with them?"

At first he’s just enjoying the power trip, having you naked and tied in a very welcoming position - ready to take whatever he gives you. You’re waiting for him to fuck you and he’s going to enjoy every second of your yearning. Each of your frustrated whimpers and only igniting the battle inside him: should he kindly relieve you or wait just a bit longer?

He would definitely tie you with a vibrator between your legs and just stand back, enjoying the show: your shaking body, the moans and whimpers, the smell of your flooding cunt. You’re at his mercy and he’s debating how much of it he has left.

Sometimes he would leave you tied after fucking you and go on his patrol. Then, in the late hours of the night or early hours of the day, he comes back - filled with anger and frustration. Matt wastes no time grabbing the rope and hving his way with you. You were for him only and it was driving him insane: such delicacy he was greedy for.

More than the bed, he prefers tying you against a wall or in the open space of his apartment. Hopefully, neither Karen nor Foggy will ever notice the odd hooks in the brick walls and ceiling… So you’re hanging, with your back against the cold wall and your legs forced spread in a quite inviting manner. If you start begging him, maybe he’ll fuck you sooner. Maybe that’s what he wanted from the very beginning.

He might whip out the ropes if he’s feeling jealous. You have your ass in the air and face pushed into the mattress. Aside from your head and fingers, you’re pretty much immobile. Matt’s hands are gently brushing against your skin, helping him envision this lewd view. You were laughing at each of that dickhead’s joke and letting him touch your arm, so Matt took it upon himself to teach you a lesson or two. Maybe he could fuck modesty back into you…

"You’re mine and mine only."

"Do you think he could fuck you like that?"

Quite obviously, no.

If you get rope burns he’s going to rub some ointment and gently cradle you that night - no questions asked. Tender pecks and whispered thank you.

[lemonsuponlemons]

Peter's strained whimpers filled the stuffy air of the dark room. Everything smelled of sweat and other bodily fluids but the two of you were too preoccupied to mind that.

"Come on, pretty boy," you whispered to him. With each movement of your hips, a deliciously lewd sound escaped his mouth. "One more time."

There were no coherent thoughts inside his head; reason had left him quite some time ago, probably somewhere around the second climax. The only thing existing in his headspace was the magnificent sensation of your wet, warm cunt. His eyes were vacant, in some way clouded with the eroticism of the situation - that is, they looked like that only when they weren't rolling into the back of his head.

It was the only time his arms stood no chance against you. Manhattan's hero had his hands pinned over his head and there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he wanted to, of course.

"You look so pretty fucked out, you know?" you whispered into his ear. The hair on his neck stood up but you couldn't be sure whether it was your mouth or your pussy eliciting such a reaction.

Even though his neck and collarbones were turning a deep shade of purple and red, you still bruised it further with kisses and bites. A slurred moan of your name left his swollen lips.

Peter tilted his head backwards, pressing into the pillows underneath him. You knew that little quirk far too well. His eyes were barely halfway open and you couldn't help your excitement at the obscene view - you began riding him faster, feeling how swollen and twitchy his cock was. Just thinking about that dick made saliva flood your mouth.

Keeping his arms over his head with one hand, you put your free palm around his jaw, keeping his head still, clouded eyes focused on you.

His pants became more erratic, interrupted by breathed-out curses and pleas. Peter's body shivered and shook underneath yours.

"Be a good boy and cum for me."

Your demand, as if a tall order, brought to him another orgasm during that one night. His muscles tensed and a loud whiny moan of your name echoed throughout the room. Peter's eyes rolled into the back of his head and you revelled in the stunning pleasure only you could give him.

"My beautiful baby boy," you spoke softly while riding out his orgasm. Your hand caressed his sweat-soaked face.

Waiting for his breathing to calm down and even out, you stopped the movements of your hips. Peter's face was flushed, his eyes couldn't focus on anything and those pretty, swollen reddish lips parted slightly - it only turned you on further. The silence, filled with nothing short of filthy eroticism, didn't last long:

"Do you think you deserve a break?" you asked. Peter shivered feeling your nails grazing his chest, fingers teasingly brushing against his nipples.

Peter vividly shook his head in response - he couldn't speak in his current state. Anything that wasn't your name was a completely useless word.

"Correct."

[lemonsuponlemons]

(tw: one religious theme, breeding kink)

That little thing Matt Murdock does where he parts his pretty pink lips and moans in your ear.

He’s driving his cock deep down into you while you lay pathetically on the softness of his mattress. You’re long past coherent, your brain fuzzy and he’s managed to fuck you so good and intensely that you’re drooling from the corner of your mouth like the “good little girl” Matt keeps telling you that you are.

His skin is littered with scars, and bruises, some of which you had given to him yourself. You might be proud of that if you could even keep your eyes open to see, instead, you only feel your way across each dip and toned inch of his gorgeous body.

You can hear him praising you, praying to you as he nears his high, that white light of ecstasy he loves to draw out of you for hours on end. You’re so close, so close and Matt can feel it. He can feel the way your walls tighten around him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. He can hear your heart speed up, evening out to a pace that he recognizes all too well. Your skin is flushed and warm under his calloused touch, the smell of your sex only spurring him on more.

“Give it to me, fuck, I need it.” He’d whisper, his voice rough and low in a way that sends chills down your spine. He gets what he asks for, your cunt soaking him up mercilessly. Matt loses his mind just a little bit more every time he makes you cum. He could go delirious to your moans, absolutely insane wrapped up in your body’s natural reaction to him.

He always holds off, letting you ride out your orgasm to its entirety before he lets himself have his own. He somehow makes everything about you whether he realizes it or not. But, when he does finish, he coats the insides of your walls with his seed. He wants every single drop to not go to waste, pumping you full of his cum until you’re all stuffed with his babies.