ophhhhh

[ophhhhh]

omega ghost x omega soap x alpha mreader pretty please?👉🏻👈🏻 where ghostsoap are nesting and stole a bunch of reader's clothes he doesn't even have anything to wear

— stripped bare

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley | johnny 'soap' mactavish | male! reader

warnings, omegaverse, alpha reader, omega soap, omega ghost, nesting, pre heat, reader has nothing left to wear

(y/n) woke up cold.

That alone wasn’t unusual — the barracks ran chilly and he’d kicked off his blanket in the night again — but this was a different kind of cold. The kind that crept into his bones and made his skin pebble. He blinked against the early morning light, groggy and disoriented, only to realize the real issue.

He was stark naked.

And his entire wardrobe was gone.

He sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and blinking toward the closet. It stood open, completely barren save for one lonely sock hanging off a hanger like a final insult.

“What the fuck…”

A faint rustling caught his attention, followed by a low, contented hum.

Oh no.

(y/n) didn’t need alpha instincts to guess what was going on. His mates — his adorable, chaotic, pre-heat mates — were nesting.

And apparently, they’d decided he was the best source of nestable material.

He grabbed the one remaining sock with a scowl and yanked open his bedroom door. The faint scent of omega pheromones hit him immediately — sweet, thick, and a little dizzying. Nesting musk. He padded barefoot through the hall, grimacing at the cold floor, until he reached the spare room they’d all agreed was officially the nesting room.

Unofficially, it was now a black hole that consumed everything soft, warm, or vaguely (y/n)-scented.

He nudged the door open.

“Soap!” (y/n) called, stepping into the dim, cozy chaos of blankets, pillows, and an absolutely ridiculous number of his shirts, hoodies, sweatpants — even his underwear, for god’s sake — draped and bundled into a warm, fragrant mountain in the center of the room.

At the top of the pile lay two very smug omegas.

Soap poked his head up like a feral meerkat. His hair was a mess of dark curls, his eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming. “(y/n),” he crooned in that awful sing-song voice he only used when he knew he was guilty. “Look, babe, it’s perfect—”

Ghost, whose face mask had been traded for one of (y/n)’s old t-shirts (cut to look like a hood), let out a low, satisfied growl. “You smell good.”

(y/n) looked at them — cuddled into his favorite hoodie, wearing his gym shorts like oversized pajama pants, surrounded by what he estimated was literally all of his clothes — and sighed so hard it came from the depths of his soul.

“Did you leave me anything?” he asked dryly.

Soap made a show of looking around, his brow scrunched in faux-thought. “Uhh… we might’ve left that one sock?”

“I have it,” (y/n) said, waggling it in the air like evidence at a crime scene.

Ghost blinked slowly. “Then no.”

(y/n) pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know I have to go into base today. I have nothing to wear.”

Soap snorted, then rolled over to bury his face in the mountain of (y/n)’s laundry. “That sounds like a you problem, (y/n).”

“I am your alpha,” (y/n) muttered. “Which means I shouldn’t be standing here bollocks-out because my two gremlin omegas are in pre-heat and decided to rob me blind.”

Ghost just smirked. “You look good like that.”

“I’m freezing.”

“You’ll survive,” Soap said, muffled by fabric. “Come cuddle us. We’re warm.”

(y/n) hesitated. He should be getting dressed — or, at the very least, finding something to cover himself. But the pull of omega pheromones, combined with the sweet, needy scent of his mates, was dragging at every instinct he had.

And then Ghost looked at him from under his lashes, and Soap gave a little whimper that tugged at something primal inside him.

“(y/n)…” Soap murmured. “C’mere. We need you.”

That was all it took.

He sighed in defeat, stepping forward and carefully climbing into the nest. Immediately, he was swarmed — warm bodies pressed close, hands dragging him down into the makeshift cocoon of (y/n)-scented fabric. Ghost curled in behind him, an arm snaking over his waist. Soap pressed into his chest, legs tangling, lips brushing against his collarbone.

“You’re so warm,” Soap mumbled, already dozing.

“You stole all my clothes,” (y/n) replied, but the protest was half-hearted.

“You like it,” Ghost said into the back of his neck, voice low and possessive. “You smell good when you’re annoyed.”

(y/n) flushed — a deep, spreading warmth in his chest. “You two are menaces.”

“Your menaces,” Soap murmured, grinning against his skin. “We just wanted you close. Everything smells better with your scent. Your shirts, your hoodies… even your socks. It calms us.”

(y/n) melted a little at that. No matter how ridiculous the situation was, he couldn’t stay mad. His omegas were getting close to their heat, and their instincts were screaming for safety, scent, and security. Of course they’d nest with his things. Of course they’d drag him into it.

He was theirs.

He let his hands drift through Soap’s hair, his other arm wrapped around Ghost’s waist behind him. Both omegas relaxed instantly, nuzzling closer.

“…I’m still gonna be late to base,” (y/n) murmured.

“Text Price,” Ghost mumbled.

“Tell him you’re busy,” Soap said, voice sleepy. “Say it’s an alpha emergency.”

“What the hell is an alpha emergency?”

“This,” Ghost replied, nipping lightly at (y/n)’s shoulder. “This exact situation.”

(y/n) chuckled, the vibration earning a pleased purr from both of them.

“Fine,” he murmured. “But when I go in tomorrow, I’m buying a lock for my closet.”

“No you’re not,” Soap said, already asleep.

“Nope,” Ghost agreed, half-lidded eyes watching him like a cat watching prey. “We’ll just pick it.”

(y/n) sighed again, softer this time. “You’re both impossible.”

But he stayed.

Because the truth was, even with his entire wardrobe turned into a nest, even while cold and frustrated and pressed between two needy, clingy omegas — (y/n) wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

He let his eyes close, warmth seeping into his bones. His mates were tucked against him, their scents soothing, heartbeats slow and steady.

And if he ended up wearing one of Ghost’s oversized tactical shirts and Soap’s obnoxious neon sweatpants to base the next day?

Well.

That was their problem.

words: 1036

published: 18.june.2025

[ophhhhh]

The Mother Of Long Ago (Andrew Van De Kamp X Male Reader)

This is a sequal to a previous fanfic. If you haven't read it, please click on the link.

Although Andrew joined the family somewhat unconventionally, he was welcomed with warm smiles. Despite not fully understanding what he had been through, they trusted their son’s judgment. And so, they stayed together at the house, with the young Van De Kamp returning to school.

Once he and Y/N finished, they both attended college, moved out, graduated, and got jobs. It felt like the natural next step for them to get married.

Lying in bed with a laptop on his lap, Y/N scrolls through the list he created of everything they need for the wedding. Just out of the shower, Andrew enters the bedroom wearing only his boxers.

“Doing alright?”

“Yeah… just so much to consider.” Y/N lets out a tired sigh. “Invitations, a venue, flowers, food. I’m excited to get married and all, but Jesus Christ, this is exhausting.”

Andrew walks over and sits beside his fiancé. “Wedding planners exist for a reason.”

Y/N looks up from his screen, meeting Andrew’s gaze.

“Get one. We’ve got enough money. I don’t want to be at the aisle watching my future husband collapse from exhaustion.”

Y/N thinks about it for a few seconds. “I guess so. I just want to make it personal, that’s all.”

“And we still can.” Andrew wraps an arm around him. “It’s not like a wedding planner is going to throw a shitty wedding without our approval. And think of the bright side—the less time you spend stressing about the wedding, the more time you can focus on us.”

Andrew flashes his usual seductive smirk, the one that always puts Y/N at ease.

“So, I’m trading wedding planning for more sex?” Y/N teases.

“Is that so bad?” Andrew grins.

Y/N chuckles. “Let me find a wedding planner.”

-

After hiring a wedding planner, things became less and less stressful. They had more time for work and each other, leaving many responsibilities in the planner’s hands. Still, they needed to check on certain things to ensure everything was going smoothly. One such task was catering, which their planner had recommended.

And so, they arranged to meet the caterer at Andrew’s office.

Waiting for their appointment, Y/N sat with his fiancé while Andrew worked, occasionally chatting with him. The office phone suddenly rang.

“Mr. Van De Kamp, your caterer has arrived.”

Andrew pressed the button to answer the call. “Send them in.”

As they sat behind the desk, they waited for the caterer to arrive. But when the door opened, both Andrew and the caterer looked completely stunned.

“Andrew…?”

“Mom…?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as he finally met Andrew’s mother, Bree Van De Kamp. “Mom?” He blinked, turning to his fiancé. “She’s your mom?”

Andrew and Bree continued to stare at each other, while Y/N shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Andrew… it’s been a while…” Bree said uncomfortably, looking around as if seeing her son in an entirely new light. “You… work here?”

“Yeah…” Andrew answered stiffly.

Bree then turned her attention to Y/N. “And… is this man your…?”

“Fiancé.” Andrew said firmly, his tone sharp as he frowned at his mother. “Is that a problem?”

Before Bree could respond, Y/N spoke up. “I’m Y/N. It’s… good to meet you, I guess.” Despite everything he had heard about Bree from his fiancé, he chose to be polite. After all, if anyone was going to call her out, that was Andrew’s right.

“Andrew, I…” Bree struggled to find the right words, regret clear in her expression. But Andrew simply glared at her.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out.”

Andrew let out a bitter laugh. “You’re serious?” He scoffed in disbelief. “You left me on the side of the road, and now you’re sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Well, you did!” Andrew stood up abruptly. “You never even tried to find me! I had to live with Y/N for years! And now you just show up—completely by chance—and expect me to be okay with this!?”

“I did try to find you!” Bree insisted, desperation in her voice.

“I don’t believe you!” Andrew snapped. “Since when have you ever cared about me? Before I came out? Before you tried to send me to conversion therapy?”

“I changed!” Bree pleaded. “I was wrong about the way I treated you!”

“Well, you’re years too late!” Andrew shouted. “I already have a family that cares about me! I don’t need you! I don’t want you! Leave!”

“Andrew—”

“Leave, now!”

Although hesitant, Bree eventually turned and left, her heart clearly broken. Andrew remained fuming with anger, but the moment the door shut behind her, his expression shifted—anger fading into something more vulnerable.

Y/N stood and walked over, wrapping his arms around Andrew from behind.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“No…” Andrew’s voice was shaky, his breathing uneven. Y/N squeezed him a little tighter, sensing that his fiancé was on the verge of breaking down.

“Do you want me to stay?” Y/N asked softly.

Andrew swallowed hard. “No… I just… need time to think.”

Y/N hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes… please.”

Though reluctant to leave, Y/N gave him one last warm hug, pressing a gentle kiss to his fiancé’s cheek. As he walked to the door, he turned back, taking in Andrew’s distressed expression.

“We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

“…Alright.”

And with that, Y/N left, giving Andrew the space he needed to process everything.

-

At the end of the day, the couple sits down for dinner, though the atmosphere is awkward and quiet. Despite the tension, Y/N tries to start a conversation, but Andrew only responds with short, quick answers. Eventually, Y/N decides to address the issue directly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Y/N asks, watching as Andrew avoids his gaze. “I know you’re not a talker, but it might make you feel better.”

Knowing his fiancé would listen and stand by his side, Andrew finally speaks.

“I never expected to see her again. I had already accepted how things were, but… before I was homeless, I actually didn’t want her to leave me.” He hesitates. “I never said it, of course. I acted so cocky, like I won against her. But she wasn’t even mad… just done. She just looked… sad.”

Y/N reaches for Andrew’s hand, and his fiancé accepts it. Gently, they hold onto each other.

“Andrew… is it possible that you miss her?”

Andrew remains silent for a few moments before responding.

“I don’t know… On one hand, I feel like I’ve moved on. That I hate her. But… now that I saw her, I just feel like shit.”

“Do you feel confused?” Y/N asks. “About how you feel towards her?”

“…Yeah. And I don’t know what to do. Now that I’ve seen her, part of me feels like I should talk to her, but… another part of me doesn’t want to.”

“It’s alright if you don’t have the answers right now.” Y/N assures him. “If you do want to see her, we can. And if you don’t, that’s fine too. No one is pressuring you to do anything—just take your time.”

“Thank you…” Andrew finally looks Y/N in the eyes. “But… if I do go talk to her, would you go with me?”

“Yes.” Y/N responds with a soft smile. “I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

Although he still feels torn about the situation, Andrew finds comfort in knowing he isn’t facing it alone.

-

After a week, Andrew finally feels like he has made up his mind. One morning, while lying awake and deep in thought, his fiancé is still fast asleep beside him. However, after a while, Y/N begins to stir. With a yawn, he turns to the side and sees Andrew staring off into the distance.

“Morning, Andrew.”

“Morning…” Andrew replies quietly.

Y/N immediately senses that something is on his fiancé’s mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yes… I’ve been thinking about everything.” Andrew admits. “I want to say a few things to Brie. And whether I cut contact with her or not… I’ll decide that later.”

Y/N hums in understanding. “If that’s what you want, I’m all for it.” He reaches for his phone to contact their wedding planner. “I’ll ask for your mom’s contact number and try to set up a meeting, alright?”

“Sure…” Andrew nods.

-

Not even a day had passed, and they managed to arrange a meeting. And so, the couple drove back to Fairview. As they made their way through Andrew’s old neighborhood, he felt a wave of nostalgia. The streets he grew up on had changed, yet it felt like just yesterday that he had left them behind.

When they arrived at his old house, Andrew felt a surge of anxiety. Without thinking, he reached for his fiancé’s hand as they walked up to the front door. Once they reached it, the blonde hesitated for a moment before ringing the doorbell. As they waited for those few seconds before facing his mother, he took deep breaths. Y/N made sure to look at him with sympathy, offering silent reassurance.

Then, the door opened.

This time, it wasn’t surprising—but still, mother and son found themselves staring at each other, unsure of what to say or feel.

“…I’m glad you wanted to talk.” Brie finally said.

Andrew said nothing in response. Instead, he stepped inside, forcing Brie to move aside. His fiancé followed closely behind. They made their way to the living room, sitting down together on the couch while Brie took a seat in a chair across from them.

“Would you like something to drink?” Brie offered.

“I’m fine.” Andrew replied. “Let’s just… get this over with.”

“Right…” Brie nodded, bracing herself for whatever he had to say. “I don’t think any amount of apologies will ever make things right.”

“I… just want to say a few things.” Andrew straightened up. “I don’t even know how I should feel. But I want you to know what happened to me after you abandoned me.”

As he spoke, he reached for Y/N’s hand, holding it tightly. His fiancé gave his full support, squeezing back gently.

“I don’t even remember how long I was homeless.” Andrew continued, “but one day, I met Y/N. The first time we saw each other, he was with his friends, and they were messing with my stuff. But… Y/N made things right. And then, one day, while on his way to school, he stopped when he saw me and offered me his lunch. From that day on, we started hanging out. We became friends… and eventually, something more.”

Andrew glanced at his mother, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightening.

“He brought me to his house. He convinced his parents to take me in, and they didn’t treat me differently. They just… treated me right. They never made us feel ashamed for being gay. And… even though they weren’t my real parents, they were the closest thing I ever had to one.”

“Andrew…” Brie’s voice was barely above a whisper. Her expression was filled with shame.

“They even paid for my college tuition. And now, we have an apartment, we’re looking for a house, and we’re getting married.” Andrew took a deep breath. “Everything seemed perfect. And then you came back… and now I don’t know how I should feel or what I should do. …That’s what I wanted to say.”

Brie took a few moments to process his words before responding.

“I don’t blame you for feeling this way.” She said softly. “And if you never want to see me again, I’ll understand.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Y/N decided to speak up.

“There’s something I don’t understand.” he said. “Andrew told me you never accepted him for who he is. But now, you’re acting like you’re suddenly okay with the fact that he’s gay. What changed?”

Andrew turned his gaze back to his mother, equally curious about her answer.

“I… realized that I’m not perfect. I tried to be, and I forced my family to be.” Brie admitted. “Having a son who was straight fit into that picture, but then everything changed. And I had to accept that life isn’t perfect.”

Andrew frowned. “That’s it? Me being gay didn’t fit your ‘perfect family’ picture?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Brie quickly defended herself. “It’s just… back then, that’s how I saw things. But now, I’ve learned to accept that people are different, and that’s okay.”

Andrew looked at her warily, though he could sense that she was being genuine.

“So, what now?” he asked. “We just pretend this never happened?”

“No. I don’t expect us to be fine just like that.” Brie said. “But we can work on it. If that’s something you want.”

Andrew fell silent, deep in thought. He wasn’t sure how to feel or what to do. Looking beside him, he met his fiancé’s gaze, seeking his thoughts.

“What should I do?”

“I… I think that choice should be yours.” Y/N replied carefully. “But if you want my opinion, I do think your mom is sincere. And I believe in redemption.”

Andrew hummed quietly, then looked back at Brie. Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke.

“Then I guess… I’ll give you a chance.”

Brie’s face lit up, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Andrew…” she whispered. “Thank you.”

She stood up, and so did the couple. Brie hesitated for a moment before opening her arms, silently asking for a hug. Andrew, after a brief pause, accepted. Though the embrace felt a little awkward at first, there was warmth in it—something familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.

After a few seconds, they pulled away. Brie wiped at her eyes before offering a soft smile.

“I… was preparing dinner. If you’d like, you’re welcome to stay.” She turned to Y/N. “I’d love to get to know my future son-in-law.”

Andrew and Y/N exchanged a glance—neither of them had any objections. The blonde then looked back at his mother.

“We’re staying.”

“Wonderful.” Brie said, her smile widening. “Just make yourselves at home. I’ll get everything ready. Let me know if you’d like something to drink.”

“That would be nice.” Y/N replied. “Thanks.”

As Brie headed back to the kitchen, the couple looked at each other. Y/N could tell immediately that Andrew seemed much more at ease.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“No thanks to you.” Andrew said with a small smile. “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

“Andrew Van De Kamp afraid of speaking his mind?” Y/N smirked. “That’s new.”

Andrew chuckled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Y/N sat back down on the couch, and Andrew followed, glancing around his old house with curiosity.

“There is one other benefit to you two reconnecting.” Y/N pointed out.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“A free caterer.”

The blonde let out a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

[ophhhhh]

That omega silco x alpha reader noncon fic is still lovingly rotating in my mind and I'm wondering if I could request a second part?:0 could be either smut or just pure angst up to u! XD - 🐺 anon

Fur and wool look cute together

tw : post knot, knotted together, omegaverse, overstim, knot tugging, cum spilling, biting, soft sex, mate bites, scenting, breeding

character(s) mentioned : Silco (arcane)

reader pronouns : he/him

summary : pt 2 of this! fic, after being bred and knotted like the good omega silco is, you show him why you knew that he needed an alpha in his life

a/n : a hint of angst and a lot of smut because that's a yummy combo, but oh, this was so fun to write

The assumption of hatred wasnt wrong. When silco awoke he tried to scamper, yelling and flailing. The tugging making the skin at the base of the knot ache.

Gripping him made him squirm more, twisting and tugging until the alpha had to groan, his body not letting up or go of the omega.

Silco learned eventually, the grip on his hips and the pained sounds making his insticts lean in, to help his mate. His mate, who he never asked for, never wanted and someone who took advantage of him.

Silco starts to shake, not from fear but from bitten back tears. He holds the omega, no other choice all while silco does everything in his power to hide his feelings from the man tied to him, through emotions, soul and lust.

Silco had spent years building himself up as himself, no alpha to hide behind, using his own wit and power to rise to the top and now it was ruined. He smacked at the alpha, hitting him over and over but it did nothing, he could do nothing.

It takes time, for silco to calm, to turn, to even look at him without glaring, but the time is too much to ask because as soon as the omega opens his mouth the second wave of his heat hits. The knot beginning to deflate made the smell of his alphas cum stronger and it triggered the cycle to go again.

Silco soaks everything. The sheets beneath them, their thighs, and his knot. Nothing but desperation in the air, the smell of uncertainty wiped away.

They would have to talk but first he had to make his omega calm again. Slower this time, to show him everything he's gotten now that he tied them together

He moves silco, so instead of spooning, he's behind them, the perfect position for letting his omega feel every inch, and to see silco's ass move with every thrust, but that wasn't the full priority.

Silco is perfectly content, if not impatient, now that the pheramones and hormones are in overdrive he has no thoughts to spare on being angry, all of him focused on being the perfect mate so he can be knotted and bred.

He doesn't make the omega wait, gently fucking into him, the loosening knot making each thrust addicting, the slow pull making it feel tight all over again, pulling to the tip and lowering slowly, making him every inch, and he does.

He practically collapses, legs weak to the point the alphas hands are supporting all of him, he lays there half hovering while his omega cock dribbles into the sheets, making a new puddle in the nest.

Fucking silco feels like nothing he'd ever felt before, and doing it like this? slow? caring and even a little bit loving? It's making him go crazy, pheramones, and insticts to love and care for his omega are nothing but content.

Silco takes it all, his whole body made for this, he melts entirely, letting his alpha, his mate take care of him.

Hands start to wander, making love is great, but it sure can get boring, He touches the omega all over, down the curves he had hidden under shirts and vests, up to his chest where his perky little tits sat, omegas were built so perfectly and cupping the omegas tits in his hands proved that.

He took his time with silco hoping that after this round they could speak, communicate and love eachother properly.

He slid his hand down, fingers playing with the omega's cock, tugging until he moaned louder, then he slid down, using his hand he tugged the omega's cunt more, stretching him, reshaping him ontop of the knot, making it slip deeper as it starts to swell once more

With the knot teasing him again, silco moans, pushing back with each gentle thrust, his body ricocheting with the attempts, the knot is covered in slick, the smell is getting stronger, all signs that the omega feels good, making the alpha want more.

The soft doesnt last with them like this, silco is mumbling about being bred and knotted, his brain mush from the feeling of being fucked and it's something he cant ignore, he starts going a little rougher, till the smacking of hips to ass echo louder than the muffled moans silco is producing.

Theyre small, timid and weak, the opposite of what he acts when he isnt in heat, its endearing and it makes the alpha want to see everything else silco can be, heat or not.

He keeps going, tip to base harder and harder until he feels himself struggling to pull out, close to popping his knot once more he leans down to silco, gently pulling out just to turn them, so theyre facing eachother, he pushes back in, one motion, making silco bite him. Silco bites, hard, breaking the skin and now the bond is shared, silco cums as it connects them, the overwhelming feeling of being owned and also owning taking him over the ledge.

With the help of the new load of slick and cum the knot slides in, popping and connecting them together, and he cums, breeding silco again while the omega nuzzles slightly, scenting the alpha as his own.

They lay like that, knotted, tangled and scenting eachother as they come down from their highs.

Silco knows that alphas being bitten back isnt common, it means something, it means mutual respect. Maybe, just maybe they can talk it out

[ophhhhh]

PAIRING -> Frank Castle x M!reader

SUMMARY -> You can’t get enough of his puppy eyes.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I blame @godjustkys. I couldn’t find a third picture, so we’re going with two 🤲🏼

The first time you saw that look, you were ready to drop everything and give him all you had. You’ve known him for a while, yes, but never payed attention that closely. When it happened, Frank had just gotten back to your shared apartment. All bloody, dirty, and nearly filled with gashes and other wounds that looked nasty. You had him sat down while you cleaned him up—patting at the small cuts with a wet washcloth. Then going in and stitching up all the bad ones. As you pierced the needle into his skin, you looked up at him—a quick glance to make sure he was okay. And when he looked at you? Ohhhhh, your heart ached. You swallowed then looked back down. Taking a few breaths to get your breathing right before continuing to patch him up.

Ever since then you’ve been thinking about it. Not being able to get it off your mind no matter what. Only soon finding yourself looking at him more closely every so often, itching to see that look again.

Luckily, with how you had him right now, you were sure you were gonna see that same exact face you saw the other night.

𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

You held a tight grip on Frank’s thighs. Holding onto them as if your life depended on it. His legs were hooked over your shoulders, tensing when you hit that spot within him. “Relax, Frank,” you cooed. And he tried. With how the night had went for him, you wanted to help him wind down, relax. And was it working? Barley. Only because no matter what you did, or what you said he couldn’t seem to just let himself go. But when you leaned down, forcing his knees to touch his shoulders, and whispered into his ear, he was gone. Hole clenching around you, and legs attempting to kick. Which was useless. “Fuck!” He groaned. Jaw clenched tightly. Frank’s eyes were shut until they weren’t. First looking up at the ceiling—trying to get himself right before making eye contact with you. Because he knew the moment he did, mercy wouldn’t be in your heart anymore.

The longer your cock hit against his sweet spot, the more noises tend to flee from his mouth. Which you absolutely loved. Then finally, Frank turned his head to look at you. Eyes locking onto yours while yours locked onto his. All the thoughts that hurried to your head, all soon went down to your cock. You leaned in to kiss him. At first soft and passionate before getting more hungry and heated. Your thrusts went from slow and deep, to quick paced and rough. His hands shakily made their way to his thighs, holding himself up for you. Which made it a lot more easier for you. With every snap of your hips Frank let out a moan. Keeping eye contact with you as long as he could before he had to pull away. He’d press his lips shut, only letting out hums and low groans. Deciding to shut his eyes and move his head to the side. Why become to difficult all of a sudden?

You noticed, but you also noticed how his back was arched perfectly, and how he struggled to keep up this act. His cock leaked and dripped, pulsing, and twitching at how close he’d gotten within just a few minutes. “Lemme hear you. Hear how good ‘m making you feel.” Frank shook his head, tried to. When you noticed you scoffed. Switching your angle so that all that your cock hit was his prostate. That got a few sounds out of him.

His hands began to ache. The sheen of sweat all over his body making it difficult to keep holding his thighs for you. Frank huffed, a small whimper sneaking its way past. Without a thought his hips moved up slightly. A quick buck. You haven’t been paying attention to his cock, yes, you knew that. But would the added pleasure help him? Of course it would. Plus, your hands were free. So, you moved a hand from somewhere on Frank’s body, and placed it on his cock instead. In response, Frank let out a drawn out, loud groan. Which you smiled to yourself.

He squirmed, his hips not knowing whether to buck up or move away. The sounds he let out were like a beautiful melody that you wanted to keep hearing over and over again. You knew the moment he let go of himself and grabbed onto you, he was cumming. He tried to move himself down onto your cock even more, but at the same time thrust into your hand. Wanting, no, needing more. But all you could give him was harsh, deep thrusts till you came. And when you did it was with a moan, filling him up with your cum. After a few long seconds, you pulled out and looked down; getting met with the sight of your cum leaking from his hole.

You cursed under your breath, picking your head up to look at Frank. Who laid there, breathing heavily with his eyes shut. You leaned back over him—running your hands along his body once more. And when you got close enough you kissed him on the lips then mumbled:

“Did you really think we were done?”

[ophhhhh]

Hi hello could I request smth with alpha male reader x omega ghost? Maybe with ghost inviting reader to his nest to help him with his heat 👉🏻👈🏻

— sink into me

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley | male!reader

warnings: mdni, omegaverse, alpha reader, top reader, heat, knotting

The base was quieter than usual.

There’d been a storm warning earlier in the day, and most of the team was grounded in barracks. The heavy tension in the air wasn’t from the weather, though—not for (y/n), anyway

It was the scent.

He caught it the moment he walked down the hallway near the private quarters. Thick and rich, sweet in a way that made the back of his throat tighten and his instincts rise to the surface. He knew it before he saw the door—Ghost was close to his heat.

And the door was cracked open.

(y/n) paused. His boots were quiet on the floor, breath slower, posture tense. Every alpha instinct screamed to walk away, give the omega his space. But then—

“(y/n).”

Ghost’s voice. Rough. Hoarse. Almost a growl.

He turned his head and met those sharp brown eyes through the dim light.

“You just gonna stand there,” Ghost murmured, “or are you coming in?”

(y/n)’s throat bobbed as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

The room was dark, warm—too warm—and smelled like Ghost. His scent was everywhere, clinging to the walls, thick in the air. (y/n) could barely focus as his pupils dilated and his cock stirred, half-hard in his tactical pants.

Ghost had made a nest.

Pillows. Blankets. Even some of (y/n)’s gear—his hoodie, his shirt, a spare scarf—woven into the center like it had been chosen on purpose.

Ghost was shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest. His mask was still on, but his eyes were glassy, lashes low as he shifted back into the nest with a grunt.

“You good?” (y/n) rasped, staying by the door, fists clenched.

“No.” Ghost bared his teeth in a grin that looked more like a snarl. “Need you.”

That was all it took.

(y/n) was on him in seconds, ditching his gear, crawling into the nest like he belonged there—because right now, he did. Ghost pulled him down, mouth dragging to (y/n)’s throat, nipping and licking at the gland there.

“Scent’s driving me insane,” Ghost muttered, hips grinding up. “You’re the only one who smells right.”

“Fuck,” (y/n) breathed, rutting against him. “You close?”

“Too close.”

(y/n)’s hands pushed down Simon’s sweats, revealing the slick mess already dripping between his thighs. His cock was flushed and leaking, but Ghost didn’t seem to care for that—he was pressing his thighs open, exposing his hole, already wet and twitching.

“Need you to fuck me,” Ghost growled. “Now.”

(y/n) stripped fast, half tearing his shirt and yanking down his pants. His cock slapped against his stomach, thick and dripping precum. He lined up fast, mouth pressed to Ghost’s ear as he growled, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Ghost laughed—a breathless, delirious sound. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, alpha.”

(y/n) pushed in.

Ghost gasped, arching under him as that slick heat enveloped (y/n)’s cock inch by inch. Tight, perfect—(y/n) groaned as he buried himself to the hilt. Ghost’s body clenched hard, sucking him deeper, greedy for every inch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” (y/n) hissed, bracing himself on his elbows. “You sure—?”

“Move, or I’ll do it myself.”

That was all the permission he needed.

(y/n) started to thrust—slow, deep. Each stroke was met with a needy grind of Ghost’s hips, his legs locked around (y/n)’s waist as if trying to keep him inside. The slick sound of skin on skin filled the nest, along with Ghost’s low grunts and the sharp slap of (y/n)’s hips.

Ghost clawed at his back, dragging nails down hard enough to leave red lines. His mask was damp with sweat, mouth parted as he panted against (y/n)’s jaw.

“More,” he snarled. “Harder.”

(y/n) shifted his angle and slammed in deeper. Ghost choked on a sound, back arching when (y/n)’s cock pressed just right—there. Over and over, until Ghost was trembling, coming untouched, his slick gushing around (y/n)’s cock.

The sight made (y/n) growl—deep, primal. He didn’t slow down.

He was close. Too close.

“Gonna knot you,” he ground out, teeth on Ghost’s shoulder.

“Do it.” Ghost’s voice was wrecked. “Need it. Want you stuck inside.”

(y/n) snapped his hips forward and pushed his knot in hard.

Ghost moaned—hands gripping (y/n)’s arms, full body tensing as his hole stretched wide around the thick swell. It took a few brutal thrusts to wedge it in, but once it popped past the ring of muscle, (y/n) couldn’t move—not without dragging Ghost’s whole body with him.

They both stilled, panting, shaking.

Then (y/n) came.

His cock pulsed hard, knot locking in place as he emptied himself deep inside. Ghost let out a stuttering breath, body jerking with each wave of hot cum that flooded his slick, already stuffed hole.

It dripped out around the knot, pooling beneath them.

(y/n) collapsed on top of him, teeth still grazing the omega’s neck.

Ghost shifted under him, the motion pushing the knot deeper. (y/n) groaned.

“You’re not done,” Ghost said flatly.

(y/n) blinked. “What?”

“I want more.”

He clenched around (y/n)’s knot to prove it, and (y/n) nearly blacked out.

“You’re gonna fuck me again,” Ghost said. “And again. Until this heat passes.”

(y/n)’s cock twitched, already starting to swell again.

Once the knot deflated enough to slip free, Ghost flipped them—straddling (y/n)’s hips, grinding back down on his cock, forcing the alpha’s dick right back into his overstretched hole.

“You’re filthy,” (y/n) rasped, watching Ghost ride him like a man possessed.

“Yeah?” Ghost smirked under the mask, eyes wild. “Then fuck me like I am.”

(y/n) grabbed his hips and thrust up hard. The sound Ghost made was half snarl, half moan. The slapping was faster now, wetter, his stomach starting to bulge slightly each time (y/n) bottomed out.

“Look,” (y/n) grunted, hand spreading over the swollen skin. “You’re taking all of me.”

Ghost looked down and groaned, rutting harder—chasing another knot, another release.

When (y/n) knotted again, it was deeper—tighter. Ghost was shaking, body covered in sweat, cock untouched but leaking heavily against his stomach.

“Come for me,” (y/n) growled, hand closing around Ghost’s cock. “Do it.”

Ghost bit down on his own glove as he came again, shooting thick ropes over (y/n)’s chest.

The omega collapsed on him again, shaking and wrecked.

“Fuck,” (y/n) whispered. “How many more rounds…?”

Ghost looked up with a grin that could kill.

“Until I can’t walk.”

words: 1114

published: 23.may.2025

[ophhhhh]

MARC SPECTOR AND STEVEN GRANT KINKS

WARNINGS: NSFW, minor hide your eyes

BONDAGE KINK

Both Marc and Steven absolutely love to be tied up while you guys fuck. Marc prefers handcuffs while Steven however prefers silk rope.

BREEDING AND LACTATION KINK

I feel these two things go hand in hand so…. Any gay Marc’s breeding kink and lactation kink is less severe as Steven’s. Steven wants to be bred every single day of the week. He often fantasizes about being pregnant and having a heavy chest full of milk. While Marc shares this same sentiment as well he doesn’t feel the need to be bred every day.

DEGRADATION AND PRAISE KINK

Marc is a huge fan of degradation. It is one of his favorite things in the whole world right up there next to you. Steven on the other hand as a huge praise kink. He wants to be your good boy while Marc wants to be your slut.

MANHANDLING

Steven is a fan of manhandling he likes to be tossed around like a rag doll and fucked against walls. Marc on the other hand is a HUGE FAN of it. He doesn’t care what you are doing to him as long as your manhandling and showing him who is boss he is happy.

ORGASM CONTROL

Both Steven and Marc are obsessed with orgasm control. But the thing they both love the most about it, is the power that you have over them. You have the power to give them what they want and decline them what they want. You also look even more hot while you do it.

SCENT KINK

Marc is more into smelling you directly if that makes sense. Marc also likes to lick your armpits and your pubic area. While on the other hand Steven prefers to smell your clothes. It doesn’t really matter what piece of clothing if yours that it is as long as it smells like you he is all good.

SIZE KINK

Both of these boys have major size kinks. But can you blame them though. Anyway this goes hand and hand with there love of manhandling. It doesn’t really matter if you’re bigger than them in weight or height or both. You are still bigger than them and that gets the two of them off so fucking much it’s not even funny.

[ophhhhh]

The Apparition

Pairing: Tom Riddle x taller/more built male reader. No pronouns are mentioned for the reader, so could be read as gender neutral.

Summary: Cuddling with a man who has, in fact, never cuddled anyone before in his life, let alone someone taller than him.

A/N: I appreciate the request anon, hope you enjoy! Never written for Tom before but he might be one of my favorites - xoxo, Kallias

· · ─────── ⏾⋆.˚ ─────── · ·

Winters in Scotland were notoriously brutal. The landscape was a study in stark contrasts, where the pale moonlight glinted off the ice-covered Black Lake, creating a shimmering expanse that seemed to extend the frigid grasp of winter into the very heart of the castle.

Nestled within its looming stone walls, particularly in the dim confines of the lowest floor, the chill seeped in through the cracks and crevices left by age in the chiseled rock, wrapping around you like an unwelcome cloak.

Tonight, the wind howled like a wailing specter, each gust rattling the heavy timbers of the castle, making the air feel all the more oppressive.

It was the kind of night that coaxed a shiver even from the fiercest of hearts, and while most opted to remain tucked snugly beneath layers of quilts, Tom Riddle was not most people.

Dressed in his dark robes, he had already set out to pace the cold, silent halls with an air of determination, steadfastly fulfilling his Prefect duties. Meanwhile, you’d garnered the courage to sneak into his dorm, hoping to find solace in a warm embrace—only to be met with the sight of an empty, perfectly made bed.

The corners of your lips twisted into a frown, caught between disappointment and a hint of amusement. Always so resolute, Tom would never be swayed by “a little weather,” as he would airily put it, rooted in his steadfast belief in the order he maintained.

As you paused a few steps into his room, uncertainty crept in, leaving you unsure of your next move now that the main piece—person, that is—in your plan was missing.

“Looking for someone?”

The smooth, velvety timbre of his voice cut through the stillness, causing you to spin around in surprise, a spark of exhilaration igniting within you.

You recognized that voice instantly—its rich tones were imprinted in the memories of anyone who had encountered him, echoing with a sinister charm.

You, however, doubted that you had much in common with the others haunted by Tom Riddle.

While others may have felt intimidated, turning on their heels to escape, save they get caught in the same room as him, you were drawn closer, far more interested in running after him then away.

From your first run in, Tom had captivated you. His aloofness from those around him, marked by scowls and cold, cutting remarks to make sure everyone but the bravest or dumbest souls steered clear of him, had only fed your fascination.

He had initially regarded you with a kind of contempt, particularly as you towered over him with your above-average height and broader frame—a feat that unnerved him. For he was accustomed to casting shadows over most of his peers, reveling in the involuntary need for them to look up at him. Having that particular trick now turned against him unsettled him deeply.

In essence, you intimidated him. Though he’d never concede that point outright, the way his gaze would flit over his shoulder more often than usual revealed his unease.

Little by little though, he grew accustomed to your presence, begrudgingly acknowledging that you brought a peculiar advantage when kept closer to him, allowing him glimpses into your thoughts and intentions.

You seemed to have a frustratingly accurate talent for stumbling upon the places wherever he stowed away in attempts to evade you, anyways.

Over time, he had unfurled cautiously, revealing himself in small doses, as if wary that ingesting too much of him at once would be deadly for one, if not both of you.

He let you linger near him during the time he’d sectioned off for journaling, as well as offering what he called “helpful criticism” when he noticed any slip ups in your notes and homework.

Then, as if by some unseen force, the dynamic between you shifted. Your intense gaze lingered on him with an expression he struggled to identify, making him feel exposed yet, oddly almost intrigued.

The moments of intimacy grew gradually, like a tide creeping ever closer to the shore, as he allowed soft kisses—only short pecks really— to punctuate your time together following up the mostly one-sided confession, that’d left him momentarily off balance.

The mere act of tolerating your affection spoke volumes where his words didn’t, especially when you found ways to keep your body close to his at all times and he never deemed it fit to move away—whether it was a knee brushing against his or your fingertips dancing along his hand.

Your latest scheme revolved around persuading him to indulge in a rare moment of warmth and comfort amidst the frostbitten air of the night.

To put it simply, your bed was cold, no matter you attempts to evade the chill with more blankets, and you were running low on options, so Tom it was.

“Mm, nope. No one I can think of,” you teased, adopting a thoughtful expression.

“Were you looking for someone in particular, Tom?”

His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head in that habitual way that usually suffused him with poise and intimidation. Yet, in that moment, he realized the irony: standing before you, the height he was so proud of had no leverage against your own stature.

“I would’ve had to be both blind and deaf to not notice you marching down the hall. It’s my duty as a Prefect to investigate any students out this late in the night,” he countered defensively, his bravado faltering slightly as his gaze flitted away in the low candlelight.

A grin tugged at your lips as you stepped closer, reading the slight tightening of his posture as he prepared for your advance, expecting some embrace no doubt. Yet, instead of leaning in for the expected, you raised an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

“You’re not denying it.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an electricity that set your heart racing as you observed Tom’s expression, the gears turning visibly in his mind.

“Awe, no need to say it, Tommy; I know you missed me.” You pushed your luck with the teasing, affectionate tone, your heart racing at the thrill of it all.

Despite himself, he tensed, inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Don’t call me that; it sounds ridiculous,” he shot back, slipping past you to perch on the edge of his bed, rifling through his bedside table as if searching for something of utmost importance.

Seizing your opportunity, you glided closer, ready to bridge the distance between you once more.

Settling on the bed, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder with the same cation you’d take when picking up a venomous snake.

Dipping your head now to rest your chin on his shoulder, it painted a strangely domestic picture of you two.

You gave only a low hum to acknowledge his words, distracted as you lulled over the thoughts swirling around your mind. Finally, you spoke up, voice softened by proximity, giving way to an unusual, almost vulnerable note.

“Well… I like it.”

That alone was enough to give Tom pause.

He was well versed in faking sympathy, earning trust without feeling a sliver of care towards the person, only interested in what they could do for him.

But this, this was entirely new territory.

This, as Tom had stubbornly refused to acknowledge up until that very moment, was real.

The thought was a terrifying one. You’d somehow managed to slip past each one of his defenses without being detected until you’d already secured yourself a place in his heart of stone.

Taking notice of the faintest traces of fragility shimmering in his eyes, you found yourself moving instinctively, as if drawn in by an unseen force.

You gently lowered yourself to the bed, carefully coaxing him down with you. The absence of his usual silent tension felt like a promising sign, allowing your arm to slide down his side, wrapping it around his waist with a shockingly tender touch.

Growing curious at the lack of well… anything from him, you propped yourself up on your free arm. Glancing over his shoulder, only to be met with a flash of movement.

You abruptly found yourself facing away from him as he attempted to get comfortable, stiffly mimicking the position you had just occupied.

You had to exert immense willpower to stifle a laugh, knowing how rare and precious this moment of intimacy was. Yet, it was almost impossible to contain your amusement as Tom tried—and stumbled—through several awkward attempts to fully envelop you in his embrace, his struggle against the unyielding height difference both endearing and amusing.

It was sweet, it really was, but that didn’t drain any humor from the situation. In fact, it seemed that the simple knowledge that you shouldn’t find anything funny in his serious attempts to cuddle you only made it that much more of a challenge.

A choked noise of laughter escaped you before you could rein it in, a single crack in the dam of restraint, and once it broke free, it unleashed a cascade that had your shoulders shaking in silent mirth.

Feeling the arm around your waist retract, you surrendered to the moment, flopping forward to lay flat on your stomach, your face burying into the pillow that did little to muffle your breathless giggles.

You regained your composure as swiftly as possible, rolling onto your back and shifting closer to where Tom lay, his arms crossed defensively.

Biting the inside of your cheek in a desperate attempt to suppress the overwhelming grin that tugged at your lips, you draped both arms around his waist, positioning your head against his upper arm, crafting the delightful illusion that he was indeed the taller one in this embrace.

“Tom, seriously. I’m sorry, it wasn’t funny,” you said softly, the sincerity of your words mirrored in your eyes, though a small upward twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed a hint of mischief.

He finally met your gaze, suspicion flickering in his expression, his nose scrunched adorably, reminiscent of an irritated cat.

You halted the teasing thought before it could leave your lips, sensing he didn’t need any additional blows to his pride at this moment.

Scooting closer with careful stealth, you gradually tugged him nearer, until you finally managed to hold him against your chest. You felt a surge of triumph as his rigid form began to soften, his posture reluctantly yielding to your affection.

“I really don’t see what you found so humorous about it.” Tom’s voice broke the silence, eliciting a genuine smile that sparkled in your eyes. No trace of mockery lingered in your expression, even as his eyes searched yours with skepticism.

Finally content that Tom wouldn’t bolt the moment you showed him some level of tenderness, you pulled the heavy covers up around the two of you, snuggling even closer, reveling in the warmth of his presence.

“Well?” Tom’s voice sliced through the comfortable stillness after a prolonged pause.

Your eyelids fluttered open, head cocking to the side in confusion.

“Pardon?”

Your puzzlement deepened when a quick breath escaped him.

“Is this everything you dreamed it’d be?” The dry humor in his tone, which you’d come to recognize as a 50/50 chance of being his attempt at a joke, drew a grin to your face.

“Wellll… In my dreams, we were more like—” You paused mid-sentence, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension as you tugged him closer. Your bodies melded together, fitting as if they were pieces of a puzzle crafted by the universe itself. “—this, and…”

Leaning closer, you tilted your head to boldly press your lips against his in a delicate kiss, a soft sigh escaping you like a whisper of wind before you surrendered to a deeper kiss.

Your hand lifted to cup the side of his face, fingers delicately tracing his jawline. Each movement was filled with an overwhelming passion that sent Tom’s thoughts spiraling into a delightful chaos, earning a soft shudder when your fingertips momentarily brushed against his neck.

When you pulled back with a soft pant, Tom found himself gazing into your darkened eyes, which sparkled enticingly in the faint glow of the lamp. The light accentuated the mischief swirling within them, along with an indescribable warmth that he had never seen so vividly nor this close before. Had your eyes always been this breathtaking?

In that moment, he finally recognized the elusive emotion glimmering in your gaze: affection.

As if reading his thoughts, you leaned in, darting forward to shower his face with a flurry of soft kisses, each one a fluttering promise of more.

It was only a moment before he countered, pressing his palm firmly against your chest, halting your relentless assault.

You leaned into his touch, even as it restrained you, a guileless laugh bubbling from your parted lips as you took in the surprise etched on Tom’s face with some delight.

If it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have made it past the first syllable of “Tommy,” yet here you were, unscathed and emboldened. That alone spoke volumes—like a sealed letter confessing his love, you thought.

“Yeah, I’d say this is better than anything I could’ve thought up,” you confirmed, letting your head drop back against his shoulder—a position you’d quickly discovered he favored over being engulfed as the small spoon. You turned to look up at him, a roguish grin brightening your features.

The shared body heat enveloped you two, creating a sanctuary beneath the covers, keeping the cold, deadly chill at bay outside the cocoon of sorts.

The appreciation in your eyes sparked something delicate within Tom's chest, filling him with a sense of susceptibility that left him breathless. In that moment, he knew he was so, completely and undeniably, screwed.

· · ─────── ⏾⋆.˚ ─────── · ·

[ophhhhh]

Cw:technically feminization

I want the reader to be the one doing the brainwashing for once. Like cmon. Imagine dating homelander and over the course of a year or two you fully sell him on the idea of being a cute little housewife 🥰 (let’s pretend that vought doesn’t factor into this or they’re happy to have a way to get rid of homelander without trying to kill him)

It starts with small things (because you don’t want to get lasered in half) like you overly pampering him whenever he complains about work. Telling him how he’s too good and too pretty to be stressing so much and you wish he could just relax at home all day. He laughs it off at first, grateful for the attention but there’s surely no way he could leave his role as homelander, he’s in too deep (aha).

You get him into more “normal” tasks like cooking and cleaning because you very subtly help him associate those tasks with positive reinforcements. Loving up on him whenever he cooks breakfast (even if it’s not the best) telling him how much you appreciate him and how you’re so lucky to have a boyfriend who’d do all of this for you. Or even planning dates for the two of you around learning things like sewing, crocheting or even gardening, purposely messing up so that he can get the confidence boost of having you praise him even more.

And then you start trying to get him to stay home more wether it’s more sane like having a conversation to make him feel as if he doesn’t spend enough time with you and your relationship is on the line OR you could do something crazy like purposely injuring yourself so he’s FORCED to take over the house in some capacity, waiting on you hand and foot as you overplay your injury everrrr so slightly.

Whenever you fuck him you’re very intentional with your words and actions—making sure to stress how pretty he looks in just his pjs and how when you saw him waiting for you to come home you could hardly stop yourself from taking him right there. Coming up behind him when he’s in the kitchen wearing that stupid little pink apron you bought as a “joke” and bending him over on the counter before fucking him like your trying to get him pregnant. Telling him that you’re gonna put a baby in him and he’s so outraged and confused and very very flustered that his mind just short circuits and he comes without so much as a warning.

And then finally you completely lean into the idea of him being a housewife without outright saying it. At this point (even without knowing it) he’s sold on the idea as well because being around you is the only time he doesn’t feel like murdering the entire planet and is so enamored with you that he just wants to pamper you.

You guys buy a stereotypical white picket fence home and he gets a proper disguise (if they can shove a bomb up someone’s ass they can get him a convincing disguise idc how famous he is) so you can spend your days taking him out on dates and having him go to the grocery store etc etc.

Siiiigh maybe you two decide to adopt kids and Johns at the verge of tears every time he attends their activities because although it took a lot of convincing he’s genuinely so happy to have the normal life he’d always wanted.

[ophhhhh]

★ stag

☾ tywin lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ need that old man part 2, also happy new year

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.43k words

cw: hair pulling, from behind, first time anal for tywin, age gap, use of boy as a nickname for the reader, pretty long, small mention of period-typical homophobia

Tywin was never one for hunts, not the ceremonious ones. Hunting was a necessity. It was not like joustings and tourneys, the entertainment found in the desperation and death of boastful warriors; those, he could understand. It is joy and amusement there, and he knows there is no joy to be found in letting your scouts capture the beast for you. It is duller still to plunge your blade into a helpless creature.

Most of all, there is no necessity to send the Lord Lannister, the commander of the Lannister army, a trusted advisor to the crown hunting. The so-said "better taste" of the game you hunted yourself is nothing but delusion to cover up for the time wasted, he knows this too.

There are always men perfectly capable of hunting for him, and if there aren't any, Westeros is damned for its incompetency.

Tywin only understands a good, old-fashioned hunt with purpose.

His army marches on in its journey to tame the North. Night falls, and dinner must be served. So, he hunts.

He's a noble, still, a man who enjoys the comforts of filling meals and cupbearers and wine, regardless of how worthless they are in showing anything except that he is still wealthy.

That is why here, on the table of his very own tent, he's skinning a stag.

He won't be the only one to eat it, no. The man behind him will, too.

You were, seventeen years ago, a soldier; but, just like now, you were also more than that. You were a killer of Targaryen Generals, which grants you today the title of General too: the Commander of the remaining Baratheon army that is still loyal to the admittedly blonder, true Baratheons.

The Baratheon colors became the Lannister's. Yellow became gold and red, but colors were nothing in the face of loyalty.

Tywin's the Lord of Casterly Rock while you're just a lesser cousin, a distant nephew, the farthest there is from inheriting Storm's End, yet you are only one rank below him in power, and that is something to admire.

Suppose that's why he allows you a cut of his meat.

"You stare." Tywin says.

There's no surprise in the statement, even with his back turned towards you. "I do."

"Yes, you do. Often, might I add. State your intentions, plainly."

You know each other, you might even dare to say, well. Tywin is a clever man, he always considers his alliances and his relationships carefully, and you have his trust. It is not easily given.

That does not mean he won't walk on eggshells around you.

"You know, there's reason to my staring. You're easy to stare at."

"Choose your next words carefully."

You have your worth, you're valueable, you're irreplacable. Digging a dagger into your throat won't be easy.

He wedges the butcher's knife into the table with a strong stab. It'd be anger, if that wasn't his usual way of doing it. Here, it's a show of strength. He turns to face you.

"I apologize, my Lord, it appears I wasn't speaking plainly." You play. Oh, you play. You Baratheons don't know when to quit. "You look good. Not good like the pretty princesses in their skirts, but like the men, if you have seen it, if you can understand it, the men on hot summer days that are still bound to the sword, training, muscles golden under the sun."

Tywin doesn't realize he's entertaining you when he says, "We are under shade. It is almost fall."

"Then let me fix it." You look interested now, sitting up, it's a pursuit. "You hide your body under armor, because one does not need to see your body to see your strength. You are commanding, powerful, outside of the physical. Your voice is deep and it allures me even though you don't intend it."

He raises a brow. At this point, not denying you is encouraging you.

You serve him. He could execute you just for saying this. Men have been killed for less, though that is a kind of command he has never given. This is a first, to be wanted like this, by a man, no less, and since many years.

Tywin picks up his knife, turns towards the table, back to the stag, back to skinning it. He's busying his hands. "Continue."

You stride forward, boot upon the earth like you're sneaking up to prey. He does not move to turn, nor does he open his mouth to stop you.

"You're an admirable man, you're ruthless, you're cunning. You plan ahead, you lead the Crown's army." You huff out something of a laugh at yourself, "I am only feeding your ego now, am I not?"

"You think that will get you somewhere?" Tywin returns. HIs knife separates a stubborn bit of the stag's skin from its muscles with a sickening schlick.

"No, I don't believe so." Your hands come to rest on the table on either side of him. It'd be trapping him if he were any other man but Tywin.

He wields the knife.

"And you think this will get you somewhere?"

"Maybe." Your voice is closer to his ear now. He almost flinches. Instead, you press your nose against his neck, and the rest of your head against the back of his.

Intimacy, warmth. It gets colder the further north you go, but he knows that's not why he isn't pushing you away now.

"I think, you'd have ordered my head or killed me yourself if you weren't interested."

Silence is enough of an answer.

You have been, at times, that man bound to the sword in the summer. Tywin has seen it, though he's never allowed himself more than a glance. He knows the sight of them, but pressed up against him now, he can feel your muscles beneath the thinner garments you wear under your armor.

Much the way you admire the strength of him, he can feel your strength; and again, he has seen it in the way you cleave down your enemies, but he is feeling it now, and it is different.

His silence was enough then, and his words won't be enough now, not unless they are stop or you're dead. So he chooses, instead, to poke fun at you.

"You aren't even the age I was when the Mad King was felled, do you know that, boy?"

If it is a night of entertainment that he'll find today, then he might as well have his fun. After all, he's a noble, still, a man who enjoys his comforts.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" You laugh against the skin of his neck.

The knife comes down into the wood of the table again, threateningly close to your hand. You don't flinch. He admires that.

There's the first couple of kisses against his neck. They're wet, which isn't quite his preference, but they're tolerable.

Tywin sighs, which he regrets quickly.

He gave you an inch, and you took a mile. "What was that?"

"A sigh, boy." His voice is stern. It'd be threatening, if you didn't hear that tone all the time. "Keep going."

Your hands undo the clasps of his leather overgarment, then untuck the shirt from his pants, and then meet his skin. They're cold against his stomach, but quickly warming up as you rub over it, like a lady's belly.

He sneers. "Don't keep that up. Move on."

You laugh. He should smack you, but he doesn't. "Apologies, my Lord."

"Does it please you to call me that?" His hand comes back to grab a handful of your hair, a grasp for control in this situation.

"Yes." You don't deny it.

This desire you have for him is his upper hand. He turns around and roughly tugs your hair back, pulling a wince from you.

He's rougher still with the laces of your pants, undoing them quickly and finally wrapping a hand around your cock. You're different from him, unrestrained, already groaning. "Do you want me because I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock and you're insignificant to the Baratheon house? Are you trying to see which is the highest bed you can sleep on?"

"No-no, my Lord."

That surprises him. He works you quickly, root to tip, the cold and the dryness of it all don't help. "Then what is it?"

"I want you," Instinct calls and you pathetically thrust your hips into his hand. "fuck, because it's your strength and power that make my cock stir."

"Funny, that it's my hand now."

For a moment, Tywin considers if he should continue the affair. Since Stannis and Renly Baratheon's individual rebellions, he hasn't been entirely sure of your loyalty. Blood is thicker than water, and it seems the Baratheon blood in his grandchildren has spread thinner than even water.

You'd be his pet, if he kept this up. The Baratheon army that follows you would be entirely his, secured.

"But a hand isn't what you want, is it?"

He spits on his hand then continues to jerk you off, and, "Fuuck."

"You aren't making it easy to tell." Tywin laughs, thoroughly amused.

"No, my Lord," You gulp back a moan to speak properly in front of your Lord, "I wanna fuck you."

"Fuck me? That's hilarious."

He considers it. It's true that it's something he's never tried, but he's not sure if he's willing to try it at all. Well, then again, men are driven by their cocks, and you're no exception.

"Please."

You sound so pathetic, it's cute. Tywin sighs again, letting go of you. "Alright. Go fetch oil. That is what you men use, yes?"

Tywin was not a youth seventeen years ago, and he is much less a youth now.

That does not mean that his knees are weak, nor that he can't fuck, just that he tires easily. His only concern was to take it with caution.

Sex is such a vulnerable act, after all. That's why it's such a powerful tool.

He never cleaned up the table. There was still blood on it, steadily but lazily flowing out of the stag where he'd cut open right down the middle.

Tywin cared for his cleanliness, but he didn't seem to care right now. His well-established dominance had faded into pleasured sighs and heavy breaths, as this was a sensation he'd never felt before.

It isn't how he imagined it, like a cold, struggling humping against his back and into the only hole he'd let you use.

Instead, there's pleasure in it, his nerves lighting up with shocks as if lightning. Then there was one that spot you'd rub against sometimes with terrible consistency.

It's carnal, is what it is.

Your lips find his neck again, and he lets out a shaky sigh. The kisses you give are wet, and he likes it.

With each time your pelvis meets his ass, his breath gets shakier.

"My Lord–"

"Don't speak."

It's terrifying, how much Tywin likes this. He'd always thought queer men to be bumbling fools, if only he knew the pleasure that came with it.

Your hand finds his; he takes it, squeezes it. It's somewhat of a blood union, with stag's blood.

The irony of it, a dead stag, a Baratheon fucking him.

Some sort of possession runs through him. You wear his colors.

"Fuck." He says, an indecency. This is indecent. This is fraternization. Oh, but he couldn't care less right now.

His hand comes back, finds your hair again. He tugs, causing your lips to pull off his neck with a smack. He does it for nothing but the pleasure of hearing you gasp, a grasp for control where he finds it.

"My Lord." You don't seek to speak this time, he knows it. You're only moaning out for him, and it's rather pleasing.

He leans down further, pressing his ass into you, pushing your cock deeper into him. His back arches like a whore's. It's unbecoming.

And yet the heat feeds into it. It's still cold, here, but the way you work your bodies heats the both of you up in what feels like a mania to have more, to seek more, to want more, to fuck because you need it.

It's like a fire in his old, worn body.

The hand that was holding his travels down to his body, grasping his cock. Tywin gasps. His hand quickly follows, wrapping around your wrist with a slapping sound, and yet he doesn't pull it off.

It's stimulation on both sides, your hand around his cock and his asshole clenching around yours.

He almost loses his mind.

He tugs at your hair again, pulling another groan from your lips. It's a reminder of his control. You enjoy calling him your Lord, so he has to remind you that the title has meaning to it, before he loses himself to instinct.

He does, in the next moment, opening his mouth to let out a breath of a groan.

He shuts it, quickly. Tents are only fabric.

His hips follow in pursuit of instinct and pleasure, anyway; forward into your hand, finding pleasure for his length, then backwards onto your cock, spearing himself open.

When he cums, his mouth falls just slightly open to moan as quiet as instinct allows, and his hole clenches around you in tandem. You follow soon enough, groaning into his skin with enough restraint to remember you are an army general.

Tywin leans against the dirty table to catch his breath, before he's back to a fearsome commander the next moment.

"Get yourself tidied up." He's pulling his garments back on rather impersonally, because he cannot stay vulnerable. "And do not breathe a word of this to anyone."

Despite that, there is some joy to knowing he's enjoyed this, especially as you wipe off the evidence of his pleasure on the dirty rag he'd been using to clean the blood off his hands. "Yes, my Lord."

"Keep that smirk off your face, boy." Tywin's face is back to cold and emotionless, though there is something of an amused lift to his eyes. "When next you decide to seduce me, do pick a better location. Army encampments are dreadful enough."

You can hardly speak about next time before he waves you off.

You'll see him later tonight, anyhow.

Tywin does not care to make sure you're walking away when he turns around, because it's the best he can do to hide the amused smirk that rises on his lips. A new pet, hm?

A smell makes itself apparent and Tywin remembers there is still a stag to skin.

[ophhhhh]

★ comfort

☾ jaime lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ prince charming jaime lannister (s1 jaime) is my fav; also genuinely the first fic of mine where the pairing kisses lip to lip

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.0k words

cw: long intro, lighthearted s*x, reunion s*x, soft, cheating, light incest (don't sue me, it's game of thrones, they're very distant cousins however many times removed) , calling your lover names playfully (bastard, asshole), more plot than porn (entire second part is s*x, but not focused on the s*x)

"Did you grow up with boy-cousins, Lord Tywin? Sons of your father's bannermen, squires, stable boys."

"Of course."

"And you... never..?"

"No."

"Not once? Not in any way?"

"Never."

You were never destined for anything.

You were born a Lannister, yes, but you were so far from the main line that you were set to inherit nothing. You were only a Lannister by name, long lines of second sons marrying outside of important houses over and over until your blonde locks were nothing but dirty.

Your father did not own a large sum of Lannister fortune. His greatest achievement was being the squire of one of Tywin's lesser brothers; but his brother never lead any wars, and so that was hardly a feat anyway.

When you were born, it seemed like you would follow in your father's footsteps. There was hardly anything Lannister about you.

Your greatest feat would probably be setting foot in Casterly Rock to shovel horse shit to and fro. At least then you'd get to admire your distant cousins, the glorious ones, the ones you'd use in your fantasies as the shoes you'd like to wear.

Except, one day you stole a sword and caught the eye of Tywin's lesser brother, the very same that your father had squired for. He showed you, in turn, to his brother, Tywin Lannister.

Under the Lord of Casterly Rock's eyes, you showed promise.

Before Jaime Lannister ever took up the sword with a purpose that wasn't "because daddy told me to", there was you in the training grounds as far as he could remember.

There was you, strong, barely a teen yet.

You became friends, then, under the sword. Tywin bid you an example for his son. As a boy, you were hardly fit to be an example, so instead you became friends.

Between his overzealous sister, his outcast brother, his jealous cousins and the frightened servants, you were the best friend he could ever have.

From friends, you became... not lovers, but something close. It was hardly romance, it was hormones, it was just boys being boys, and it was only fooling around. A kiss or two, sometimes longer, sometimes with tongue; playing at maturity.

With you, Jaime got a taste for breaking the rules and the thrill of sneaking out of his bedroom under the bright cast of moonlight. He got his first taste of romantic companionship, and he liked it.

You were only a couple years older then, but Jaime's dislike for letters caused him to be bound to the book for several hours a day, and so you were the stronger swordfighter.

He admired you. You were more literate than him, though most people are, and stronger, taller, more built, more worked.

You knew hardship and, as the heir to Casterly Rock, he didn't.

He got his first taste of hardship when you were summoned to become a King's Guard, and he did not like it.

Jaime had never begged before. "Don't go. Please, don't go."

And you had never denied him. "I must."

That's why, when you left for the King's Guard, he was left in despair. Despair caused impulse, and he fell back to his sister.

You did not send any ravens the years you were gone, so you grew apart. Jaime held some resentment too, for the first couple of years when he became a King's Guard, so you grew further apart.

He had his sister now, and she was a jealous woman.

The older you grew, the more you thought of your little youthful escapades as just that, things of the youth, inconsequential to anything else of your now adult existance.

Jaime came around eventually.

He became the better swordsman. He was quite fine with letters, and stronger, taller, more discreet, more dutiful.

You were lovers once more, but only that. This time, you knew how to please a man, but again he was only learning. You pleased each other under the influence of wine, or maybe not. Maybe sometimes your minds were unobstructed, and instead, you were more truthful, softer... and some rare nights, you only talked, you shared heart-to-hearts.

But you weren't friends, not by actions. You did not talk often enough, freely enough, unguarded. You were just lovers.

Regardless, to Jaime, there was great comfort in knowing that you were somewhere in the Red Keep, still there for him, still alive. It was one of the things he fought to remember during his year-long journey back to King's Landing.

When you open your door to leave your chambers, you are quickly pushed back inside.

Jaime's there. He's different, but he's there, and he slams the door behind him. You take it as another moment where he seeks the comfort of your body, especially after what you heard had happened to him. The idea occurs naturally to you, even after a year apart.

You kiss him roughly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, because you've missed him.

Jaime breaths hard into the kiss. He's breathing hard in general, and it's more evident when he pushes you away.

You lose your footing in a daze and land on a chair. It'd be a great position, and you'd be quite excited in anticipation, if it weren't for the look on his face.

"Jaime?"

"You didn't come see me." He says, angrily. His arms are crossed, hands—hand folded over his inner elbow.

Standing before you is a shadow of the man Jaime once was. His hair is shorter, darker, his skin is tanner, he's got dark circles under his eyes. He looks worn.

This is a man who has gone through hell. This is a man going through his second war, a man who was held prisoner for a time, who had to kill his cousin, and who tracked through mud and shit to get back to his home. He was missing a bloody hand!

And you didn't go see him.

"No, I didn't." You sit up quickly, fixing the smirk on your lips to a neutral one. "I thought Cersei would keep you, or that you'd be busy recovering...or that our family would want to see you."

"Cersei saw me." Jaime said pointedly. The next moment, he's climbing onto your lap, bracketing your legs with his. "I saw Joffrey and Tommen. Myrcella is gone, and I just found out. Tyrion had his opportunity. Father wished to do nothing but scold me. I was recovering from my journey in my chambers for three days. You didn't come see me."

"I didn't... and now I see I have no excuse." You keep your eyes on him. Past his heavy lids and dark circles, his eyes are the same as you last saw them, a beautiful green.

"All I could think about was getting back to you." He says through gritted teeth, and though it was a lie, you would believe it. He shifts his hips to rub against your length, a subtle grind.

It loses all subtlety when he continues, over and over. Pleasure rises.

"You are." You say with shaky breaths, heavy enough to mirror his. Your eyes close instinctively, head tilted down to the source of your pleasure.

You haven't had him in a year. You miss him, his body. A brothel whore cannot compare.

"Look at me." His teeth are still gritted. He grasps your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks in the pull to make you look at him.

"Jaime." You say, acknowledging him, looking at him once more.

He looks angry. It's in his gritted teeth and wide eyes and his heaving chest, it's in his words—but he's not violent, no, never to you.

You kiss him, lick into his mouth to urge his tongue to meet yours. His teeth separate, not with a screeching difficulty, but easily. It's almost familiar, the way his tongue feels against yours, the taste of his saliva.

You have known this man longer than you haven't. Perhaps he is missing a hand, perhaps he is wrinkled and older, but he is still the same man you tousled with in your youth.

You find yourselves eventually on the bed, like you have a hundred times before. You on your back, him on your lap.

Except this time it is not quite as swift, and this time he is struggling with the clasps of your armor.

"Let me."

"No."

You do it anyway. Jaime watches you sit up and he sighs. He thinks of himself as helpless, a mope of a man settled on your lap like a peasant sitting on the Iron Throne.

He sighs out of his nose once more, but to you, he only seems like a sad puppy. "Knights can hardly do this themselves. That's what squires are for. I'm sure you've never heard of a one-handed squire."

"That's not helping." Jaime huffs.

"Look," You say, with all the parts of your chest plate, shoulder parts and neck pieces off. You fix his arms around your neck, "you can still wrap them around here. That's all that matters, hm? All you need is to hold on tight enough."

"Asshole." Jaime says as he pushes you onto your back again, though there's a bit of a lift to his lips.

It's the third time he pushes you. "Pushy."

"Asshole." He repeats.

There's little else to remove after that, just the flowing scales covering your crotch that he removes easily with new determination, and your shin guards, but those won't obstruct the path to your dick.

He undoes the laces of your pants with two harsh tugs and then your cock is free to him. With the way he's looking at it like a meal, you're sure he's missed it.

"Do you still keep oil behind the curtains?" Jaime asks, already reaching behind the canopy's bedpost, where the curtain is usually wrapped securely around the flask.

"No." He looks disappointed then, for a moment. "At least it means I've been loyal to you?"

"It can just as well mean that you've only been visiting brothels." Jaime laughs, leaning his forearms on either side of your head to kiss you before you can protest.

You like this, it's easy; it's carefree and humorous. You can feel his smile against your lips.

He shifts his position to press his ass to your cock and grind against the length of it, swallowing your groan with his lips. You hardly noticed when he tugged off his own pants.

For a moment you think that might be how he gets you off, but then one of his arms leaves the mattress, and his fingers are gathering precum from the tip of your swollen head.

It sacrifices his balance, and you catch him before his full weight falls on you. "Bastard." You breathe out a laugh.

"What?" Jamie returns a grin, though it falls open just slightly when he stretches himself out with your precum as lubrication. Quite the sight.

"One journey from the North to King's Landing on foot, and suddenly you don't care for cleanliness?"

He winces slightly, "One, I was also tricked into drinking horse piss. Two, you're cumming inside sooner or later, it's not very different, is it?"

"One," You mirror with raised eyebrows, "what in the Seven Hells? Two, fair enough."

Holding up his thinner body with one hand is easy enough, and if it weren't, you'd have sacrificed the possibility of him falling onto you for the opportunity to hold his face.

You cup his cheek. In another time, a year ago, your fingernails would've been tickled by boyishly long hair. Now, his hair is only prickly.

"Will you grow it out again?"

Jaime thinks on it. He thinks about how it stuck to his face whenever it was dirty with muck or grime, about how easy it was to tug at his hair, how it was used to tug him backwards into horseshit or some other crazed punishment... but he also thinks about how much you liked it, how you often sweetly pushed it off his forehead when it stuck, how tugging at it did feel good in intimate situations such as this.

"I might." Is what he settles for, and he relishes the sight of your smile.

He's good at prepping himself and keeping a smug face. You've seen it thousands of times before, when he's tired of being ordered around and decided he needed to take control for once. You've seen him the other way around just as many times, quite willing to give up the reigns because he's just so tired.

There's just something about another person's hand.

"Oh..." Jaime moans as you push his hand away and replace his fingers with yours.

Furtheremore, you let him slump forward. You're almost—nay, you are cuddling in this way. Your legs even tangle. You've got him right on top of you, one hand over his back and the other prepping him, letting him just relax.

"That feel good?"

He's practically melting on top of you. It's rather funny how nonchalant he replies with the subtle nod of his head and, "Yeah, uh-huh."

You drag your other hand over his spine and up to hold the back of his head. "Tell me about your journey."

"Okay," He hums pliantly, "Robb Stark captured me in an ambush... which, though it cost me hell, is quite admirable for a boy born after the war. I spent several months travelling behind the army convoys as a prisoner, without a roof, without a floor. Just a stick in the mud and a shitty cage."

He recounts the journey while you prep him languidly like you have all the time in the world.

You don't have all the time in the world. You'll only have tonight, and perhaps the next night, thought it is quite unlikely. Before long, you're sure, Cersei will stop this grudge of hers and Jaime will be gone again, only crawling back after another lovers' quarrel.

"Are you listening?" Jaime suddenly asks, voice rather soft. He looks up at you, beautiful green eyes batting under his eyelashes. Yes, you're looking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." You say dismissively.

"Hold on a moment."

Jaime sits up to straddle you once more. You watch him go up all the way, eyes locked onto his. He's beautiful; different, worn, but still beautiful.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, "What are you looking at?"

You're so distracted with his face that you don't realize him sliding down onto your cock in one swift motion. "Fuck."

"Fuck is what you're looking at?" Jaime teases.

"Bastard."

"Ah, ah, ah," He tuts his tongue, hand on your abdomen as he rolls his hips. "you already used that one once. Be a little more creative, for once?"

You roll your eyes yet reply anyway, "Dickhead."

Jaime grins, "Better."

You settle a hand on his hip, helping guide his movements as well as make sure he doesn't lose his balance, what with the hand and all. It's... he's probably fine, but you can't help but be cautious.

You wrap your other hand on what remains of his wrist, almost as if to hold his hand. He notices the gesture.

His voice is soft when he says, "As I was saying?"

You nod your head, "As you were saying."

"About losing my hand... suppose I was way in over my head. I'd managed to convince that bastard of a man, Locke to leave lady Brienne untouched. I thought I could convince him to do more, to give me a decent meal and a fire, but instead, he convinced me that he was following along with my orders. Next moment, his men are pinning me down and he cuts my hand off himself. For the next months, he ties the bloody thing around my neck and I can't even take it off."

Grueling business to talk about while he rides you, but you've never held off from venting during these moments. It makes release all the sweeter, releasing your problems as well as your pent up sexual frustrations.

It's soft, all of it. The hand holding, the slow pace and desire to clench around every part of your cock, the eye contact, the easy way he tells you the entire story without sparing details to save his dignity.

"I should've gone after you." You sigh, kissing his bandaged wrist.

"No, you're a King's Guard, not a foot soldier." Jaime shakes his head, heaving a sigh. "You–"

You flip him over easily. "I should've gone after you." You say, and it's almost like you have authority over him, leaning over his body. You do, really, you're in control of your pleasure now.

Speechless, Jaime doesn't fight you. "Yeah."

You start up slow again, but quickly build up in chase of his pleasure. Jaime breathes out a shaky sigh, breaths growing heavier with each thrust.

"I'm sorry for all you've been through," Jaime has half the mind to protest, but you give him a look and continue, "and I wish I could kill every man that wronged you myself. I'm glad for Catelyn Stark, and glad for lady Brienne. I'm also happy that you're back, back to me. Happier than women leaving Maester Pycelle's room."

He wraps his arms around your neck, like you'd showed him earlier, and his legs around your waist. He's holding you close, for comfort, as if to make sure you're really there.

It's silly to do so. You're in front of his very eyes, your cock is fucking him open, and you're very much real.

"I'm happy I'm back with you." He mirrors with a grin, "Happier than even your cock is, I'm sure."

You kiss. No teeth, no tongue, just him and you holding it for as long as possible.

Maybe he will go back to Cersei. You think it almost inevitable; but at least you're sure there's a little part of him that loves you dearly, even if you might never admit it to each other.

For tonight, he's yours.

Yours to lavish, yours to pleasure, yours to fuck.

Yours to love.

[ophhhhh]

★ really good girl

☾ matthew murdock x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ papi's home and he brought takeout 😎 poured like 6 hours into this hope you like it <3 (title is a reference to "I'm a really good lawyer")

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.10k

cw: this shit long, catholic boy swears, a little bit of talk about catholicism (why swearing bad) but not as dialogue, feminizing Matt (mostly nicknames, a thong, pretending his hole is a cunt), soft Matty as well as humor, daddy kink, missionary, creampie, lotta teasing, dacryphilia

"Oh, God, look at you, sweetheart. You're beautiful."

Matt blushes under your praise. You're talking like he's in this beautiful gown, head to toe in mother of pearl or tule, as if that imaginary gown hugs all his curves–the bounding hills of his biceps, the muscled thickness of his thighs, the fat of his pecs–or is revealing enough to leave just enough to the imagination...but no, Matt's just wearing a thong.

A women's thong, practically bursting at how hard he is, it leaves nothing covered in the front, and it does the same for the back. That's what you're looking at.

It's in a pretty pink, like ballet shoes you'd said, the pinnacle of grace. On him, it feels like the opposite, it's making him stiff. He never thought about how clenching your ass is visible from the outside until you'd pointed it out.

"Ease up, sweetheart. You look great."

"You said that already."

"Please?"

Matt arches his back some more, just for you. He tries to relax his glutes, and he's not sure if it works, but you're not complaining.

At a certain angle, you can see more than how the singular one-inch-wide fabric disappears between the perky globes of his cheeks. At a certain angle, if you sit up a bit straighter, you can see his hole.

You can see the way it gapes, how wet it looks... it's lube, but, "You're so wet for me, Matty."

Matt audibly gulps.

"Yeah, you heard me right," God, he just looks like a delicacy. "come here."

Matt remains on his hands and knees as he crawls towards you, slowly, inch by steady inch.

He knows just when to stop, right in front of you without even touching your lap. He looks up at you. His signature red glasses are gone, letting you gaze into those puppy brown eyes that despite being dysfunctional still find yours. "Good girl." You praise, cupping his cheek.

Matt doesn't often swear. It goes with his little Catholic boy thing, to put it lightly. To expand on it, however, it's ingrained in him. Maybe he does swear when he's out there being Daredevil, but according to the sparse things about Christianity you've learned, any swear is slander; and he'd never dare to slight you.

Yet, a shiver goes down his spine, shakes his body, and makes him say, "Fuck, Daddy."

"Why's a pretty girl like you using curses, hm?" You hum, and the worst thing of all (for Matt) is that it's a genuine question.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Daddy–" His voice is on the verge of a whine, it's pathetic.

"Oh, sweetie, don't be." Your voice is soft, genuine. He can hear the smile in it. "Daddy was just asking you a question. Go ahead, try again for me, okay?"

Matt nods his head just slightly. "It's you, Daddy." He catches himself, catches his tongue, quickly. "I don't mean to blame you, D-Daddy, sir. It's just, you make me feel so good."

"Do I, baby?" Matt hums a yes. You continue, "I haven't even touched you yet, sweetheart...apart from your cheek, that is, but I haven't kissed you neither."

"It's what you say to me." Matt says in a little whisper, in a lack of confidence. He's afraid. It's adorable.

"Can you say that again?" You ask, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "Couldn't quite hear you."

"Daddy, please." He breathes out, knowing you did.

"Didn't hear you." You repeat, relentless, ungiving, stern. You haven't even called him anything: darling, sweetheart, baby, good girl. Oh, he is getting absolutely railed tonight.

"It's what you say to me." Matt repeats. In fact, he doubles down, pushing past your hand to lay his head on your thigh. "When you call me "baby girl" or "good girl", Daddy, it drives me nuts."

"Good girl." You praise, it drives a shiver through his spine, and you follow it with a finger. "Would you look at that. It really is what I say."

The tracing of his spine, the trail your finger leaves, makes him arch his back just that bit more. You can reach just far enough to cup one of his asscheeks. It lacks precision, but makes Matty moan all the same. You dare to dig a finger below the waistband of the thong, watching it go entirely taut around the rest of him, squeeze his hips just that tiny bit more. You don't even have to pull the fabric away, just slip your finger out of its confines, to hear it snap against his skin. That makes Matty moan too.

He moans so nicely you just want to hear more. "Can you get on your back, sweetheart?"

"I wanna...blow you, Daddy." Matt admits shyly instead, head inching closer and breaths hitting the shape of your clothed cock. He wants it, and you know it.

"Another time." You promise, pulling back, "Now, go on."

Matt does as you wish, because he's yours; and you're his Daddy, and he really really loves being a good girl.

He lays down on his back and he spreads his legs wide open, you don't even have to tell him to. He's obedient like that, always a pleaser. You could never ask for more.

"Hips up, please? Thank you, sweetheart." You prop a pillow under his ass to prepare.

Just the thought of it, of how considerate you are, has Matt leaking. You don't address his hard cock, your eyes don't even glaze over it. It has a certain shame burning through his chest, but at the same time, in the pit of his stomach, there's excitement.

"Thank you." Matt mutters.

"Thank you, who?"

He blushes, "Thank you, Daddy."

"Hands on–" You watch as Matt holds the underside of his knees and pushes his legs up for you, before you can even ask. "Good girl."

He's all trained for you. "Mm, thank you, Daddy."

"Let's get this thing off you, shall we, sweetheart?" Matt nods his head subtly, though the question was rhetorical. You begin to pull off the thong. You'll mourn its pretty pink loss, but first you'll watch the way it presses against the fat of his thighs and makes it spill over like a garter. By the end of it, you take it off one of his ankles but leave it on the other, and watch it slide down.

It's crude; like you've picked him up off the side of the road for a quick fuck.

Nevermind that. "Look at you, all wet and leaking for me." Matt's asshole clenches and unclenches around nothing in anticipation. It's pretty and pink, not quite ballerina but more sultry mauve, and puckered. The only displeasing part about it is that it can still close fully.

You press your thumb against one edge and watch it open, awaiting. "God, if you could only see yourself, baby girl."

"Ple-Please, Daddy."

You look at him. You look at the way his eyes aren't quite focused, but still on you, glassy. Glassy. Pleading, begging, you don't even know if he's doing it intentionally.

Matt Murdock wants you. His body wants you. Daredevil is all trained instincts, Matthew is too.

"I know. I'm getting there." You promise, hovering over him, holding his cheek, staring. Gosh. "Just...you're beautiful."

You press your thumb into him eventually. Your eyes are preoccupied, but you can still feel the way his hole sucks your finger right in. He clenches around it, and you can feel that too.

It's no cunt, but it'll still take you all the way. You shudder at the thought of it.

Matty does too. His toes are already curling. The pretty ballerina pink thong still hangs around his knee, wet at the very little fabric in front. Wet and drying, you can smell it, and you're sure he can too. He's probably ashamed—but to you, it's all the same: evidence of his arousal, the anticipation.

"Pl-Please." He stutters. He really can't wait, can he?

"Puh-lease." You taunt almost immediately. It was instinct, your insatiable, quick wit—you swear.

"Daddy..."

"Sorry, baby." You chuckle, and despite the apology, you continue. Driving your thumb in and out of him is consolation enough. "You know, I really think you'd look rather pretty in a skirt, or lingerie. A bath robe, too, the frilly ones...maybe I just want to see something wrapped around your pretty little waist. You know, it's a fight every day not to pick you up by it and prance you around like a prize: the new, hot commodity."

...

"Am I making you blush?"

Matty is about to snap back with a little something when suddenly your breaths ghost over his hole. It makes him jump. His senses are already going haywire, with the cold air around him and the bursting anticipation. You're probably one of the only people that can startle him.

Your thumb is out, but he won't complain, not when you press a kiss to his hole.

"Such a pretty pink." You hum before diving in, pressing increasingly open-mouthed kisses before beginning to lick and suckle. You don't speak the abcs into it, you haven't the luxury of surface area for that, but it still has his toes–and ignored cock–twitching.

Matt moans. He melts further into the mattress, arches his back a certain way that makes his rear press into you.

You laugh into it, and Matty can feel the reverberations of it in his body, in the air, in his ear drums. It's a pleasant sound, has his heart beating fast...or maybe it's your tongue.

"Oh, Daddy..." He moans richly. Rich like a perfect steak sauce, a good, long taste; a good long moan. Fucking exquisite.

But it's no scream.

You might just know a remedy for that though. "You want Daddy's cock, baby girl?"

You don't have to tell him twice. "Yes–" He's breathless already, and yet he cannot leave you unanswered, even though he'll have to chase his breaths, "Yes, please, Daddy. I really need it."

"How badly?" You part from his pretty cunt with a kiss to prepare, lube up and all, leaving him to answer.

He does so without any complaints at all, fingers twitching in their hold on his knees with excitement, "Really badly, sir, Daddy."

"Can you be a bit more descriptive, sweetie?"

He can hear you lubing up your cock for sure, the schlk schlk of it. It has his cock twitching too. "I've been waiting so long, Daddy. It's been too long since you last fucked me, already so long since you even prepped me. I...I miss it. Please."

"Good girl. Wrap those legs around me?" Not even a second later, "Good girl."

Matt's breath hitches when you drag your length against his hole, let its tapered edge catch along his rim. He's holding his breath, and it's adorable.

You pause, suddenly, "What was it you said about missing my cock?"

"Please." Matty breathes out, exasperated.

"Okay, okay, alright." You chuckle, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't even realize that his nails are digging into your bag when you begin pushing in. It's a slow process, but it does nothing against the fact that you're stretching him out. Your fingers just cannot compare. It's just so...so goddamn wet; and for a moment, he can imagine that it's his.

Matt can imagine that he's all wet for you, pussy just sooo excited and warmed up in anticipation. He moans at both things, that thought and that delicious stretch, and the way your pelvis feels pressed up against his ass.

You wince once you've all bottomed out and only then does Matt realize that he's dug his nails so far down your back.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." He's quick to apologize, pads of his fingers replacing his nails, soothing over the trail they've left.

"It's okay, baby." You breathe out, slow, "Can hardly feel it, actually. The feeling of you? So much more powerful."

Matt gasps when your hand finds his happy trail and your fingers play with the hairs. It's almost like you're playing with his clit...and then moving? Fucking into him?

Like a koala, Matt clings to you: arms around your neck and legs around your waist. He wants—no, needs to feel you. Every single inch of you.

Sweaty and hot as it is, he needs to hold you, because he loves you, loves this. Loves to feel your tender skin below his palms, the flesh of you between his legs, your muscles at work, and your cock driving into him, stretching him, keeping him full. It's the gentleness in it, the absolute love he feels radiating from you.

It's not a sixth sense. It's the fact that your breaths are calm and that your grip on him is soft and yet your heart is beating so terribly fast. Matt doesn't sense emotions, but he can sense this.

So again, he fucking loves it, and it's no slander.

"Want it a little harder, baby?"

"Yes." He answers immediately, through a choked gasp, "Yes, please."

"Sure thing." A kiss to the top of his head, and Matt smiles.

He starts to hold on a little harder when you speed up. The bed rocks underneath your movements, and Matt is struggling to keep up. His palm cups the side of your neck, thumb ghosting over the front, looking for a pulse, looking for something grounding. It doesn't help, even when he finds it.

But it's just instinct. Matt doesn't mind getting lost in a sea of senses, not with you.

"Aw, fu–" The curse is on the cusp of his tongue. He doesn't give it the time of day, though only because he moans again. "Ah!"

And again, "Ouhh."

Normally, Matt has no trouble keeping quiet, but he cannot keep up with your thrusts. Harsh once, then prolonged and awfully loving, as if an apology.

He cannot think.

And then your voice penetrates through it all. "Good girl. Taking me so well, aren't you?"

Oh, you really are driving him nuts.

"Huh, sweetheart? Think you can answer that for me?" Someway, somehow, you break from his strong just enough to look at his face. His eyebrows are screwed up and his eyes are closed, it's adorable.

"Yeah! Yes, yes, yes, sir." He spews uncontrollably. It only takes the smallest display of disappointment, the click of his tongue, for him to correct his mistake. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl. You look so pretty, you know?" You fiddle with the thong, pulling it back and letting it slap against his thigh. "Just for me?"

"Just foryou." Matt slurs. He slurs, because it's all too much. It's all you, you, you, you and that cock of yours. "'S so good, Daddy."

Oh, he's lost his mind. It's all too much—he can hear the creaking of the bed, smell the lube and all that he's leaking, feel a wetness glass over his eyes, and taste the growing amount of mucus in the back of his throat...

Not long after, there's a hiccup.

"Oh, you're crying, baby, am I that good?"

"Y-Yeah!" Matt cries.

Isn't he a sweetheart? So overwhelmed by all that you're giving him, and so thankful for it too...though not explicitly, not for a little while. "Matty, baby, where are your manners?"

"Thank you!" He gasps, thighs squeezing tighter around you. Aside from sharp gasps, he can't even speak. "Th...shi–shoot! Th-Thank you, Daddy."

It's adorable just how much he's avoiding swearing.

"No, thank you, sweetheart." The kiss you place to his throat has his next moan come out choked; and then you're kissing up his skin, past his pulse point, and up to his ear. "You're so damn fuckable, baby girl. Cunt open, just so wide for me. Bet you won't even be able to close after this."

Let alone walk. You chuckle into his ear, baritone and deep and so attractive somehow that it has Matt's eyes rolling back on pure instinct.

"Please."

"Please what?" You pull back suddenly and Matt's hold around your neck breaks. His hands fall onto the mattress, where they immediately grip. His knuckles go white. "Hm?"

"Go–shi..." Matt sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, it comes in as a wince. "C-Can't, Daddy."

"Can't what? Can't speak?" He nods, frantically. You decide to take pity on him. "Alright, I'll play your little guessing game. You want me to fuck you?"

No, too easy. Though he nods anyway. "Want me to kiss you?"

He nods, and you peck him on the lips, but both gestures are tiny. He's still unsatisfied. There's no skirting around what he wants. "You want me to leave you gaping, don't you, sweet girl?"

"Yes!" Matt cries out.

Well...who are you to deny your baby girl?

You redouble your efforts; faster, harder, more precise, even, right where he wants it: right into his prostate.

His tears begin streaming down your face, even jerking around with each harsh thrust that has him being drilled into the mattress. The pretty pink thong around his leg jumps up and down his calf too.

Even his legs fall from your waist, unable to do anything except jolt around and take you. Instinctively, they close around you; but you take Matt's knee and push it against the mattress, keeping him open. It makes Matt yelp.

"Please!" Matt moans. For what, he's not even sure. "Fuck, Daddy!"

He has all he wants right here.

A steady "uh, uh, uh" falls from his lips, head tilted up to the sky. Between the crying and the chanting, he almost looks as if in prayer, angelical.

He looks so fucking beautiful. Oh, you love ruining him, love to see the way those tears slide down his cheek, and the slobber and spit leaking from the corner of his lips, and his weeping, hard, red dick.

Maybe that's what he's begging for.

You hook one of his knees around your hip, leave it there, and then wrap a hand around his cock.

"Oh, Daddy! Yes!" Matt screams. His hands are on you again, gripping hard at your shoulders. He spews more words, gratitude, nonsensical things.

He keeps spewing, keeps sobbing and crying, as you fuck him harder and harder, and "Oh!"

He screams again, when he finally cums. Not not "yes", not an obscenity, but Daddy; and then softer as you fill him up with your own spend, in a pant: your name.

When you pull out, he's not just gaping. He's leaking too. "Try clenching for me, baby?" You ask, soothing your palms over his thighs just one last time.

Matty does as you ask, and he clenches around air. Air. His hole cannot fully close.

"Good girl."

[ophhhhh]

Perhaps reader being a secret supe thats stronger than Homelander who vought keeps on the dl until they need you to defeat him.

And you spend every day obsessing over his every move trying to find any weaknesses but you just end up becoming more and more obsessed with him. Turning YOU into the stalker he’d never expect to have. Perhaps perhaps.

This time you’re the one breaking into his penthouse, telling yourself it’s so that you can learn more about him but it’s really just so that you can steal any item you think you can get away with. Brushes, tshirts,underwear. Anything really. Saying that your only putting cameras in his room so you can hear any secret information yet still you have hundreds of clips of him showering each night.

Fucking your fist with inhuman speed as you watch him pleasure himself on camera. Teasing yourself by waiting until he’s finished to cum, imagining that his groans and sighs were made at your hands. That the small mumbles the mics can hardly pick up were meant for you.

You can’t wait until the day you’re finally allowed to meet him. To see him up close, to smell his scent and to feel his skin against yours. Not even sure you would be able to focus on fighting him because all you can think about, all you’ve been thinking about since the moment you saw his picture in that suffocating room back at the lab is pinning him down and having your way with him.

You’d break him alright. Pumping him full of your cum until the only thing he can do is moan your name. Turning him into the worlds biggest cock whore so that he’s too busy fucking himself back on your dick to even care about taking over the country. Fuck even getting him pregnant with your kids so that he’s too pretty n big to do much of anything. Spending his days begging you to take care of him since his hormones are all over the place and it “feels so much better when you make him cum”.

Anyways I’m getting off track here but like you get what I’m saying. Yeah.

[ophhhhh]

SYPNOSIS: teaching cas how to fuck, and of course, dean is the willing subject to be used!

CHARACTER: male reader x castiel x dean winchester

NOTE: this was originally gonna be another drabble (pt2) but i started writing and noticed how long it got, so full one shot. this is longer, as a thanks to 800 followers!! hell yeah!!

p.s. requests are always open!!

WC: 2.7k

WARNING: dom!reader,, switch!castiel,, sub!dean,, creampie,, unprotected sex,, spit as lube,, learning experience for cas,, double anal penetration,, praise,, pet names,, light shy!dean,,

castiel was watching every single move of yours with wide eyes, blown pupils and parted lips. the way you prepped dean seemed utterly filthy but he didn’t care. dean was whining for the first time in his life, an arm thrown over his eyes to try and keep his face hidden. he was naked on the bed, lying on his back.

once you approached castiel, he stiffened up visibly, trying to seem more composed as he closed his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows a bit. “remember what dean did?” castiel paused. “which part?” he said softly, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “when i told him we have no lube,” you cleared up. “..he..” castiel paused once more, the imagery flashing through his mind again. he’s sinning, he knows he is, but damn it if it doesn’t feel a weird type of good. “you wanna fuck him, right? you don’t wanna hurt him, i assume?” you asked castiel, your lips ghosting over the corner of his mouth. the angel’s breath hitched, almost tilting his head instinctively, ready to deepen the nonexistent kiss. “cas?” you cooed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. castiel blinked dumbly, not even reciprocating the gesture. “uhm, yes. no.” he said breathlessly. “don’t want to.. hurt him.” his eyes flickered to dean, who was now propped up on his elbows, watching the two of you with a pouty face.

you noticed it, too. the look on dean’s face. “okay, he’s getting pouty. open your mouth.” you turned your attention back to castiel, bringing up a hand to his lips. his eyes flickered with a hint of uncertainty, but he listened nonetheless. castiel’s lips wrapped around your fingers as you pushed them into his mouth. his tongue, hesitant at first, laved over the digits, trying to mimick what dean had done. he only knew because you made dean do it with his mouth open so castiel could see. his saliva coated your fingers generously. his pretty blue eyes, wide and unsure, never left yours, so full of need that it made your stomach clench. “good boy,” you muttered, sliding your digits free with a soft pop, the wetness of them glistening under the dim light.

you reached down and freed castiel’s cock with your other hand, swiftly, your wet fingers wrapping around his length and giving a few slow pumps, slicking him up. castiel made a soft sound that obviously escaped him involuntarily, his hands getting clammy. eventually, you deemed him slick enough and you guided him to dean. “spread ‘em.” you told him as castiel watched intently. with a small grumble, dean complied, spreading his legs slightly. pushing the angel forward, you made him step between the hunter’s legs. dean shifted, his eyes locking onto castiel’s. “don’t look at me like that..” dean mumbled out, rubbing a hand over his face. “can’t believe i’m actually doing this..” you lined castiel’s cock up against dean’s entrance, feeling the angel shudder at the heat. this was actually a pleasant surprise; castiel’s cock was nice and thick. if only he knew how to use it..

“push in slow,” you instructed, lips brushing against the shell of castiel’s ear. “make him feel every inch of you.” the angel’s hands hesitantly landed just above dean’s hips, his large, gentle hands hot to the touch. “are— are you-” he started, but you cut him off. “c’mon. look at ‘im. he wants you, you can see it in his eyes. you can feel the lust.” you spoke, moving a hand to dean’s knee to push his legs wider apart. dean scrunched his face up, throwing an arm over his eyes once again. castiel obeyed your previous order with a stuttery sigh, inching forward slowly, the head of his cock breaching dean’s rim. he pussied out though, retracting his hips back, before he solemnly spoke up. “dean looks like—”

“cas. he’s not in pain.” you muttered against the side of his neck, subtly urging castiel. he decided to try again, his hands trailing down to dean’s thighs, touch light. dean almost instinctively bucked his hips up, the touch of the angel’s hands truly making him feel ecstatic. he pushed in again, this time to halfway. both of them were breathing heavily. castiel’s face was flushed while the tips of dean’s ears turned red. dean, of course, like the slut that he was, pressed his hips down in order to get castiel all the way in. you tutted disapprovingly at his actions. “don’t do that, sweetheart. let cas take his time.” you warned him, and in return, dean whimpered. the sound had a very obvious effect on castiel as he stilled. hearing dean make those sounds because of him made him twitch inside. “all the way in, cas. all the way in.” you coaxed him, pressing a hand to the angel’s lower back. castiel nodded once as you guided castiel’s hips, pressing forward, watching as his thick cock disappeared into dean’s body, slow and ruthless. inch by inch, his hole stretched obscenely around the angel, swallowing him down until castiel was fully sheathed, balls flush against dean’s ass. “good.” you muttered to castiel, your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing gesture. “stay deep,” you started, your lips ghosting the shell of castiel’s ear, making him shiver slightly; he didn’t know his vessel was ticklish.. “feel how tight he is around you? how he’s clenching? he loves being full like this.” you spoke, castiel’s eyes not once leaving dean’s pretty body. dean mewled, pushing back, clearly greedy.

“fuck him slow at first,” you ordered. “make him beg.”

you stayed close, hand on castiel’s lower back to steady him as the angel pulled back, slow and shaky, before thrusting forward again. dean groaned loudly, pressing a hand over his mouth, every slow roll of castiel’s hips earning little broken sounds out of him. you watched as castiel fucked into dean with steady building confidence — hips snapping just a tad bit harder, faster, small groans leaving the angel’s lips at the sensation. sweat slicked both of their bodies, dean’s cock untouched and leaking precum over his abdomen. “harder, cas. he can take it.” you said, enticing castiel. you moved to stand behind the angel, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. castiel obeyed your order with a small groan, pounding into dean with a quite brutal rhythm that made the bedframe rattle. such a fast learner.

————

castiel’s fingers were digging into dean’s thighs, his eyes wide. dean was propped up on his palms, on either side of the angel. dean felt wrecked already; he hasn’t slept with many men, and he never bottomed. now to take two cocks? yours and castiel’s? fuck. “look at cas, dean, he’s the one inside ya,” you taunted, rubbing your hands over his hips. dean was on all fours, castiel’s cock still buried deep inside dean’s hole. you lined yourself up, the anticipation making dean moan. castiel felt his heart flutter weirdly, lips parting at the noises dean keeps emitting. “are you alright?” castiel asked worriedly, moving his head to catch dean’s gaze. you smiled at the question, very very slowly pushing the tip of your cock in. dean gritted his teeth as he scrunched his face up, muttering a small curse word. “relax dean,” you murmured, leaning over him, your chest pressing to his back. “you’re doin’ real good, baby,” slowly and steadily you pushed in, the pressure immense, almost unbearable. dean sought some sort of way to ground himself, to bear the pain, so, he moved his hands to castiel’s shoulders, gripping tight. in a moment of vulnerability, dean pressed his forehead to castiel’s, panting heavily. “f—fuck, fuck fuck fuck..” he breathed out in a broken voice. castiel being castiel, moved both of his hands up and gently cradled dean’s face. ‘how cute.’ you thought.

“shhh..” you soothed dean, running a hand up his spine. “you’re doin’ so good, takin’ us both.” you continued softly. it was slow going, your cock sliding in alongside castiel’s, the stretch obscene. dean let out a whiny, broken sob, legs trembling. when you were finally fully inside dean, pressed so tightly against castiel you could feel his heartbeat through it, you let out a drawn out, low and guttural groan. castiel’s lips ghosted over dean’s, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to make sure he’s okay. eventually, castiel kissed dean roughly, the latter letting out a muffled moan against his mouth. dean was extremely tight, but it was only logical. to fit two cocks inside him was task enough. “move.. fuck, move.” dean gasped out against the angel’s mouth, rolling his hips albeit the action broken and stuttery. with a sigh, you comply, pulling back slowly, dragging your cock around dean’s tight, gummy walls, then thrust forward again, grinding castiel’s cock deeper into him at the same time. dean moaned out a half choked sound, shaking his head barely against castiel’s forehead. you set a rhythm with castiel, moving almost in sync — when you pulled out, he pushed in, and when you filled dean, castiel pulled back. it was relentless, overwhelming, every single thrust making dean feel like he was going to split apart and god, he loved it. castiel was making desperate, broken sounds too, right in dean’s ear, panting heavily.

dean clutched at castiel’s shoulders desperately, white-knuckled, his body caught between you and castiel — he felt used, stretched, filled so full that he could barely think. his cock dragged against castiel’s stomach with each painful thrust, leaking, twitching helplessly. “sonovabitch..” he sobbed against castiel’s skin. “you’re perfect, so perfect..” you praised, pressing opened mouth kisses against his shoulders, keeping the steady pace, savoring the filthy, obscene tightness of his hole. castiel’s cock kept twitching as he inhaled dean’s scent. he thought dean smelt so good that he moaned. castiel’s hands slid into dean’s hair, grasping lightly, his touch almost reverent. “you’re so beautiful.” he breathed out and dean let out the most pornographic moan he possibly could. he shoved his ass back, greedy for every thrust, for every wave of pleasure and pain that burned through him. dean was stuffed full, his walls stretching wide with every relentless drive of your hips. the heady squelch every time you would pull back was so lewd it turned you on even more.

“more, pretty?” you asked softly, hips grinding cruelly, deeper inside him. dean nodded, the action itself barely interpretable, body trembling violently. castiel’s thrusts were shorter, sharper. dean continued babbling pleas and nonsense, anything to keep both of you inside him. dean’s fingers were kneading castiel’s shoulders, continuously letting out slutty sounds. between the brutal pace and your filthy praise, dean was losing his goddamn mind. he came with a wrecked whimper, cock pulsing against castiel’s abdomen, hot ropes of cum painting the angel’s skin. in response, the one under dean moaned, hips stuttering. dean’s entire body clamped down, squeezing both of your cocks like a vice, and oh, the sensation dragged both you and castiel over the edge instantly. you cursed hoarsely, hips slamming forward as you came deep inside him, castiel doing the same with a loud, guttural whimper. dean shook from the force of his orgasm. he completely collapsed onto castiel, clinging to him.

the both of you slowly pulled out of dean and the hunter whined softly at the loss. cum leaked out of his hole and down his thighs. you rubbed the head of your cock against it, smearing the cum. the moment dean felt it, he grunted, nuzzling his face into castiel’s neck. with a grin on your face you took castiel’s cock, pumping him slowly and he immediately got hard again. castiel looked at you with a small frown, wondering what you were doing. “first lesson done,” you told the angel, sliding his cock back in dean again. “lesson’s two about takin’ it.” you said, settling yourself between castiel’s legs, pushing the tip against castiel’s rim. “not prepped, but,” you trailed off, looking at castiel as he gasped, feeling dean start moving on his own. “think you’ll do just fine..”

pushing your cock all the way in, albeit with slight resistance, castiel shifted, mouth open in another soundless gasp. the way you filled him, the way dean was leisurely riding his cock.. it felt so, so good. “c’mon, dean. you can do better than that.” you cooed, rubbing up and down against the side of dean’s thigh as you kept a steady rhythm, thrusting into castiel. dean sat up, propping himself by his palms, on castiel’s shoulders again. dean’s face was flushed, eyes glossy, sweat making his skin glisten, his hair stuck to his forehead. he had this dazed look on his face that made castiel clench and his cock twitch. “there ya go,” you muttered, pressing a kiss between dean’s shoulder blades. dean rolled his hips down harder this time, drawing a ragged groan out of castiel as he sank fully onto his cock. the stretch, the pressure of you steadily pounding into castiel, and now dean grinding down onto him — it was almost too much. castiel’s hands trembled where they gripped dean’s hips, fingertips digging into sweat-slick skin hard enough to leave bruises. “that’s it, baby,” you praised, your voice low and rough. “show him how much you want it.” dean whined under his breath, thighs trembling with effort. his pace picked up, messy and desperate, rolling and bouncing on castiel’s cock while you kept fucking into the angel with steady, brutal thrusts. each movement shoved castiel deeper into dean, the force jostling them both. castiel let his head fall back against the pillow, mouth open in a helpless moan, his hips jerking up to meet dean’s frantic rhythm. every time you slammed into him from behind, castiel’s cock speared up deeper into dean, making the hunter keen brokenly, tossing his head back. you slowed your thrusts just a little, savoring it — the way dean’s thighs shook with the obscure amount of effort to keep riding the angel, the wrecked little gasps he made every time castiel bottomed out inside him. “you look so pretty like this,” you murmured against dean’s sweaty back, dragging your tongue up to his earlobe. “fucked-out, desperate for it.”

dean whimpered, clenching helplessly around castiel’s cock, which in turn made castiel whine, nails biting into dean’s hips. dean’s body was trembling violently again, the pleasure almost unbearable, the steady rub of castiel’s cock against his sweet spot and your thick, relentless thrusts into castiel making him dizzy. “ca-can’t..” dean gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “gunna— gunna cum—” you wrapped a hand around his throat loosely, tugging him back against your chest, holding him upright as you fucked into Castiel — as castiel, trembling and panting, fucked up into him. “not yet,” you growled against the shell of his ear, tightening your grip just slightly. “not yet, dean.” dean whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut harder, biting his lip against the desperate pressure building in him. castiel whimpered too, overwhelmed, his body tensing underneath dean, his hands glowing just slightly. his grace. “dean—” castiel gasped, voice breaking. the hunter moaned loud, desperate, grinding down even harder, trying to chase it, needing it. you groaned low, feeling your own orgasm rising like a tide, your rhythm getting rougher, more erratic, hips slamming into castiel with a filthy, wet smack. “cum with me, cas,” you panted, nipping dean’s ear. “fill him up again. make him feel how much you want him.”

that was all it took.

castiel groaned loud, thrusting up deep and holding dean down on his cock as he came hard inside him. the heat of it, the twitch and pulse of castiel’s cock inside him, was too much for dean — he shattered apart with a broken sob, cock untouched, spilling across castiel’s chest as he came hard, muscles spasming. you fucked castiel through it, gritting your teeth as dean’s orgasm milked castiel’s cock; and the way castiel’s hole clenched around your cock dragged you under too, spilling deep inside the angel with a harsh groan. dean’s shaky arms gave out and he rested his forehead against castiel’s cheek, his body heaving with each breath he took. castiel laid boneless on the bed, trying to regulate his own breathing. you wrapped an arm around dean, pressing lazy, possessive kisses to his shoulder as your hand slid down to palm his hip.

“tired already?” you asked them both, eyes half lidded with lust. “we’re not finished yet,” you said with a small, breathy chuckle. “we’re just getting started.”

[ophhhhh]

Hiiii I'm back again 👉🏻👈🏻 the silco brainworm has been controlling my every thought for a while now so I was wondering if I could request something with male reader x silco!

OKIE SO. I'm thinking like, alpha male reader who is very "not like other alphas" very quiet very calm very unassuming. And silco and him have developed some sort of friendship, to the point omega silco would definitely trust being around him in his heat. And reader took advantage of that trust and violated him in his most vulnerable moment. (Rape/noncon/nonconsensual mating bite)

OOKEEE THAT'S ALL I HOPE IT'S NOT TOO HEHE👉🏻👈🏻 - 🐺anon

Wolf in sheeps clothing

tw : noncon!, aob dynamics, nesting, heat, manipulation, coercion, scenting, mate marking, non con mating bite, blood mentions, knotting, light slapping, crying, drooling, praise, manhandling

character(s) mentioned : Silco (arcane)

reader pronouns : He/him

summary : the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese, playing the long game works in your favour because now there's a pathetic hole ready for you, and it begs for it despite saying no

a/n : Oh wolfie, you are beyond good. This ask made me so excited to write (despite it taking ages) Thank you soso much, and i hope you like it!

It took months, almost a whole year, but befriending silco had done wonders in the long run for him. Sure, as an alpha, he could have just overpowered silco and forced him down and taken everything he'd wanted but that ruins the fun of it.

Being an odd alpha means getting into omega groups is easy. All he had to do was not act all intimidating and "knothead" like, and most omegas treated him like a friend, silco was no different.

All it took was for him to not outright growl at the omega and also not bare his teeth, simply keeping himself respectful and friendly got him next to the omega almost immediately.

Within 6 months, he was allowed to lean close to Silco, getting a whiff of his scent on days too busy for the omega to hide it as carefully, on weeks close to his heat, the alpha could practically taste him.

Acting calm on those days earned him even more brownie points, what a kind and collected alpha, nothing like the rest. It was subtle, the way his eyes would widen a little, mouth hanging open a little as he pauses mid sentence, but it worked.

Almost 9 months since their meeting originally it happened. They were in silco's office, and it happened. Silco went red in the face, the only skin unaffected being his scar, and then the smell hit him.

Silco went into heat, and he was just a desk away, He was up in seconds, practically jumping over the desk so he stands tall infront of a whimpering sat silco.

Silco barely manages to gasp out in shock, choking on the drool that's building in his mouth. Going into heat around an alpha is always so much more intensifying, and right now, silco is horrified, wet, and so desperate to get as close and as far away from the alpha thats stood next to him

He watches as silco struggles, fighting natural urges is like tearing yourself apart from the inside out, especially for an omega in heat.

Silco's legs tremble, he falls out his chair and he's shaking his head yet when he steps closer all silco does is keen, sat on the floor ready for his alpha.

It doesn't take him long to lift silco, who is wiggling and struggling but with some effort he drags the omega to his own private quaters, a nest laid ontop of the bed and dipping down onto the floor

Silco is mumbling for him to stop, how he can't be in there and how the alpha isnt the one who is to see it, that makes him twitch a little.

Not to see it, as if he hadn't been the best thing in silco's life for months, like he hadn't earned this. He threw silco down, knowing the nest would be soft enough not to hurt him in a way he didn't mean.

When silco landed, he started scurrying backwards, trying to be as small as possible, to avoid his fate. If it wasn't useless, it would probably have been cute

He approaches silco again, the same way he has for months, and he smiles, entering the nest and ignoring the whimper that causes from the omega. The whole area stinks of silco, clothes and pillows piled up in different areas, the whole room a pheremonal mess of desperation, and it was getting to him through the tent in his trousers.

Silco in the corner, mumbling no's and stop's, did nothing but fuel whatever heat was in his stomach, the whole room telling him the opposite of what the omega was saying.

With the smells getting to him now, he wasted no time, cornering the omega in his own nest, grabbing his ankle and tugging silco down so he is directly underneath him, the omega almost yelps, biting his own lip to try hide it.

None of that mattered when he could smell the rush of slick that his actions caused, leaning down and tugging the omegas clothes off, a few of the buttons popping but surprisingly most of silco's clothes stayed in tact, just another reason he was better than any other alpha.

With silco under him, he grabbed him by the hips and changed their alignment, now pushing his bulge against silco's wet hole, the heat making him pulse and the smell making him dizzy in the best way

Flipping silco around came like second nature, barely a blink between the barrier of clothes between the omegas cunt and himself to the hot feeling of skin on skin as he slipped inside.

Instinct took over, the clichés didn't lie when they talked about overwhelming urges and animalistic behaviours.

Hunched over the omega, gripping his waist with an iron grip and slamming his hips over and over and over, ignoring the cries from below, it felt like it was written as perfection, the overwhelmingness of it all tripped him further into a domineering threat, biting down at the shoulders, neck, and any skin in reach, hips never pausing to the point that each thud had a small ache with each connection

Silco was crying, drooling and leaking, every hole was wet and slick and shiny, he stank of pathetic pheromones, and the omega was trying so hard to move, but each slam of the alphas cock inside him rendered him shakey and his instincts kept him underneath and open for the intrusion he begged to stop.

From waist to ass, scratching and slapping at the shape that the alpha hadnt seen clearly, silco had the habit of dressing clothes that hid his naturally omega like body and he was realising why now, he never would have lasted nine months next to this had he realised.

Silco was desperate, bleeding from some of the bite marks, hiccuping sobs that were interrupted by moans from the stretch coming from the knot forming against the edge of his hole, each thrust sending it closer and closer to locking them in, locking them together.

He moves them now, pulling silco up so they're vertical, using the position to slam the omega down harder, nails leaving cuts where they dig in and teeth finding the crook of silco's neck.

Silco's moans are close to screams now, his tears, sweat and drool mixing across his cheeks and chin, and the final tipping point is the bite. The mating bite that sends silco into an orgasm, his hole pouring with slick to help the knot in, cum dribbling down his omega cock, covering his stomach and sheets as he gargles on the word please

He pushes the knot in, his own orgasm coming to him as he breeds the body he holds, pulse after pulse never stopping his hips, now just rutting into the hole that keeps him there.

Silco will hate him for a bit, but for now he wonders if that was enough to gets pups out of the pathetic and almost passed out omega

[ophhhhh]

I have a request for Huntress (Justice League Unlimited) x male reader smut.

Content: Shameless smut. Maledom. Oral sex. Throat fucking. Come swallowing. Thick thighs. Thigh worship. Thigh fucking. Rough sex. Male & female orgasm. Aftercare.

Slighted Fervor

⚠18+ [Sexual] Themes, [Huntress × Male Reader]

Minors, Ageless/Blank Blogs DNI

﹂Contains: female × male, some mentions of pussy/cunt and clit (hinted at her having a slight oral fixation); slightly shifted power dynamic, marking/biting, slight choking/gagging(?), thigh/throat fucking, body worship, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, aftercare

✒The first time I read this request I was honestly startled. Haven't done a bit for a female character yet, so let's see how this goes.

Feisty. Strong willed. Independent. That's how some would describe Huntress. She's keen on doing things her own way.

Hands tangled in your hair, pulling tightly as your lips smash together in a messy kiss. She is still a bit displeased with your interruption regarding the criminals she was getting information out of.

"Should've let me handle it on my own," her teeth nip at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with a peck or two.

Despite everything she still strings you along by the lapel of your coat. Leading you away from the scattered unconscious bodies to a more private location.

She quickly shoves you into the room as soon as it's unlocked, her arms snake up to wrap around your shoulders— your hands moving cradle her waist, holding her close.

Those dark eyes are like a bottomless void beckoning you in but dangerous if you don't tread carefully. You know her to be vivacious and playful, yet cunningly sly to get what she wants.

When you lift her off the ground and lay her back, she acts surprised. Looking up at you all doe-eyed and innocent as if she wasn't just shamelessly grinding against you.

Filling her head with tempting ideas while slowly caressing the soft curve of her waist, swell of her hips, and every part of her that's within reach.

Paying close attention to her reactions and responses when you grip the fat of her thighs— holstering them up to your shoulders to bite and mark. The indentations of your teeth are noticeable since her outfit does little to cover her skin in certain areas.

She shivers and arches into your touch, seeking more and more while pressing insistently against your hardening arousal.

After a while she gets restless— needing to feel more than just your hands. So, when you press her thighs together and slot your cock between them; effectively rubbing against her clothed sex, she bites back a moan.

You don't plan on letting her have what she wants right away. You want to tease her, rile her up until she's desperate and needy. And by the looks of it she's pressing her thighs together, squeezing your cock nice and snug between them.

She moves in tandem with your rutting, hips rolling and pushing back as she pulls you down for a kiss. It's slow, sensual and lasting— that is at least until you start moving faster. Coating the inside of her thighs with pre that makes it easier for your cock to slide in and out.

She's cheeky, taunting and mocking you against your lips. However, a palm against her throat applying gentle pressure is enough to get her to whimper.

If your feeling bold, you could slide a hand down to rub her clit over her clothes. Or slide your cock against her pussy by moving the cloth aside— not like she wore anything underneath, much to your surprise.

The bliss inducing sensations would make her thighs press more firmly together, quivering once she's close the edge. And then she shuddering like a leaf in the wind when your cock grazes her sensitive cunt with each pass.

With a keening cry she unravels, chest heaving with every breath she takes but you're not done with her yet. Your still thumbing her sensitive clit— teasing the nub even as she says "it's too much." Her second orgasm comes rapidly, crashing into her like a train as her thighs clamp down around your hand.

On a different occasion, Huntress got real mouthy and pinned the blame on you for how her mission (at the time) went off the rails. As soon as everything was dealt with accordingly, thanks to your efforts, you sorted her out too.

Though she seemed quite content to be on her knees, looking up at you through her lashes while you frowned down at her. She knew you were at least frustrated, perhaps not at her, but surely at how things turned out in the end.

Her hands deftly worked at the fastenings of your pants, cheek pressed against your thigh with faux apologies spilling from her lips. Slowly stroking your cock from base to tip, marveling at how you grew in her hands. She'd lick a stripe along the length, purposely teasing you until you finally snapped.

At first you were gentle, considering she couldn't fit it all in her mouth in one go. Fisting her hair as you held her still with a little over half of your cock down her throat. You could see how her eyes glossed over and turned teary, her lips stretched taut with drool dripping down her chin.

Her eyes were dazed when you finally let her move— head bobbing mindlessly, taking more with each pass to the point that she'd stop to catch a breather. Moaning at how the tip of your cock hit the back of her throat when you started bucking your hips.

She was determined to get you over the edge, hollowing her cheeks and gripping your thighs tightly. You started to get sloppier as you reached the pinnacle of your climax. Fingering slightly digging into her scalp as she greedily swallowed your cum, some leaking down to mix with the drool on her chin.

It was messy, pulling her off despite the whine surging from the throat— her lips were puffy and coated with your spend, which she'd lick away before you had the chance to clean it off.

Her throat felt raw and no doubt feel sore in the morning, but you would make her a nice cup of tea to ease any discomfort.

Right now, however, you took care of cleaning her up and soothing the ache on her knees. With a few blankets— some cuddling and kisses for safe measure, she should feel at ease and doze off for the night.

Tocka-irbis © 2025 —Please -do not steal, translate, modify, repost on other platforms.

[ophhhhh]

Hiii I saw u take got requests so I wondering if I could request ned stark x top male reader??? (Reader is bigger in size, like bigger than sandor even)

Maybe with some breeding kink and overstim:3

SYPNOSIS: breeding the fuck outta the lord of winterfell.

CHARACTER: male reader x ned stark

NOTE: i keep writing these in one sitting and it’s fucking with my brains [1,140 words]

p.s. requests are always open!!

WARNING: breeding kink,, overstimulation,, light size kink,, cock drunk ned,, pet names (my lord),, praise,, dirty talk,, light possessive!reader,,

winterfell’s ancient stone walls didn’t offer much warmth, but the heat in ned’s chamber was stifling; thick with sweat, panting breath, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. his body trembling beneath you, hands twisted in the furs as your massive frame loomed over his smaller stature. ned stark — lord of winterfell, warden of the north — was reduced to a mess of helpless moans as you rutted into him with harsh, powerful thrusts. your size practically dwarfed him, your hands easily wrapping around his hips, keeping him locked in place like a plaything. “you take me so well, my lord,” you murmured into his ear, voice like gravel. he groaned at the praise, legs already trembling from how long you had kept him on edge.

“i… fuck—” ned’s voice broke as you slammed in deeper, and he choked on a cry, back arching as you pressed your chest to his back, pinning him down fully. you weren’t just fucking him — you were claiming him. “want me to fill you up good? breed you?” you murmured. he shivered in response, desperate, nodding with a soft, raspy, breathless, “yes…” you grinned against the back of his neck, feeling him squeeze around you. “gonna breed you till it takes. gonna fill you so deep.. so your body won’t forget who it belongs to.” the words made him shake, cock twitching helplessly against his stomach as you ground into him, pace never faltering. he was already spent, more than once, but you weren’t close to done. not until his stomach was warm and full, not until his legs gave out from too much pleasure and not enough time to recover. you leaned back just enough to watch him — his hair messy, eyeing the way his body tensed and jerked with every overstimulated thrust. you could tell he was close again, even if his mind couldn’t keep up. “cum for me again, my lord,” you ordered, voice low and firm. “one more. you can do it.” and he did — broken, beautiful, coming undone with a guttural moan, body shuddering beneath yours.

you didn’t stop.

a pathetic whine left ned’s mouth, his hole clenching around you tightly. his arms and thighs were shaking and eventually, he caved, pressing his face and shoulders to the mattress, giving his body some relief, some sort of way to relax. but even then, you stayed buried in him, deep and unyielding, one hand sliding up his side to hold him close. “that’s it,” you murmured, voice low. “so good, my lord, takin’ my cock like this..” you praised. he could only nod, too far gone to speak, his body pliant and trembling beneath yours. every breath he took was shallow, broken, but he didn’t ask you to stop — not once. because even in the haze, even in the overstimulation and ache, he wanted it. wanted you. and you were going to give him everything — every drop, every thrust, every word that made his heart stutter in his chest and his body fall apart again and again. “i-it’s..— ah- mhh.. too much..” ned sobbed out, his voice hoarse due to how loud he was being just a couple minutes earlier. so you did the only logical thing — slamming in again, grinding deep enough to make his thighs shake. “you’re not done til i say you’re done. you wanted this, didn’t you?” your voice was venomous and low, laced with a cruel kind of sweetness. “begged me to ruin you. look at you now.. dripping, shaking, stuffed full. and still not satisfied? you’re greedy, my lord..” ned didn’t respond. he nuzzled his face into his bed, fingers clenched around the furs on it. you groaned lightly, grabbing his hips tight enough to bruise. “m’gonna keep fucking you until this cock’s the only thing your body remembers. gonna breed you so deep, you’ll be leaking for days.”

his whole body jerked as you drove in again, deeper, harder, his mind long gone but his body still so responsive — clenching, twitching, surrendering. your hand snaked around his throat, just enough pressure to make him gasp, back arching into you even as his body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation. “that’s right,” you growled, hips snapping forward. “you’re gonna take everything i give you. no running. no hiding.” ned’s legs gave another tremble, then buckled, his weight sagging under you. he was wrecked — raw and used — but still so tight around you it was almost unbearable. you didn’t ease up. if anything, the way he whimpered made you fuck him harder. “you feel that?” you hissed into his ear. “that stretch? that ache deep in your guts? that’s me. carving you open from the inside out.” and oh, how utterly broken the lord of winterfell was. “please,” he moaned, voice broken and raw. “breed me, gods, just— fuck me full, make me yours, i need it— need to feel it leaking out of me when you’re done— please—” he begged, his voice higher in pitch and so raspy, as if it’s been used for hours.

that was all it took. with a low growl, you slammed into him one last time, holding him down as you emptied yourself deep inside, body jerking with each pulse. he was sobbing beneath you now — overwhelmed, blissed out and completely ruined. and still, you didn’t pull out. you just held him there, locked together, your cum leaking slowly from where you stayed buried. “you did good, my lord,” you murmured, voice suddenly gentler, removing your hand from this throat and sliding it down his back. “but we’re not done. not until it takes.” ned’s body twitched beneath you, every nerve raw, every muscle burning. he wasn’t even trying to speak now — just panting, face buried in the fur, broken whimpers spilling from his lips with every tiny shift of your hips. you were still hard, still leaking cum into him. “you’re shaking,” you whispered against his neck, dragging your tongue up the salt-slicked skin. “but you’re still so tight for me. still hungry. that little hole doesn’t know what full is yet, does it?” a soft, choked noise was all you got in return, but his body betrayed him — clenching down around you greedily. “thought so,” you breathed, pulling your hips back just enough to make him feel the drag of your cock before slamming forward again, deeper. “you want this. don’t pretend otherwise.” he let out a cry; sharp, high, wrecked — as his legs gave out entirely, and you caught him by the hips before he collapsed flat. you dragged him back onto you, slow and brutal. “you’ll give me one more,” you ordered, gripping his hips tight, dragging him back in time with each thrust.

“one more load. one more orgasm. you’re not done until you’re leaking from both ends and begging me to stop.”

[ophhhhh]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒? -> Dadbod!Dean drabble-ish

Thanks to @godjustkys, I now have dadbod!Dean in my head. I present to you, THIS 😋

Your lips grazed over his jaw. His breath hitching and head moving to the side to give you better access. Noticing, you took the offer and started at his neck. Pressing soft, gentle kisses wherever you could. Your hands started to roam, going down from his shoulders, to his chest, down to his stomach.

Dean let out a small noise, perhaps of protest but he didn’t make another. Instead moving his hand to grab at your wrist, his goal being to move it away from his stomach. You hummed in disagreement. “Uh uh, non of that. You’re beautiful, baby, let me see you,” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. His grip only tightening. “S’true. Look at you.” With just few more words from your mouth, he let his hands slip. Resulting to gripping the sheets instead. Soon, your mouth moved lower. But you stopped ‘n pulled away once you got blocked by his shirt.

“Take it off for me?”

“S’cold in here, don’t want to,” You knew he was lying, to get away with not showing his body. But you weren’t about to give up. Your fingers played with the hem of his shirt, itching for him to take it off.

“Please.” You paused, waiting for his answer. But when he didn’t you tried again. “You’re perfect, Dean. Lemme see you.” With a ton of more talking he took off his shirt. And oh, you nearly came on the spot. You started to get impatient, almost instantly leaning down to continue what you were doing before.

“C’mon, can’t you look somewhere else?”

You ignored him. Lips ghosting over his skin and soon pressing kisses. Just as he started to say your name his voice died down. Eyes fluttering shut when he felt your mouth on him. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

⟢

With you bullying your cock into him, he could barley contain his sounds. Your hands at his love handles, gripping. He let out a few moans and whimpers. Back arching when your cock hit his prostate. It all felt good, so good. Because of you he forgot about all the things happening around him, to focused on your words, your cock, and your touches. But soon that came to an end. When you moved your left hand back and onto the outside of his thigh it somehow ‘brought him back.’

Dean moved his face to the side, attempting to hide his face from you. He even squirmed a bit, but that was because your cock fucking into him started to feel overwhelming. You pulled him back onto you, slowing your pace just a bit. Which seemed to work for the squirming part. He let out a moan from that. Could you blame him? The thought of being manhandled and brought back onto your cock after moving away? It made his dick twitch.

“Dean, lemme see you. Hidin’ your face from me like that.” You grumbled. “You look so fucking good, baby. Why hide yourself?” You took your other hand and brought it up to his face. Grabbing at his jaw and making him look at you. It wasn’t rough, you made sure it was somewhat gentle. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “So perfect,” you muttered. Dean tried to shy his head away, but you stopped him. Pulling back to fully look at him. You noticed how the tips of his ears were a bit red. For you, it was like a reward. Your hands ran back down his body. Grabbing, holding, and touching what you could.

You worked him and worked him till he came. Whimpers, whines, moans, you name it, all pulling from his throat and falling from his lips. And once you came after him, the sight of his cum splattered on his stomach, nearly made you cum again.