sweets-library

[sweets-library]

https://www.tumblr.com/bunmurdock/742973927118241792/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-a-patient-matt-murdock?source=share

stop it boot riding is so fucking hot😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

nonnie i fear you are opening a can of mean!matt brainworms..

bunny brain below the cut 😳

he's working on a high-profile case and shit is hitting the fan at the firm, late nights and all

you're there, ever the sweet, patient, and supportive gf

but it's been three weeks without any physical contact, and with no end in sight

what starts out as mild frustration turns into you purposely pushing his buttons, knocking shit off the table, and stomping around the apartment

one day, he's standing over you, hands on his waist. "you wanna try that again?"

of course you do, half wanting to see that side of him, but it's to your near instant regret

immediately he turns around, takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and slips on black latex gloves

in an instant, he's standing over you, squatting down wordlessly

you think maybe he's going to pick you up, or kiss you and tell you it'll be over soon

but instead his hand comes around to wrap around your hair and tug you across the room to where his desk is. you land on your ass

you try to get u, but he insists you stay on all fours, standing over you to ensure you comply

he sits and orders you to strip you down to your underwear, and after some failed bargaining you do

he extends a leg and pulls you over his leg to straddle to his boot

you start riding him, uncertain at first, but eventually start to work up a rhythm

you look up eventually, and realize he isn't even paying attention to you, his attention back to the case at hand, but his firm hold on you remains, reminding you you're not off the hook

maybe when you get tired, he tugs at it to remind you of your place. maybe he prods your cunt with his boot or withdraws it every so often just to toy with you, laughing at you

eventually you're so strung up, so desperate to cum, but the friction is just shy of what you need so you ask if you can remove your underwear—beg, even, through tears—but when he keeps saying no, you settle for all kinds of positions and speeds over his boot, clinging to his leg pitiably with a cheek on his leg

it's so pitiable all you hear is the shuffling of your own body, the pants of your own breath, and the sound of him laughing at you

+ lots of faux sympathy and degradation

proceeds to edge you for hours <3

[sweets-library]

What do you think Frank would be like with a partner who reacts viscerally when she orgasms? I’m talking quivering, nearly pushing him out with the force of it, hips jerking sorta thing. Everything just being really intense

Well he'd love it. lol. I think Frank appreciates strong signals and he definitely values doing a job thoroughly and well so it'd make him feel pretty accomplished.

But I also think he'd be very mindful of it. He strikes me as the kind of guy who is curating an experience every time he has sex. He's intentional about intensity and duration and your needs. It's like a language to him.

So maybe there were times where you had a long day or were feeling emotional, he might choose not too push you too hard-- giving you a LOT of gentle softness before every orgasm like rubbing your back, telling you to breathe, giving you a little break. He'd know when go easy.

And then there'd be times where intensity was the whole point. Maybe you were pent up or frustrated or needy. He'd go hard and fast -- maneuvering you himself when the orgasm had you incapacitated, giving a firm slap to your ass and letting you know you were being a good girl taking him but he wasn't done yet.

[sweets-library]

what is this. idk. horny nikolai to break my silence.

cw: uh....icky nikolai, intox, ddlg but i didn't do it on purpose (nikolai gave me a curse and now i have to write like this about him), babyfying??? infantalizing????....dubcon (from the intox, but nothing really happens...no peepee in vageen) but maybe hints of somnophilia towards the end

Nikolai who makes you sweet, fruity little cocktails at his place just to get you tipsy enough to try sipping on his glass of whiskey that's probably older than you are (and more expensive than you'd ever imagine)

Tips his glass slowly into your mouth as you sit perched on his thigh, only to laugh at you when your face scrunches up the moment the potent flavor hits your tongue.

"Mm, not as big as you think you are, eh?" He chuckles warmly as you cough and sputter, eyes growing red and glassy as you choke on the burn of it. "You are just like baby, hm? I have to mix it with juice for you to like it. Tsk. You have to be a big girl now, milaya...come, one more sip."

He shushes your feeble protests with a gentle pinch to your thigh, so you don't put up much of a fight when he's slowly forcing the rim of the glass further into your mouth to get you to take another mouthful.

"In, in, in...there we go." You aren't sure if the heat on your cheeks is coming from the alcohol or his condescending tone as you try your best to swallow it all down without making a face, but either way, you can feel your panties growing wetter by the second.

"Should put it in a little bottle for you....make it easier for my little baby."

He always does this to you - gets you drunk and worked up, only to tell you that he won't take advantage of you in a state like this - even though he just keeps teasing you!

You swear there's a glimmer in his eyes every time you keen and try to rub yourself against him, but he never actually gives in. He just gets off on turning you into a whiny mess - something desperate for him, and only him.

And this time is no different.

You'd begged him so sweetly to suck his cock - shimmying yourself down to kneel between his legs and mouth at him through his jeans - only for him to just stick his big fingers in your mouth and tell you to stay there.

"Too little for that, milaya." He coos softly at you, working the tips of his fingers back, back, back into your throat until you gag around him. "Can't even suck on my fingers, can you? Maybe you should stick to your little thumb, baby."

You whine in protest, suckling his fingers with renewed vigour to show him that you are not a baby. You don't even suck on your thumbs! He was just being mean...making you gag on purpose.

But he still doesn't give in. You manage to pull a deep groan from within him when your glossy lips hit the base of his fingers, but when you're finally able to blink your teary eyes up at him, all you see is the expression of a man who seems only mildly amused.

"Putting on a show for your papa?"

Your tongue pauses in its relentless sucking, and you pop your mouth off of his fingers to pout up at him, only for him to laugh at you once more.

"Oh, poor baby..." His mocking croons only serve to make you more desperate. Your cheek rests against his thigh as he begins to stroke his fingers through your hair, not caring about the fact that he's smearing your own spit on you in the process. "You are being bratty because it is past your bedtime, no?"

"I'm not a baby! C'mon, just please, let me-" You try one more time to unzip his pants, but he's already grabbing your hand and pulling it up to press a soft kiss to it.

"Papa already said no, baby." Your soft whine only makes him chuckle more fondly as he urges you to come back up to curl up on his lap. "Come on, baby...where's my good little girl who always listens to her papa?"

If he notices the pretty pout adorning your features as you bury your face into his neck, he doesn't say anything. He just brings one of his big paws up to run down the trail of your spine, teasing slightly at the hem of your lace panties before tracing his hand back up along his path.

You let out a soft whimper, dragging your hips along his thigh to relieve yourself of the pressure he's building inside of you, but you make no move to brush against his cock again. You just keep lazily rutting your hips against him as you grow sleepier and sleepier, eyelids drooping slowly to make your lashes flutter against his neck.

Eventually your hips come to a stop, and Nik has to hold back a smile when he feels your soft puffs of breath slowly grow deeper, turning into soft little snores that make his chest warm.

You really were just a baby up past her bedtime.

"There she is." His lips press a soft kiss to your temple as you drift off into sleep. And maybe if you were just a little bit more awake, you'd be able to feel his hand sneaking past the hem of your panties to rub little circles against your slippery clit. "There's my good girl."

[sweets-library]

Clark Kent eats ass because I said so. Inspired by this

Sometimes, you swear Clark is the most obscene person you know. And you're not entirely sure what's come over him these past few weeks.

There's something innately carnal in his desire for you. He's always told you that the way he eats pussy – the reason it feels like he's between your legs for like 30 minutes – is cus it's an "artform." That he loves the way you squirm and mewl under him. That he loves the sweet and peachy slick that coats your folds.

He's always been unnecessarily needy, bordering on a sexual deviant when the two of you are home that is. But lately, he's been almost irritating with how much he's been eating you out. Not to mention, the last few times Clark's ended up between your thighs in the middle of a movie or right before the two of you head to bed, he's been warming you up to other areas.

It started small and could almost pass as accidental if Clark hadn't groaned at the way your tight hole pulsed under his thumb when he circled your tight ring as he lapped at your soaked folds.

It was an interesting feeling. Not bad, just interesting. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't hoping he'd explore that area further. Clark's not entirely known for having a great deal of patience so it came as no surprise to you when he spent the afternoon eating you out from behind only to ask, "Can I touch you here?"

His hands spread open the globes of your ass, squeezing the plush curve of you, he sinks his teeth into your flesh playfully before kissing the spot, "Please, sweetheart."

You're already breaking out in a moan and slipping further into an arch, relaxing on your forearms, heart racing in excitement.

"Mmm-mhm," you coo, eyes fluttering shut when he circles his pointer finger around the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh, yeah? Thank you, sweetheart." He kisses the dip of your back and spreads your ass cheek to watch the way his finger pads your hole.

You shiver, tapping your socked feet against the couch cushions, growing anxiously impatient.

Clark shushes you, one hand holding your shin to the cushion to still you. "Easy, easy," he unexpectedly ducks down and pecks your tight ring making you jump slightly, "There we go. Just relax fr'me, sweetheart." you can hear the smile in his voice, "y'r doin' so good."

He eases you into it gently — as Clark does with all things, with bated breath and soft touches that leave an ache of devotion in their wake.

You gaze up at him with lidded eyes and heavy lashes, love and lust pooling over you as you watch the way he looks you over – unraveling you in his mind. He's so focused and in-tune with you it makes your heart ache.

His face is flushed a rosey pink and his dark hair's disheveled; a curl sticks to his forehead. Clark runs a large hand through his hair before spreading your ass again.

Holding you there, he licks a flat stripe against your tight hole, and you whimper, lapping there a few more times before he pulls back.

You're still watching him in his allure, further coaxed into submission at the size and mercy of him — suddenly reminded in this moment just how much bigger he is than you are.

Clark catches your eyes in a moment that seems like it lasts forever. He winks at you before dropping a dollop of spit right onto your hole, circling it with the pad of his thumb over the ringed muscle. Closing his eyes, he circles it with his tongue with a broken hum.

It's getting increasingly more difficult to muffle your moans and sobs — the feeling all new but not at all unwanted.

"Oh, Clark," you sob, digging your nails into the comforter.

He hums, licking another fat stripe, "that feel good?"

It takes you a second to remember your words, "Please… keep going," you pant.

"Mhm," he all but groans into your skin, still lapping and circling your hole with his tongue.

His tongue is hot and wet against your hole, sending shivering sparks of pleasure up your spine — the nature of it, so unabashedly obscene, adds a layer that makes you somewhat shy in on yourself.

Clark slides a hand forward and weaves your hand with his, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. You relish in it, in the reminder that he's there too, that you have control, that he loves you.

He only spends a few more minutes there, licking fat and greedy stripes and pressing a peck to the muscle before pulling back and moving your panties back over your hips. He knows it's a lot. Can see it in the way you're hardly able to move, can hear it in your shaky pants. Its mentally taxing and new.

"C'mere, baby," Clark guides you to snuggle in his lap, his hand holding your head to his chest, stroking your hair comfortingly. "Can hear you breathin' like a racehorse," he jokes to ease over your sheepish nature. Letting you relax and calm yourself in your foggy headspace. Clark strokes his hand down your back, his other gently stroking his thumb over your hot cheek, "y'okay?" He asks after a moment of quiet.

You nod against him, "mhm," voice light and airy, "wanna do it again," you giggle, stuffing your face into his shirt, shy to have so shamelessly enjoyed the act.

Clark's laugh rumbles against you and you smile. "Y'did look like you were enjoyin' yourself quite a bit." He holds the nape of your neck, massaging a 'v' into your skin.

"Clark!" You squeal, hiding yourself deeper into his chest.

"D'awhh, y'gettin' shy?" He teases, pinching the skin of your neck just right so that it sends a chill down your spine.

With a squeal, you playfully smack him, "stop!"

He just laughs at you, holding you to him, "okay, okay, shh," he attempts to soothe you through his giggles, "no more, no more."

You merely shake your head against him, mumbling, "I love you, Clark," as feel your eyes grow heavy with drowsiness. Todays been entirely too taxing for you you decide.

His movements don't at all stop as he feels you relax in his hold, "I love you too, pumpkin."

[sweets-library]

in too deep — john price x reader .ೃ࿐ tags . . . fem!reader, swearing, established relationship, unprotected p in v, creampie, john has a dirty mouth, praise kink, teeny bit of size kink, overuse of italics, not proofread . . . 18+ mdni!! notes . . . everything i know abt this man is based on the (insane amount of) fanfic i've read so.... if it's terribly ooc, that's why!!! everybody blame simone @superhoeva for this!!!!! she has converted me to john price-ism!!!! wc is exactly 900!! <3

the first time john fucks you raw is an out of body experience for the both of you. he's barely pushed an inch of himself inside you but he's groaning like he's been at this for hours. you on the other hand... you are a mess.

"john, i- holy fuck- slow down a bit just- nngh," you barely choke out the words through shallow breaths. your nails marking little crescents into the dense musculature on his back as he keeps bullying his thick cock into your hole.

"c'mon sweetheart," he coos, head hung right in the crook of your neck and his breath hot on your skin. "you've taken me plenty 'a times before," he grunts, coaxing his hips further towards yours, "can take me again, i know you can."

you're tense, clenching down hard and preventing him from getting as deep as he wants inside you. "loosen up for me baby, come on, let me in," he tries- but oh you're so overwhelmed, it's all too much. you can feel everything in the absence of the thin latex- everything. you feel every ridge and vein and bump on his cock as it forces your walls to expand around it.

john starts to kiss a trail up your shoulder to your neck, then your jaw, until his lips are on yours and his tongue's in your mouth. the kiss is comforting- familiar- you find yourself moaning into his mouth and relaxing all your muscles, conveniently allowing john the rest of the way inside you.

"tha's a good girl, there we go," his voice is rough, his own pleasure starting to build up slow deep inside him. tears sting at the corners of your eyes at the sudden stretch. he'd prepped you on two of his thick fingers already, but nothing quite prepares you for the real thing.

"gonna move now, 'kay? gonna fuck this pussy 'n make 'er feel so good, yeah?" he speaks low, husky, and right into your ear in that tone you swear could make you cum without him even touching you.

without another warning he draws his cock out of you before driving it right back inside, reaching so deep that you feel him in your chest. you cry out, a mix of a yelp and a whimper that makes john's dick twitch. the sound of your moans is quickly drowned out by the smacking sound of his hips against yours. your back threatens to arch off the mattress but john's warm hands are steady on your hips, keeping you grounded and planted right where he wants you.

his pace is relentless- brutal. each one of his thrusts punctuated with a grunt or a breathy fuck as he drills into you. with a little tilt of your pelvis upwards, he's reaching your g-spot. pounding the head of his cock against it until your eyes roll back in your skull and you're clenching around him again.

"what a pretty thing you are, hm? feel so fuckin' good too, god, what'd i do to deserve this?" his words are filthy, and only serve to bring you closer and closer to the edge. you clamp down around him harder every time he nudges against your cervix. john lets his eyes rake down your body, shamelessly taking in your sweat glistening figure and letting his eyes rest at the junction of your bodies- watching the way you swallow him whole inside you and the little bulge in your lower tummy with his every thrust.

the sight alone almost does him in. "fuuuck, look at you," he drawls, "takin' me like a fuckin' dream- 'm not gonna last much longer if you keep squeezin' me like that, angel- fuck." his rhythm begins to falter and you're right there with him.

to push you the rest of the way over the edge, he drags a hand down to your soaked core, your hole oozing a mix of your slick and his precum, and starts circling harsh tight circles around your clit. the calloused pad of his finger only adding to the friction and pleasure.

"cum for me gorgeous, come on, let it all out."

you don't see it, but john smiles as you start to cum around him. a devilish little grin while he watches your your body writhing and quaking under him as a burning cold static overcomes all your senses, the knot in the pit of your stomach finally unravelling. john's hips are stuttering at the end of each thrust. he tries to hold on as long as he can but it's no use. not with the way your velvet soft, warm walls are twitching uncontrollably around his cock, not with the scratches you're dragging down his back, and certainly not with the pretty look you have on your face when you cum.

one, two, three more harsh slams of his length into your cunt and he's falling over the edge, shooting thick ropes of hot cum deep into your pussy. he fills you to the brim, then lazily fucks into you a few more times, mixing his release with yours until it's pooling on the sheet and surely leaving a stain that will remind you of this day.

and just as your breathing starts to get back to a somewhat normal rate, john leans in and whispers, "swear to god, i'm gonna burn all the condoms i own tomorrow."

[sweets-library]

hey! ik that you’ve written similar stories so feel free to not do it or change the plot however u may please loll! i feel like all of us anons are getting wisdom teeth surgery recently and i just joined the club. it doesn’t have to be the same surgery, but i had this idea where reader has to get it done and thinks she can handle it on her own even though she shouldn’t. and ofc somehow ex! james potter is contacted and being rlly sweet anyways while she’s delirious. maybe we have a lil confession of remaining feelings and out of all the things that could have startled james that’s it heh heh :) thank uuu

Hope you're doing well angel, thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, anesthesia, memory loss, joke about sexual favors

ex!James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

“Look, it’s James!” the nurse announces cheerily, escorting James into the room. 

It’s clearly an attempt to pacify you. Your eyes are red and nearly as puffy as the rest of your face, tears shining on your swollen cheeks. Despite his trepidations about being here, the sight of you so obviously out of it has James biting down on a smile. 

“James?” You look for him. 

“Hey, hi.” James steps out from behind the nurse. He gives you a little wave. “How are you feeling?” 

“James.” You tear up again, confessional. “They won’t let me drive home.” 

He gives a nervous chuckle. “I know, love. That’s why they’ve called me. I’ll get you home, don’t worry.” 

“But I can do it myself,” you whimper.

“Alright!” The nurse claps her hands, forcing pep into her voice. “Let’s get you up, then.” 

James steps forward to help her lift you out of the chair, all while you cry and protest that you really can do it yourself. He fights the urge to hush you with a kiss between your brows. This is incredibly, hilariously, typical of you. Even when you were together, you resisted James doing anything for you, from making you breakfast to lifting your heavy furniture when you moved. You have always been obstinately self-reliant. He’s never had you weepily grouse at him before that you’re not a baby, James, however. 

You’re so distraught at the prospect of leaving your car behind that James abandons his, wrestling you (very gently) into your own passenger seat and cramming himself behind the wheel. It feels strange, like being back in your life in small but intimate ways. The car smells like you. James knows where to find tissues when you ask to wipe your face, and he recognizes the station the radio is tuned to when he switches the ignition on. He’s taking you to your apartment next, which is sure to be even worse. 

You whine a bit as he adjusts the seat and mirrors about him ruining your car, but quiet when he reminds you that the alternative is riding in his car, which you seem to find indubitably worse. Then you collapse tearily onto James’ shoulder over him being so tall. He pats your head intermittently while he drives you home. 

James was right. It is worse at your apartment, even worse than he imagined, because you’ve changed things. There’s a new painting hanging on the wall of the sitting room. The plant you cared for all of the two years you were together has been replaced by another. (Did it die? James feels he has to know.) The corner where he always tossed his shoes is now occupied by an umbrella and a bin of recycling waiting to be taken to the curb. After he gets you settled in bed, James sets out to make you a smoothie but can’t find the blender, though that’s fine because he discovers applesauce in the fridge you seem to have stocked just for this purpose. (It’s not fine. James used to know exactly where to find your blender and he doesn’t understand how you could move it. What kind of sick joke is that?) 

You’re still awake when he goes back into your bedroom. Your body relaxes upon his entry, as though you’re relieved to see him. “Where’d you go?” you ask. 

“You said you were hungry,” James reminds you. “How about some applesauce?” 

Your mouth drops open in apparent delight at this reveal, but your mood changes fast when a piece of gauze falls out onto your lap. 

“Oh.” You look down at it in horror. Your eyes lift slowly up to James’, filling, for the hundredth time in an hour, with tears. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” He laughs a little, helplessly, setting the bowl of applesauce down on your nightstand to help you. He brushes his thumbs under your eyes. “Shh, it’s fine, lovely. Aren’t you sick of crying?” 

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I don’t mean to. I never usually cry so much, I promise.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” James gives your shoulder a squeeze, indelibly fond. He’d really like to fold your head into his chest and keep you captive there while he kisses you from dusk into dawn; it’s a lucky thing that your condition prevents it. “I think it might actually be okay to take the gauze out now. Do you want me to get the other one?” 

You nod, sniffling, and you open your mouth again. James extracts the remaining gauze carefully, taking both pieces to dispose of them in the bathroom bin and reassuring you when you cry out pitifully at his leaving. For someone who refused to plan for any post-anesthesia assistance until the nurses at the clinic literally forced you to call someone, you turn needy fast. 

This doesn’t prevent you from wrinkling your nose when James tries to feed you applesauce. 

“I’m not a baby,” you tell him. 

James fights to keep his lips still. “You’ve said. But you’re not very coordinated right now, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself by accident.” 

You only continue to pout at him. Your brow creases as you plainly try to plot some way around this; it’s dreadfully cute. 

He lifts the spoon enticingly. “Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Can’t I…what if I drink it with a straw?” 

“You can’t use a straw right now,” James explains apologetically. “Sucking on things could hurt your mouth.” 

“I can’t suck on anything?” 

“No.” 

This seems to worsen your distress. You look at your lap, muttering, “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you, then.” 

What starts as a surprised cough turns into a stream of nervous laughter. James nearly fumbles your applesauce, trying desperately to quiet himself. Fucking hell. 

“James.” You look resentful. “It’s not funny.” 

“No, I’m sorry. Erm, that won’t be necessary.” James sets down your applesauce when he starts coughing again, putting a hand to his chest. “We don’t do that anymore.” He doesn’t add that you’ve never needed to return favors, via sexual means or otherwise. You’ll only argue with him. 

Your brow creases anew. “Why not?” 

“Well, it’d be a bit strange.” James eyes you, adding when your bemusement doesn’t let up, “...since we’re broken up.” 

The heartbreak that comes over your expression is enough to make the fissures in James’ own heart burn. “We are?” you ask. 

Oh. James did wonder, when he got the call from the dentist’s office, why you gave them his name of everyone’s in your phone contacts. This explains that. It also explains why you seem so intent on keeping him close, why you do things like hold James’ hand and lean on his shoulder without reservation. It’s not only that you’re feeling sweet and touchy as an effect of the anesthesia; it’s that you’ve forgotten you don’t do those things anymore. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” James probably shouldn’t be calling you that after just having broken the news, for danger of confusing you, but it’s difficult not to when you look so sad. “For a while now.” 

“Wh…why?” Your eyes grow glossy again. While some of the other things you’ve cried over today James has found a bit silly, this he understands completely. 

“We just thought it was best,” he says softly. “It’s okay. It’s been a while since then, and we’re alright. You’re doing well.” This is something James has gleaned from run-ins with friends-of-friends. He can never resist asking after you, and he’s glad he has the information to supply you with now. “You're doing great, lovely. It’s okay.” 

You look up at him through wet lashes. “But don’t you love me?” 

James swallows. It’s not a question you’d ordinarily be cruel enough to ask, though he knows you’re not trying to be cruel now either. This is something he’s always been honest with you about. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Then why are we—why did we break up?” 

He struggles for words. “Because—” 

“I love you,” you insist, tearily. It’s a gut punch. Whatever words James was in the middle of finding evaporate from his tongue. Of all the things you could have said, he expected that the least. “So can’t we just get back together? Please?” 

“I…” His throat feels dry. “I know you might think that now, but—” 

“No, I know it.” Tears drip from your chin, your voice shattered. The broken pieces of it prick and stab at James’ guts. “I love you. I feel it so much, and I don’t understand. If I love you and you love me, why don’t we just keep doing that? I’m not going to stop. I can tell it won’t stop, James, please—” 

“Okay.” James leans forward, touching his forehead to yours and squeezing his eyes shut so they won’t burn so badly. “Okay, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” Your body shakes with tiny sobs underneath him. “I promise it’s okay.” 

“Please?” you ask, brokenly. 

“Sure. We’ll talk about it, okay?” 

“Now?” 

“No, not right now.” James kisses between your brows, partly to soften the blow and partly to give himself another moment to breathe. When he leans back, he tries on a small smile. “But later, alright? Once you’re feeling better. Don’t you want some applesauce for now?” 

You blink, looking a bit dazed. James can relate. “I forgot about applesauce,” you admit. 

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You ready for it?” 

You sit up a bit, sniffling, but level James with a stern look as he reaches for the bowl. “Don’t try to do airplanes or anything.” 

Despite the ache in his chest, James’ grin spreads from a genuine place. “Okay, I won’t.” 

[sweets-library]

cw - smut, reader is a bit short coded in this one, “dainty” is used once to describe your feet. Idea from this

It hasn’t even been five minutes since he came home from work and Toji’s got you bent over the kitchen counter, his big hands gripping your hips like handles, tugging your ass back onto him to meet with every snap of his hips. The cabinets rattle. Your stomach’s pressed flat against the cool surface, your face turned to the side with your mouth open and your eyes glassy, drool pooling at the corner of your glossy lips.

And your toes—your cute little sock-covered toes aren’t even touching the floor anymore.

He’s got you lifted, your body tilted up just enough that your feet dangle mid-air, swaying slightly and thumping against his shins every time his crownhead nudges against that certain spot inside of you that has you gasping. And right next to where your heels twitch helplessly, his bare feet are planted wide on the cool tile—massive and grounded and masculine, all muscle and bulk, contrasting so hard with your dainty socked feet swinging off the ground like a little ragdoll.

The size difference is dizzying.

You look down and see it—his big foot right under you, and your own is nowhere near the floor, nowhere near being able to touch or stabilize. You can’t push back on him, can’t even move—he’s using you, completely in control of you, your whole body is just stuck and hanging on his cock while your feet twitch and your socks slide up a little against his legs with each bounce.

“Aw, look at that,” he murmurs behind you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Ain’t even touching the floor, huh?”

You whimper, clutching the edge of the counter, thighs shaking. “T-Toji—”

“Poor little thing can’t even stand on her own,” he mocks, slamming into you harder, one hand grabbing the back of your neck to curl around and press you down harder while he ruts into your soaked pussy. “Just hanging off my cock like a fucking toy”.

The lewd, wet sound of your cunt gets louder and fills the kitchen, slick sticky and dripping down your thighs, making a gooey mess on the floor beneath you. You can feel the air hitting your damp socks as they sway—so humiliatingly cute, so small compared to him and it just makes your pussy leak more messy around his shaft, clenching tightly around him with every movement.

“Cute lil’ socks on these tiny feet,” he grins, grabbing your ankle mid-thrust and lifting one of your legs even higher, exposing more of your soaked pussy to the cold air and his perverted gaze. “You knew what you were doing wearing these, huh? Tryna get daddy all worked up?”

You moan out loud at his dirty talk, body trembling in his hold, utterly at his mercy, your feet still helplessly dangling while he fucks you like he owns you.

[sweets-library]

I fear I have an idea for another angsty frank oneshot who knows if this one will have a happy ending

[sweets-library]

Braidin’

pairing: daddy!joel x f!reader

summary: You suck daddy’s cock while he braids your hair.

warnings: smut, praise kink, daddy kink, cock sucking, throat fucking, hair pulling, a little bit of sex and a tiny bit of degradation.

pov: 3rd person

wc: 1.3k

masterlist

The soft crackle of the fire filled the cozy cabin, gentle orange light casting flickering shadows across your face as you sat cross-legged in front of it, trying to braid your hair. Again.

Every time you finished and stood up to check in the mirror, it looked frizzy at the top or lopsided

-and you'd have to start over. By the fourth time, your patience was wearing thin. You were seconds from letting out a frustrated huff when Joel's voice, low and warm, rumbled behind you.

"C'mere, baby girl."

He was on the couch, legs spread comfortably, a book tossed aside beside him-long forgotten.

He hadn't been able to concentrate, too focused on you. And who could blame him? You were sitting in front of the fire in one of his flannels, barely buttoned, and a pair of panties that didn't do much to hide those pretty little holes he loved so much.

You chewed your bottom lip, trying not to smile.

Eventually, you gave in and stood, crossing to him before settling onto one of his thick thighs, back to him so he could reach your hair.

"Thanks, Daddy," you murmured wiggling against him to get comfortable.

One of his arms wrapped around your middle, hand splaying across your belly, giving you a slow squeeze. "So fuckin' cute when you're annoyed, baby. Sittin' over there in your little panties tryin' so hard to braid this pretty hair."

Both of his hands came up now, gently undoing the uneven plait you'd managed. His voice dropped an octave. "Got me thinkin' 'bout that pussy."

Your cheeks flushed at his vulgarity-words you should be used to by now-but your stomach still fluttered every time. That ache he always drew out of you, just from his voice, was already pulsing between your legs.

You turned to glance at him over your shoulder, then shifted so you were straddling his thigh, facing him. "

"...Really?"

One of his big hands cupped your cheek, thumb tracing along your cheekbone, then dragging across your bottom lip.

"Yeah, really, doll." His thumb tugged your lip down gently, exposing your mouth. "Got me thinkin' 'bout this mouth too."

You looked between his eyes, then leaned forward and took his thumb into your mouth, curling your tongue around it like you would his cock-slow and deliberate. Joel's jaw ticked, a low groan escaping as his eyes darkened.

He pulled his thumb out with a wet pop.

"Go on, baby," he rasped. "Get on your knees and suck this cock."

You slid off his thigh and dropped in front of him, the fire's heat warming your back, the scent of leather, cedar, and a hint of whiskey enveloping you in him. Your fingers moved automatically, undoing his belt, tugging his sweats and boxers down enough to free him.

He was already hard. Thick, flushed red at the tip, leaking precum like he was embarrassed about how bad he wanted you. No matter how many times you'd seen it, his cock still made your mouth water.

You wrapped a hand around the base, stroking slowly from root to tip, smearing those sticky beads of arousal over his head. Joel groaned deep and low, his hand drifting down to your hair.

And then-while you wrapped your lips around his cock—he started braiding your fucking hair.

That alone almost made you come.

You whimpered around him, eager and needy, taking him deeper, bobbing your head and stroking the base with your hand, desperate to please.

"Yeah... that's right. Dirty fuckin' girl," he groaned. "Gettin' off on Daddy's cock, huh?"

You moaned in response, throat tightening around him. Tears welled in your eyes from the stretch, but you didn't stop-couldn't stop. Joel's fingers wove through your hair as he worked a braid, tugging gently, and your hips rocked against the floor, chasing friction for your aching clit.

Joel chuckled, chest vibrating with it. "Fuckin' hell, baby. Mouth so warm... little throat squeezin' me so right... while I do your hair?

Fuuuck."

You pulled off with a gasp, still stroking him then ducked down to lick and suck at his heavy balls.

He dropped the hair tie he'd been holding, a strangled sound escaping his throat.

His fingers gripped your braid tight, wrapping it around his fist. His head dropped back against the couch cushion as a soft, broken whimper slipped from him.

"Yeah... yeah, suck my balls just like that, honey."

You moaned around them, drool spilling from the corners of your lips as you nuzzled deeper, hand still stroking his slick, twitching cock. He was close-you could feel it in the way he throbbed and pulsed in your palm.

The firelight caught along his flushed stomach, the trail of hair from his navel to his cock gleaming with sweat. You looked up—and nearly whined. His head was tipped back, chest heaving, jaw clenched tight, fist still gripping your braid like it was keeping him grounded.

"Baby... that mouth," he muttered. "So fuckin' pretty like that. Hair all done up, cock fillin' you up. You want Daddy to fuck that throat, baby?

"You pulled back, lips slick panting, your voice hoarse

"Please. Wanna be your good girl."

Joel leaned forward, both hands cradling your face. His thumbs brushed your damp cheeks.

"You are, baby. Always so fuckin' good for me.

Eager little thing, huh?"

You nodded frantically.

He sat back again, legs spread wide, cock flushed and ready. "Then open up, angel. Let Daddy fuck that pretty throat."

You crawled closer, heart pounding, tongue out, eyes wide.

Joel guided the head of his cock across your tongue, groaning at the sight.

"Gonna go deep now," he murmured. "You breathe through that nose, yeah? Be brave for Daddy."

You whimpered as he pushed in-inch by inch, slow and deliberate. Your jaw ached, your eyes watered, your throat tightening. "Always a stretch, huh?" he breathed. "But we get there, don't we?"

You couldn't nod. Could barely breathe. Just moaned around him as he started rocking gently into your mouth, guiding your pace with slow tugs on your braid.

Your hands clung to his thighs, nails digging into the soft cotton of his sweats. He was everywhere

-filling you, owning you. The stretch, the weight, the heat.

"Ffffuck," Joel growled. "Good girl. So tight. Just like that."

He was muttering now, half to himself. "My girl.

My sweet fuckin' angel. Mouth made for me.

Can't even finish your hair 'cause I'm too fuckin' gone."

You whimpered around him, arousal pooling between your thighs as he thrust a little deeper.

Your vision blurred.

He hissed, pulling out just far enough to let you breathe. "Up. Off your knees," he panted, gripping your hair. "Need to see this pussy."

He hauled you up and onto his lap, rough hands yanking the flannel off your body. Your panties were shoved aside, and before you could process anything, he was pushing into your dripping cunt.

The stretch made your head fall back.

His hands cupped your face as you whimpered.

"I know, baby girl. I know it's a lot. But Daddy needed his girl's pussy."

"S'full... D-Daddy... oh-"

"I know, baby. Gotta get you nice and messy." He kissed your cheek, his voice like gravel. "Look at that stretch. Openin' up so good for me. Let me just fuck this hole, honey."

[sweets-library]

What do you think about fighting Frankie (literally bring on top of him) as you force him to stay still so you can coat him in sunscreen during your “beach time" 😂

omg this is adorable and so acccuurrrattee.

Like of course Frank is gonna make sure you're slathered in sunscreen. He's calling you back from the water every two hours on the DOT and slathering you in more sunscreen, even on a cloudy day. You got terribly sunburned ONCE and he never forgot it. You can never beat the allegations now.

But him? No. He "doesn't burn." (and annoyingly he somehow doesn't). Claims it's because he's part Italian. You fight him on it, saying "Just because you don't burn doesn't mean you can't get skin cancer!" and at first he scoffs and after he sees you genuinely upset that he won't protect his skin, he does a half-hearted swipe of some SPF 11 to appease you. Of course, that's not nearly enough so you have to get crafty. You wait until he's sitting on the couch and climb into his lap-- bikini already on to keep him distracted -- as you drag your nails through his thick mane of hair.

"Mmmm feels nice sweetheart," he groans, hands landing on your bare waist, "You keep doin' that we'll never make it to the beach."

"You like that Frankie," you ask coyly, guiding his head back to lean against the back of the couch. He groans an affirmative and when his eyes close in relaxation, you whip the bottle of sunscreen out from where it was tucked in your bathing suit bottoms behind you and give a generous squirt to his face.

"The fu---" he exclaims, trying to lift his head but you hold him in place by the chin with one hand and begin slathering with the other.

"Don't move Castle!" you try to assert with the most authority you can muster and work the sunscreen on him. You feel his fingertips sink into your waist just a bit more. Frank makes to move his a head a bit but you grip his chin a bit tighter-- his stubble poking you in the fingertips.

"Easy tiger," he murmurs, a smirk on his lips at your bold attempt.

"Hey, zip it," you reply, straddling your legs around the trunk of his torso to keep him pinned. It's a farce really -- you both know Frank could out-maneuver you in a matter of 10 seconds. But he's playing along --letting you have a win.

"Yes ma'am," he replies, wiggling into a more comfortable position on the couch, "Don't forget the ears."

[sweets-library]

You wanna talk about yearning I am so touch starved that I’m wishing the guy who I had the worlds worst hookup with would text me bc I liked cuddling and watching a movie after

[sweets-library]

smut, 18+, mdni

nasty!toji who spits on your pussy while eating you out just to watch it slide down your puffy folds until it dips to your entrance. shoving his tongue inside your hole and fucking his saliva deeper inside, chuckling against you when he feels you clench around his hot tongue. “you like that, sweetheart?” words hot and thick against your sticky cunt.

toji gets impatient with not having an answer and pulls away just to spank your pussy. “asked you a question,” he barks in a sharp tone, catching your attention. you immediately squeal, voice breaking with a “y-yes! oh god, i love it, toji!” you can barely make out a muffled, “good girl” before he’s spreading your folds open wide, watching as you blossom pink and flushed for him before licking up your slit and sucking your clit directly into his mouth.

nasty!toji who lets his tongue wander when he’s going down on you, slipping inside your ass and feeling your pussy clench around his fingers that are still stuffing your cunt full. “quit squirmin’, mama,” he pulls his fingers out, coated in your slick, just to meanly slap your pussy twice before spreading your thighs further.

his tongue licking around your puckered hole, the one no one’s touched, “gonna let me be your first doll? want me to fill you up the way no man ever has?” his voice deep and rough, eyes flaring with something possessive, getting off on corrupting you.

nasty!toji who fucks you hard just to see you squirt on his chest. his thrusts are nothing short of cruel, swollen tip pushing against your abused g spot over and over again. you feel the pressure building, your thighs threatening to close from the intense feeling but toji won’t have it.

no, his calloused palms are shoving your legs apart and driving his hips even harder into the same spot. you try to warn him, voice wavering with each rough crash of his pelvis against your ass, but he only presses his hand down on your lower stomach, amplifying the sensation until you finally spray.

his chest is glistening from your gushing pussy and you feel a wave of embarrassment knowing you’re the direct cause for the sheen on his abs. before you can think too much about it, toji’s pulling out and diving face first into your cunt.

he licks at your folds, thumb rubbing harsh circles into your clit as your juices continue to flood his face despite you trying your hardest to make it stop. he runs his face back and forth across your silky skin and groans hoarsely, basking in your taste as he shoves his tongue inside your pussy.

“toji!! s’ too much—fuck!” you cry out, muscles giving out as you try to push his head away. he pulls his head back only to spit on your pussy, giving her two more rushed licks before sitting up on his knees once more, stroking his cock and fucking you right back in the same rhythm, a dirty combination of slick and squirt decorating the lower half of his face, coating his lips and that damn scar you love so much.

nasty!toji who fucks you in missionary just to watch you cry. the way he rams his cock into you is nothing short of mean, his eyes half lidded in lust and his fingers intertwined with your own as he holds them above your head. you’re rendered helpless, forced to take every rough thrust of his hips even when it’s too much. your cunt begins clenching around him too tight, the slight pain that the stretch of his fat cock gives you growing more intense with each relentless thrust.

you can’t even help the big tears welling up in your lash line or your bottom lip quivering as you begin to pout at him. “t-toji, it’s too deep. fuck, you’re too deep!” you begin to whine out, head turning back and forth against the plush pillow, body being run for all its worth and feeling the twitches throughout your frame in an unfamiliar pattern—you’re at your limit. and he’s still not through.

“just gotta make sure i get all of it, you know this, ma,” his nose is dragging along the column of your throat, his balls slapping wetly against your ass as he ensures every inch of his cock is snug inside your overstimulated pussy. your eyes shut and the tears begin to fall, your heels digging into the dip of his spine to pull him even deeper, body conflicting itself and somehow still begging for more.

“there she is, that’s—shit—that’s my good girl,” he praises once he feels you pulling him in even closer, head pulling back to look you in the eyes before flattening his tongue against your jaw, licking all the way up your cheek and savoring the salty taste of your tears.

“taste so sweet when you’re cryin’ for it. this poor little pussy can’t get enough even with all your whinin’,” his words are punctuated with a rumbly chuckle before he begins lapping at the opposite side of your face. his wet tongue moves slowly across your skin, the humiliation causing soft sobs to fall from your swollen lips but his hips never stop moving. his leaky tip rams against your cervix with each thrust while he presses a wet kiss to the corner of your eye. “so pretty when you cry, just makes me wanna fuck a baby into ‘ya.”

nasty!toji who can’t help himself from eating his own cum out of your pussy. he’d long since lost count of how many times he felt your cunt flutter around him, coming over and over from his insatiable desire to fuck you for all he’s worth. he didn’t give you time to recover after an orgasm, and if you’re honest, you can’t be sure you can tell the difference between one ending and the next one washing over your overstimulated body.

toji had inhumane stamina and sex happened to be one of the places it showcases the best. he can go for hours, never getting bored of your broken moans ringing through his ears or that frothy ring of your cum that coats the base of his dick. but when he does finally come, it doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to being done with you.

nasty!toji fills you with so much of his cum that it can’t possibly all fit inside of your poor, abused pussy. it spills out even with him still driving his hips forward to push it deeper, making a mess of your thighs and his heavy balls as it overflows. toji simply doesn’t care and groans out in a raspy tone as he feels his orgasm last longer than normal, his cock somehow still filling you with more of his hot, sticky load.

when he eventually pulls out, he’s immediately dropping to his stomach and pushing the backs of your thighs towards your chest. you’ve never looked so messy before, he’s sure of it, as he licks up the thick stream of white pouring out of your sloppy folds. his eyes shut as he revels in the taste of your combined cum, bumping your clit with his nose while his tongue laps at your quivering entrance as he cleans up the mess he made of you.

[sweets-library]

dilf toji!! my favvvvv... i def got carried away with it but anyways... dedicated to @fayerie @charphilia love yall!

toji knows you love his arms, but you don't know that he knows. you think all those tight tank tops that show off his sculpted limbs are coincidental— it's probably more comfortable for him. or when he never lets you open are tight jars or reach anywhere high. you think it's just to help you out, but in reality, he's making sure you never forget how thick and bulky his arms really are.

you don't even think twice about the videos he sends you from the gym, where his hands are wrapped around a heavy dumbbell, his muscles tightening and bulging as he proceeds with his work outs. in fact, it just turns you on more. the thought of those biceps curling around your neck, pinning you down.

it's so easy to let your mind and fingers wander to the fantasy of his big, masculine arms wrapping around you, holding you while he fucks into you.

yet, you're almost embarrassed to tell toji... but how naive are you to not see that he is fully aware of your naughty thoughts?

that's why he brings you into this position, relaxing your body on the bed, rubbing his hard cock against the plush curve of your ass before bottoming out.

his arms are cemented on either side of your head as he leans his weight forward, feeling just how deep his dick reaches, being sucked in by your velvet walls. your feet kick slightly, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him, squeaking out with pleasure as his chest touches your warm back.

you feel so flustered, seeing his muscular arms right next to you, thinking about all the ways toji could use you. and it's almost as if he's telepathic as he slides his right arm under your chin, letting your exposed throat rest between his bicep and his forearm. he slyly flexes his muscles, letting you feel just how strong he was, and you could've sworn you were drooling already.

so it's really no surprise when your pussy clamps down on him, bringing out a guttural moan from the man above you. he wants to rock his hips forward so bad, but there's something more appealing about watching you squirm and slobber all over his arms.

his other hand swiftly locks your head in place, putting pressure on your throat.

"you went dumb already, didn't ya?" he asks, bringing his face next to your ear. you can feel the way his lips brush against your ear while you reply with a meek whimper.

toji smiles, placing a quick kiss on your temple, "you like being like this, in my arms, havin me choke you like a little freak?"

you try to nod, but it feels impossible with the way he has you in a headlock. although, toji can tell with how your pussy is pulsing that you are really enjoying this position.

you can sense the heat creeping onto your face, but he only soothes you: "don't be embarrassed about it, baby," he places another kiss on the side of your face, "don't try to hide how much you like it."

his hips snap forward, making your whole body jolt. you're so small under his frame, so small in comparison to every part of him. his cock throbs inside of you, stretching you open for him as it brushes against every internal nerve. it's so filling, you can hardly think.

toji keeps the pace of his strokes consistent, meeting each thrust with a grunt. your wet sloppy pussy sings to him as he does it, echoing how well you're able to take him.

with his face still next to yours, you can hear how his praises tumble off his lips: "taking me so well, baby girl, yeah? letting me feeling your pussy like this, making me feel so fucking good."

his words drive him to fuck you harder.

his tip presses against your cervix, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts half way. toji swears you're gonna be the death of him, he doesn't even think he'll last so long, with the way you're winning like you're in heat and all. he tightens the headlock he's placed over you, making your cunt squeeze him all the more.

"good girl," he breaths out, hitting every spot inside you to a tee. "such a good little girl, fuck."

your tongue rolls from your mouth, your cheek leaning against toji's bicep. it's impossible to think straight, or to bother forming a coherent sentence, leaving you a babling mess.

"aw my sweet girl," he coos, but his rhythm doesn't let up. he's still fucking you. hard. "is it too much?"

you shake your heard to the best of your abilities. your pussy is pulsing, stomach forming a knot, head getting lighter, your eyes squeezing shut. you're gonna cum soon—you can feel it.

toji bullies his cock as deep as he can possibly go, a string of praise leaving his lips, mixed with his almost animalistic moans. before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, gushing and creaming around his shaft, feeling so sensitive as he continues to jut his hips into the fat of your ass.

"that's right baby, cum on my dick," he says, kissing the bead of sweat that rolls down you forehead. you ride out your high on him, feeling yourself tighten. "squeezing me so fuckin tight."

his pace speeds up, as if that was even humanly possible while simultaneously becoming more vocal.

"been so good to me," he pants, "i should fill you up for being so sweet... yeah you want that, for me to fill your little cunny while i choke you in my arms?"

"please!" you manage to squeak out, gasping for air as he plows into you, his cock jumping at the sound of your desperate voice.

"fuuuuuck, baby,"

his load spills into you, overflowing, running down your pussy and mixing with all the other body fluids that are staining the bedsheets. your warm body feels even warmer, more full than it could've been before. he's still twitching inside of you, still hard somehow. he doesn't let you go, though, at least not at first.

he savors the feeling of you under him, whimpering and whining while also rubbing against him, trying to soak in all his cum.

he gently takes him arms away, letting you take your first full breath, sighing at how cold the room is without him there to protect you from it.

toji's hands methodically glide down your skin, trailing their way to your ass. when he gets there, he finally decides to pull out, admiring the white, gooey rings you've left around his cock. his tip is red and angry, itching to fuck you all night long.

he masages your butt, shuffling back, placing kisses against it's plumpness, staring into your messy hole. beads of his cm escape your gaping pussy, making him all the more eager to fill you up again and again.

[sweets-library]

Hi girllll can you please write something about when the reader always forget to breathe when fucking frank and he gently reminds her 🤍

ok this is criminally feral and I'm here for it because it's UNDERSTANDABLE.

It would always happen when you're flat on your back after he's made you cum once and your walls are tender and tight but he's still so damn big and every pump and glide feels like it's consuming all the space inside you. You're concentrating so hard on the unending sensation, making space for something that feels altogether too big that you unknowingly hold your breath, like stoping all autonomic systems in the name of his size. Your chest raising in a breath and never falling.

Frank is a conductor during sex and he notices when all the parts aren't doing what they're supposed to, not faltering as his hips rut into you but reaching up to cup your jaw gently, swiping his thumb along your cheek to get your attention and saying from above you "Eyes open babydoll. C'mon sweetheart," coaxing your eyes open before saying, "Now breathe baby," mimicking the action exaggeratedly for you.

You nod and let out a shaky breath in tandem with him.

"Need ya do somethin' for me sweetheart," he says, slowing his pace and stooping to lift you off the bed gingerly, still inside you. "You focus on the breathing alright?" he asks, his thick arms holding your limp body as you nod at his instructions, "In and out, over and over doll," he reminds you, huffing a bit at the effort of maneuvering you both. "I'll take care of everything else," he adds, repositioning you with a pillow under your ass to make his angle less searing and your body more lax as he resumes his pace and pressure.

"Aaaaaattagirl," he says when he says you breathe with concentrated effort as he pumps, "Doin' such a good job like I asked," as if you're doing him a personal favor.

[sweets-library]

Price who knows damn well younger!reader has a daddy kink and uses it to his full advantage.

Ur a college kid pulling an internship on base (idfk dont ask me), constantly overworked and under cared for. The first time price spoke with you, just to drop off some papers, he took note of the way you eyes roved over his body. Hes not surprised, hes been around and knows what young people like you are into.

Though, he does abuse this knowledge just a little. Whenever he sees more than two empty energy drinks on ur desk he leans against ur office doorframe with a carefully practiced disappointed look. "Really, kid? Why dont we drink some water instead?" He tosses a water bottle and granola bar to you "here. Be good and finish that."

Price learns youll do anything for a warm hand on ur shoulder and a proud smile. Soon hes got you eating proper meals and avoiding excessive caffeine. Ghost lowkey side eyes price when the captain leans over ur shoulder to whisper "good jod, kiddo." When u show off ur grades.

But hey, youre doing great, and you do seem alot happier. So ghost keeps his comments to himself and quietly adds 20 to the betting pool next time he sees gaz.

[sweets-library]

nevermind

-

Frank castle/fem!reader. angst, hurt/comfort. wc: 3k.

Explicit/NSFT

an: god i love an ansty making up fic so this goes out to me. sorry about the pov changes i always fuck that up

It was a mutual decision, one you and Frank came to softly, after too many weeks of silence filling the space where connection used to live. There hadn’t been fighting, no cruel words or slammed doors. Just a growing distance, the kind that crept in slowly. Missed calls. Short replies. His side of the bed empty when you fall asleep and empty again when you wake up. You aren’t sure when he stopped kissing you in the morning before he left, maybe he still does. But it doesn’t wake up anymore, so you assume he’s let that go too.

You still love him, so much that it hurts. But loving him doesn’t stop the loneliness. It doesn’t keep you warm when he’s working late again or make the couch feel less empty on weekends he was gone. You started to feel like a guest in his life, like you’re just a squatter in his apartment. And he felt it too, didn’t he? The shift. The weight of what you were both pretending hadn’t changed.

So you let go. Quietly. Carefully. Because neither of you wanted to leave angry, you just didn’t want to stay hurting.

So you let go. Quietly. Carefully. Because neither of you wanted to leave angry, you just didn’t want to stay hurting.

But now he’s here, helping you pack, like it's just another thing he does for you, like it’s not the end of something that once felt permanent. He held open the wonky closet door while you folded your clothes, his knuckles gripping the frame like they’ve got nothing better to hold. You keep catching yourself watching him. His hands. His face. You try to memorize every inch of him, knowing that you’re losing him now.

You’re lucky, you guess. You still have your own apartment. You’d almost let the lease run out, back when things were good and the future felt shared. But now…well. You’re grateful for a place to land, even if it feels less like home than he did.

Your things are scattered around his place like echoes. A plastic basket of toiletries rests in your arms; your toothbrush, your face wash, that little jar of bag balm he used to tease you for. All the bits of you that made this feel like more than borrowed time. Now they feel out of place. Like artifacts from a life you don’t get to live anymore.

Now, you’ll have doubles of everything. Toothbrushes. Shampoo. Too much of what you don’t need. And not nearly enough of what you do.

You walk out to the living room to find Frank carefully sorting your books from his, setting them aside in a neat stack. The sight makes your chest ache. The bookshelf he built for you, back when you were tired of carting your novels back and forth between apartments like a mobile library. You told him he didn’t have to. He told you he wanted to.

You place the plastic basket on the table and drift into the kitchen without a word, pulling out another box. There’s still more to gather; your mismatched thrift store mugs, the ones you found together and never brought back to your place. Your pink-handled cooking tools, the ones you stared at in the aisle long enough for Frank to sneak back and buy them without telling you.

Really, you should leave them behind. He paid for them. But you know he’d only tell you to take them, just like he has with so many of the other little things he bought only because you were here. Because you made this place feel full.

On the top shelf sit your fancy wine glasses, the ones you always joked were too nice for the kind of nights you had. You get one knee up on the counter and go to hoist yourself up. But before you can get anywhere, Frank is behind you, one arm around your waist, pulling you gently back down.

“Jesus, what are you doing? C'mere,” he mutters, voice low and chastising as he sets you firmly back on your feet. “You know better than that.”

He reaches up for the glasses himself, and you let him. You try not to lean into his touch. Try not to want it. But his hands are still careful on you, still warm, and it hits you all over again how much you already miss him.

You pack up the rest of your things quickly. Now they all sit by the door, ready to be taken down to the car. Frank is still here, already loading bags into his arms, figuring out how many he can carry in one trip. You stand frozen in the hallway, just staring.

“Frank.”

He doesn’t look at you, he just shifts the weight of a duffel bag, eyes scanning for the most efficient path to the door. He hasn’t really looked at you since you both agreed to end it. And somehow, that hurts more than anything. But there’s something in his face, in the way he won’t meet your eyes. Not indifference. Not relief. Just...resignation. Like this is something he’s forcing himself to live with.

But distance is what broke you, and now it feels like he’s already moved on. Like he doesn’t even care.

“I got it, honey. You grab the small ones.” His voice is casual, but his hands are clenched too tight around the straps.

“Frankie, I-” You stop yourself, but the nickname slips out on instinct. It’s enough to make him pause. His eyes finally meet yours, face unreadable. Guarded.

“I-I changed my mind. I don’t want this,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. He just stares at you, his mouth slightly parted, eyes scanning your face like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. Like he wants so badly to believe you but doesn’t think he’s allowed to.

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, Frank. I know it was mutual. I know. And if you don’t- if you don’t want-”

You can’t say me. You don’t have it in you. So instead, your face crumples, and your gaze falls to your socked feet, shame and hope mixing so tightly it hurts to breathe.

But you don’t need to say it.

Because suddenly, Frank is on you. His arms wrap around you tight and certain, and it’s him, all of him, his warmth, his strength, the smell of his skin, the way he holds you like something fragile and sacred. It’s everything you’ve missed.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, holding you like he might never get the chance again.

 “I just thought… I haven’t been what you need. I ain’t been fair to you.”His voice cracks, just barely. “You’ve been alone even when I was right here. And I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought… letting you go was the only decent thing I had left to offer.”

That breaks something in you. He whispers into your hair as you bury your face in his chest. “I always want you, honey. I promise. We’re gonna be okay.”

You can’t do anything but cry. For a long while, that’s all there is. You and him, tangled in the quiet, your sobs muffled against his chest. Eventually, he scoops you up and carries you to his big, beat-up old man armchair, the one you always teased him about. He settles down with you in his lap, wrapping you in his arms like he can shield you from all of it.

He presses his forehead to yours, trying to catch your eyes through the tears.

“‘M gonna fix this, baby. I’m gonna make it better. I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

Frank never lies to you. Never has. So you nod, because that’s all you can do, your voice caught somewhere behind your ribs. He lets you fall forward again, pressing your cheek to his chest as he rubs your back in slow circles, just the way you like. You breathe him in, trying to memorize it.

After a long while, your voice comes out, small and cracked against the fabric of his shirt.

“I just… I really miss you.”

He stiffens, just for a second. Then exhales, shaky, like the words knocked the wind out of him.

“I miss you too,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Every damn day. I’ve just been wrapped up in my own bullshit- ‘s not right.”

His hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up. His eyes are glassy, almost pleading, and then his mouth is on yours, feeling desperate and full of everything he hasn’t said. He kisses you like he’s starved for it, like the weeks of emotional distance have made him feral. His tongue dominates yours, drawing out a soft whimper you can’t contain.

When you finally pull back for air, his lips don’t stop. They trail down your jaw, your neck, relentless.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses, breath hot against your lips. “Love you so much, sweetheart. I’m so damn sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

His hands slip under your shirt, palms gliding up your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your spine like he’s trying to memorize it. The contact sends a shiver through you.

“I love you too, Frankie. I’m sorry I’m so- so needy, I-”

You don’t even finish the thought. He growls, actually growls, like the very suggestion offends him on a cellular level. The sound is low and raw, vibrating against your mouth.

Your shirt is gone before you can blink, flung somewhere behind you, and his lips are back on yours and dominating your mouth with his tongue, cutting off whatever apology you were trying to make. By the time he pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed. But he’s already at your back, fingers undoing the clasp of your bra as he speaks.

“You're my girl, you ain’t never too needy, specially when I’ve been neglectin’ you. My perfect girl, I love when you need me, just as much as I need you, I promise you that baby.”

His hands cup and squeeze your breasts as he speaks, slow and reverent, and you’ve long since started grinding on his lap, your panties soaked through, sliding slick against the fabric of your shorts. Every shift of your hips makes your breath catch.

Words fall away as his mouth finds your chest, his lips wrapping around one nipple while his fingers work the button of your shorts with practiced ease. He wastes no time, slipping a hand inside, pushing past the damp cotton to slide through your soft, dripping heat.

A low groan tears from his throat the moment he feels how wet you are, part arousal, part pure guilt.

Christ.

How long had you been wanting like this? Waiting for him, needing him, not just like this but in every way? He could kick himself for all the time you spent aching without him there to hold you.

His poor girl. His good girl.

It’s enough to sting behind his eyes, but there’s no time for shame. He tugs your shorts and panties down your hips, and you rise onto your knees to help, shimmying them off one leg at a time. All the while, he mouths at your chest, kissing and licking, biting gently, like he can’t get enough of you.

And then you’re bare. Completely naked in his lap, flushed and soft and trembling in his hands.

He looks up at you like he’s seeing something holy and it nearly breaks him to think he almost let this fall through his fingers.

"My pretty girl… look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, eyes roaming over your body like he can’t believe you’re real. “Don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.”

Words feel impossible now, like your brain can’t hold anything except the need to be closer.

“Frank… Frankie, please-” you whisper, breath hitching as your hands slide under his shirt, tugging at the fabric. He gets the message instantly, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside.

You’re already fumbling at the fly of his jeans, pulling his cock free and he’s barely got time to groan before you’re lining yourself up, desperate to take him in.

But he stops you. Big, firm hands catch your hips before you can sink down, holding you still.

“Hey. Hey, hold on,” he murmurs, steady but gentle.

You nearly sob from the frustration, head dropping against his shoulder. He hushes you softly, rubbing his thumbs into your hips, grounding you.

“You’re alright, honey,” he says, voice thick with guilt and care. One hand slides down between your legs, fingers circling your clit with that familiar, perfect pressure. “I gotta get you ready first. You’ll hurt yourself like that, rushing.”

He kisses the side of your face, your jaw, your neck, slow and worshipful, as his fingers slip into you, and under the steady rhythm of his touch you shake and shudder.

You whine loudly, grinding into his hand with a feverish urgency. He lets you ride his fingers for a moment, watching, letting you take what you need, but then he starts to move in earnest, pumping deep and slow, working you open gently. When he slides in a third finger, your breath catches, and your hand flies to his forearm, tugging desperately.

“’M ready, Frankie, please- come on,” you beg, voice wrecked with need.

He almost feels bad denying you a second longer, but he’d feel worse if he hurt you. Still, it takes everything in him not to cave right then and there.

He pulls his fingers from you and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low, filthy growl. The taste of you makes his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

If I didn’t know what you needed right now… he thinks. He’d be on his knees for you in a heartbeat, but that could come later.

Right now, you’re already lining yourself up with his cock, and he moves quickly to steady you, but big hands gripping under your thighs and anchoring you in place before you can slam down the way he knows you want to. You whimper, frustrated, but he holds firm.

“Easy,” he murmurs, tightening his grip as he begins to lower you down slowly, carefully. Inch by aching inch.

You gasp and squirm, trying to take more, faster, but he won’t let you rush. Not tonight.

He knows he didn’t prep you like he usually does. He’ll feel bad about it tomorrow when your you’re feeling sore but tonight everything feels like it’s burning.

You’re soaked, clenching, trying to drag him in faster, but he keeps the pace torturously slow, his biceps flexing under your weight.

By the time he bottoms out, your mouth falls open on a broken moan. You feel impaled, the thick head of him pressing against your cervix and your hole practically suckling around the wide base. You tremble in his lap, slick and pulsing around him, overwhelmed by how deeply he fills you.

His jeans are going to be soaked, but neither of you care. Not when he’s inside you like this and clutching you so close.

One hand rubs up and down your back, slow and steady, drifting over the curve of your ass. The other is buried in your hair, fingers gently scratching your scalp in a way that would have made you moan if you weren't out of breath just from taking the length of him. You pant into his neck, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders like you might fall apart if you let go.

You stay like that longer than usual, just sitting and breathing the same air. His cock is a searing weight sat deep in your core, your chest pressed to his. You feel closer to him than you have in months, and it’s almost too much. It’s so good it hurts.

Eventually, he shifts, easing the recliner back until you’re sprawled across his chest. He plants his boots on the floor and begins to guide your hips into a slow, grinding motion.

Your clit catches perfectly against the base of him, pressure blooming hot and immediate. The stretch of his cock, the warmth of his body, the soft rumble of his voice in your ear, it has you trembling again.

You find a rhythm, slow and filthy, with him doing most of the work, strong hands controlling your pace, keeping you from getting frantic, murmuring soft, steady reassurances the entire time.

“Yeah, baby… just like that. You’re doing so good. Got me feelin’ crazy, you know that?”

Minutes pass like this, the tension building, humming low and molten through your limbs, until suddenly he stills.

His hand flies to your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Baby, are you hurting?”

You can barely speak, so you just sob, pressing your wet cheek into his palm like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“No,” you choke out. “No, don’t stop. Please.”

And something in him breaks a little, realizing how emotionally overwhelmed you are. You're not in any physical pain, but your heart is reeling from the neglect suddenly being over. You finally have him back and its almost too much.

“Alright,” he whispers, pulling you in to kiss your forehead, lingering there. You tremble in his arms. “Alright, c’mere. I got you.”

He holds you tighter, hand stroking up your spine. Then his voice drops low again, rough and tender all at once.

“Come on, honey. I know you’re close. Come for me, and I’ll take you to bed, fuck you proper like you deserve.” His hand slips back to your hips, helping you rock just right. “I need it, baby. Need to feel you.”

His fingers find your clit again, moving with the rhythm that’s second nature by now, he could never forget how to make you feel good. He lets you grind harder, lets your body chase what it needs, and keeps his hand right there to guide you through it.

You cum with a ragged sob, still crying, your whole body trembling as it overtakes you. It’s not just release; it’s relief. Raw, overwhelming, and completely consuming.

“There it is,” he breathes, holding you through it. “My perfect girl. Love you so much, baby. Did so good for me.”

You go limp in his arms fingers barely clutching at his damp skin. He presses kisses to your hair, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach as he rocks you gently, helping you come down.

When your breath evens out and the shivering fades, he carefully slips out of you, still achingly hard. He tucks himself back into his boxers for now, adjusting you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all.

And then he stands, gathering you close again, holding you like something precious.

He carries you to the bedroom, his bedroom, your bedroom, and lays you gently across the sheets, where you belong.

His hands don’t leave you. His mouth doesn’t stop. He plans on making up for every second you missed him, even if it takes all night and many nights to come.

[sweets-library]

nevermind

-

Frank castle/fem!reader. angst, hurt/comfort. wc: 3k.

Explicit/NSFT

an: god i love an ansty making up fic so this goes out to me. sorry about the pov changes i always fuck that up

It was a mutual decision, one you and Frank came to softly, after too many weeks of silence filling the space where connection used to live. There hadn’t been fighting, no cruel words or slammed doors. Just a growing distance, the kind that crept in slowly. Missed calls. Short replies. His side of the bed empty when you fall asleep and empty again when you wake up. You aren’t sure when he stopped kissing you in the morning before he left, maybe he still does. But it doesn’t wake up anymore, so you assume he’s let that go too.

You still love him, so much that it hurts. But loving him doesn’t stop the loneliness. It doesn’t keep you warm when he’s working late again or make the couch feel less empty on weekends he was gone. You started to feel like a guest in his life, like you’re just a squatter in his apartment. And he felt it too, didn’t he? The shift. The weight of what you were both pretending hadn’t changed.

So you let go. Quietly. Carefully. Because neither of you wanted to leave angry, you just didn’t want to stay hurting.

So you let go. Quietly. Carefully. Because neither of you wanted to leave angry, you just didn’t want to stay hurting.

But now he’s here, helping you pack, like it's just another thing he does for you, like it’s not the end of something that once felt permanent. He held open the wonky closet door while you folded your clothes, his knuckles gripping the frame like they’ve got nothing better to hold. You keep catching yourself watching him. His hands. His face. You try to memorize every inch of him, knowing that you’re losing him now.

You’re lucky, you guess. You still have your own apartment. You’d almost let the lease run out, back when things were good and the future felt shared. But now…well. You’re grateful for a place to land, even if it feels less like home than he did.

Your things are scattered around his place like echoes. A plastic basket of toiletries rests in your arms; your toothbrush, your face wash, that little jar of bag balm he used to tease you for. All the bits of you that made this feel like more than borrowed time. Now they feel out of place. Like artifacts from a life you don’t get to live anymore.

Now, you’ll have doubles of everything. Toothbrushes. Shampoo. Too much of what you don’t need. And not nearly enough of what you do.

You walk out to the living room to find Frank carefully sorting your books from his, setting them aside in a neat stack. The sight makes your chest ache. The bookshelf he built for you, back when you were tired of carting your novels back and forth between apartments like a mobile library. You told him he didn’t have to. He told you he wanted to.

You place the plastic basket on the table and drift into the kitchen without a word, pulling out another box. There’s still more to gather; your mismatched thrift store mugs, the ones you found together and never brought back to your place. Your pink-handled cooking tools, the ones you stared at in the aisle long enough for Frank to sneak back and buy them without telling you.

Really, you should leave them behind. He paid for them. But you know he’d only tell you to take them, just like he has with so many of the other little things he bought only because you were here. Because you made this place feel full.

On the top shelf sit your fancy wine glasses, the ones you always joked were too nice for the kind of nights you had. You get one knee up on the counter and go to hoist yourself up. But before you can get anywhere, Frank is behind you, one arm around your waist, pulling you gently back down.

“Jesus, what are you doing? C'mere,” he mutters, voice low and chastising as he sets you firmly back on your feet. “You know better than that.”

He reaches up for the glasses himself, and you let him. You try not to lean into his touch. Try not to want it. But his hands are still careful on you, still warm, and it hits you all over again how much you already miss him.

You pack up the rest of your things quickly. Now they all sit by the door, ready to be taken down to the car. Frank is still here, already loading bags into his arms, figuring out how many he can carry in one trip. You stand frozen in the hallway, just staring.

“Frank.”

He doesn’t look at you, he just shifts the weight of a duffel bag, eyes scanning for the most efficient path to the door. He hasn’t really looked at you since you both agreed to end it. And somehow, that hurts more than anything. But there’s something in his face, in the way he won’t meet your eyes. Not indifference. Not relief. Just...resignation. Like this is something he’s forcing himself to live with.

But distance is what broke you, and now it feels like he’s already moved on. Like he doesn’t even care.

“I got it, honey. You grab the small ones.” His voice is casual, but his hands are clenched too tight around the straps.

“Frankie, I-” You stop yourself, but the nickname slips out on instinct. It’s enough to make him pause. His eyes finally meet yours, face unreadable. Guarded.

“I-I changed my mind. I don’t want this,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. He just stares at you, his mouth slightly parted, eyes scanning your face like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. Like he wants so badly to believe you but doesn’t think he’s allowed to.

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, Frank. I know it was mutual. I know. And if you don’t- if you don’t want-”

You can’t say me. You don’t have it in you. So instead, your face crumples, and your gaze falls to your socked feet, shame and hope mixing so tightly it hurts to breathe.

But you don’t need to say it.

Because suddenly, Frank is on you. His arms wrap around you tight and certain, and it’s him, all of him, his warmth, his strength, the smell of his skin, the way he holds you like something fragile and sacred. It’s everything you’ve missed.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, holding you like he might never get the chance again.

 “I just thought… I haven’t been what you need. I ain’t been fair to you.”His voice cracks, just barely. “You’ve been alone even when I was right here. And I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought… letting you go was the only decent thing I had left to offer.”

That breaks something in you. He whispers into your hair as you bury your face in his chest. “I always want you, honey. I promise. We’re gonna be okay.”

You can’t do anything but cry. For a long while, that’s all there is. You and him, tangled in the quiet, your sobs muffled against his chest. Eventually, he scoops you up and carries you to his big, beat-up old man armchair, the one you always teased him about. He settles down with you in his lap, wrapping you in his arms like he can shield you from all of it.

He presses his forehead to yours, trying to catch your eyes through the tears.

“‘M gonna fix this, baby. I’m gonna make it better. I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

Frank never lies to you. Never has. So you nod, because that’s all you can do, your voice caught somewhere behind your ribs. He lets you fall forward again, pressing your cheek to his chest as he rubs your back in slow circles, just the way you like. You breathe him in, trying to memorize it.

After a long while, your voice comes out, small and cracked against the fabric of his shirt.

“I just… I really miss you.”

He stiffens, just for a second. Then exhales, shaky, like the words knocked the wind out of him.

“I miss you too,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Every damn day. I’ve just been wrapped up in my own bullshit- ‘s not right.”

His hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up. His eyes are glassy, almost pleading, and then his mouth is on yours, feeling desperate and full of everything he hasn’t said. He kisses you like he’s starved for it, like the weeks of emotional distance have made him feral. His tongue dominates yours, drawing out a soft whimper you can’t contain.

When you finally pull back for air, his lips don’t stop. They trail down your jaw, your neck, relentless.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses, breath hot against your lips. “Love you so much, sweetheart. I’m so damn sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

His hands slip under your shirt, palms gliding up your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your spine like he’s trying to memorize it. The contact sends a shiver through you.

“I love you too, Frankie. I’m sorry I’m so- so needy, I-”

You don’t even finish the thought. He growls, actually growls, like the very suggestion offends him on a cellular level. The sound is low and raw, vibrating against your mouth.

Your shirt is gone before you can blink, flung somewhere behind you, and his lips are back on yours and dominating your mouth with his tongue, cutting off whatever apology you were trying to make. By the time he pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed. But he’s already at your back, fingers undoing the clasp of your bra as he speaks.

“You're my girl, you ain’t never too needy, specially when I’ve been neglectin’ you. My perfect girl, I love when you need me, just as much as I need you, I promise you that baby.”

His hands cup and squeeze your breasts as he speaks, slow and reverent, and you’ve long since started grinding on his lap, your panties soaked through, sliding slick against the fabric of your shorts. Every shift of your hips makes your breath catch.

Words fall away as his mouth finds your chest, his lips wrapping around one nipple while his fingers work the button of your shorts with practiced ease. He wastes no time, slipping a hand inside, pushing past the damp cotton to slide through your soft, dripping heat.

A low groan tears from his throat the moment he feels how wet you are, part arousal, part pure guilt.

Christ.

How long had you been wanting like this? Waiting for him, needing him, not just like this but in every way? He could kick himself for all the time you spent aching without him there to hold you.

His poor girl. His good girl.

It’s enough to sting behind his eyes, but there’s no time for shame. He tugs your shorts and panties down your hips, and you rise onto your knees to help, shimmying them off one leg at a time. All the while, he mouths at your chest, kissing and licking, biting gently, like he can’t get enough of you.

And then you’re bare. Completely naked in his lap, flushed and soft and trembling in his hands.

He looks up at you like he’s seeing something holy and it nearly breaks him to think he almost let this fall through his fingers.

"My pretty girl… look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, eyes roaming over your body like he can’t believe you’re real. “Don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.”

Words feel impossible now, like your brain can’t hold anything except the need to be closer.

“Frank… Frankie, please-” you whisper, breath hitching as your hands slide under his shirt, tugging at the fabric. He gets the message instantly, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside.

You’re already fumbling at the fly of his jeans, pulling his cock free and he’s barely got time to groan before you’re lining yourself up, desperate to take him in.

But he stops you. Big, firm hands catch your hips before you can sink down, holding you still.

“Hey. Hey, hold on,” he murmurs, steady but gentle.

You nearly sob from the frustration, head dropping against his shoulder. He hushes you softly, rubbing his thumbs into your hips, grounding you.

“You’re alright, honey,” he says, voice thick with guilt and care. One hand slides down between your legs, fingers circling your clit with that familiar, perfect pressure. “I gotta get you ready first. You’ll hurt yourself like that, rushing.”

He kisses the side of your face, your jaw, your neck, slow and worshipful, as his fingers slip into you, and under the steady rhythm of his touch you shake and shudder.

You whine loudly, grinding into his hand with a feverish urgency. He lets you ride his fingers for a moment, watching, letting you take what you need, but then he starts to move in earnest, pumping deep and slow, working you open gently. When he slides in a third finger, your breath catches, and your hand flies to his forearm, tugging desperately.

“’M ready, Frankie, please- come on,” you beg, voice wrecked with need.

He almost feels bad denying you a second longer, but he’d feel worse if he hurt you. Still, it takes everything in him not to cave right then and there.

He pulls his fingers from you and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low, filthy growl. The taste of you makes his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

If I didn’t know what you needed right now… he thinks. He’d be on his knees for you in a heartbeat, but that could come later.

Right now, you’re already lining yourself up with his cock, and he moves quickly to steady you, but big hands gripping under your thighs and anchoring you in place before you can slam down the way he knows you want to. You whimper, frustrated, but he holds firm.

“Easy,” he murmurs, tightening his grip as he begins to lower you down slowly, carefully. Inch by aching inch.

You gasp and squirm, trying to take more, faster, but he won’t let you rush. Not tonight.

He knows he didn’t prep you like he usually does. He’ll feel bad about it tomorrow when your you’re feeling sore but tonight everything feels like it’s burning.

You’re soaked, clenching, trying to drag him in faster, but he keeps the pace torturously slow, his biceps flexing under your weight.

By the time he bottoms out, your mouth falls open on a broken moan. You feel impaled, the thick head of him pressing against your cervix and your hole practically suckling around the wide base. You tremble in his lap, slick and pulsing around him, overwhelmed by how deeply he fills you.

His jeans are going to be soaked, but neither of you care. Not when he’s inside you like this and clutching you so close.

One hand rubs up and down your back, slow and steady, drifting over the curve of your ass. The other is buried in your hair, fingers gently scratching your scalp in a way that would have made you moan if you weren't out of breath just from taking the length of him. You pant into his neck, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders like you might fall apart if you let go.

You stay like that longer than usual, just sitting and breathing the same air. His cock is a searing weight sat deep in your core, your chest pressed to his. You feel closer to him than you have in months, and it’s almost too much. It’s so good it hurts.

Eventually, he shifts, easing the recliner back until you’re sprawled across his chest. He plants his boots on the floor and begins to guide your hips into a slow, grinding motion.

Your clit catches perfectly against the base of him, pressure blooming hot and immediate. The stretch of his cock, the warmth of his body, the soft rumble of his voice in your ear, it has you trembling again.

You find a rhythm, slow and filthy, with him doing most of the work, strong hands controlling your pace, keeping you from getting frantic, murmuring soft, steady reassurances the entire time.

“Yeah, baby… just like that. You’re doing so good. Got me feelin’ crazy, you know that?”

Minutes pass like this, the tension building, humming low and molten through your limbs, until suddenly he stills.

His hand flies to your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Baby, are you hurting?”

You can barely speak, so you just sob, pressing your wet cheek into his palm like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“No,” you choke out. “No, don’t stop. Please.”

And something in him breaks a little, realizing how emotionally overwhelmed you are. You're not in any physical pain, but your heart is reeling from the neglect suddenly being over. You finally have him back and its almost too much.

“Alright,” he whispers, pulling you in to kiss your forehead, lingering there. You tremble in his arms. “Alright, c’mere. I got you.”

He holds you tighter, hand stroking up your spine. Then his voice drops low again, rough and tender all at once.

“Come on, honey. I know you’re close. Come for me, and I’ll take you to bed, fuck you proper like you deserve.” His hand slips back to your hips, helping you rock just right. “I need it, baby. Need to feel you.”

His fingers find your clit again, moving with the rhythm that’s second nature by now, he could never forget how to make you feel good. He lets you grind harder, lets your body chase what it needs, and keeps his hand right there to guide you through it.

You cum with a ragged sob, still crying, your whole body trembling as it overtakes you. It’s not just release; it’s relief. Raw, overwhelming, and completely consuming.

“There it is,” he breathes, holding you through it. “My perfect girl. Love you so much, baby. Did so good for me.”

You go limp in his arms fingers barely clutching at his damp skin. He presses kisses to your hair, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach as he rocks you gently, helping you come down.

When your breath evens out and the shivering fades, he carefully slips out of you, still achingly hard. He tucks himself back into his boxers for now, adjusting you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all.

And then he stands, gathering you close again, holding you like something precious.

He carries you to the bedroom, his bedroom, your bedroom, and lays you gently across the sheets, where you belong.

His hands don’t leave you. His mouth doesn’t stop. He plans on making up for every second you missed him, even if it takes all night and many nights to come.