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venusjeon · 2 years ago

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angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

#bts au #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bangtan imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook scenarios #bts fic #jeongguk #bangtan #bts x you

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swordgrace · 11 months ago

Text

& 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and your husband decide to take advantage of the quiet gardens near the red keep.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: drabble — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 4.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught, semi-public sex, gwayne is a switch, cunt-drunk gwayne, sex in the red keep gardens, teasing, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, groping, making out, dirty talk, mild praise kink, p in v sex (unprotected), mild scratching, soft ending.

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am on the Gwayne train right now, I just adore writing for him. This is a smaller story, and I think writing some drabbles might do me a bit of good! I hope that you all enjoy! ❤️ Thanks so much for the love & support!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚.

The smell was akin to a perfumed dowager, the air thick with roses and honey, petals drifting along in the evening breeze. It was a stark contrast to the pungent scent of the rest of the city — perhaps that is why you favored the gardens.

Orange tendrils of a waning sun spread across the leaves, verdant and bright, turning the gardens all sorts of colors — shades of emerald and gold, intermingling with the many flowers there.

Most souls that had occupied the gardens had made themselves scarce, turning it into a paradise that only you shared with another. You often admired the general splendor even when it was crowded, but now, it gave you a rather unobstructed view.

The various palette of the gardens, particularly any deeper shades of forest-green, matched that of your husband’s doublet, embroidered with golden thread. It was strange to see Gwayne removed from his armor, his silvery vassal that kept him well-protected.

In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, there were days spent in respite, much to your delight. Though, war would steal him away from you again — you intended on making the most out of each moment, beseeching him to remain by your side. He obliged you, fortunately, and you never objected to it.

A golden hour, brightest before dusk, painted you in shades that Gwayne had committed to memory, your features bathed in dying light. You were swathed in gowns of cerulean, a deeper shade of azure that had brought him to heel when you emerged with it on.

Merrily, he often touted that he had the most beautiful wife in all of the realm, and such a sentiment didn’t change nor waver. It was resolute, done with a fondness that made its way to you.

“Perhaps, once this conflict comes to a close, you and I shall return to Oldtown,” Gwayne’s gallant resonance cut through the contented silence, his timbre often filled with regality, the elegant poise of a well-learned Knight. “I’ve grown surfeited by this grisly place.”

If Gwayne had not been so proficient with a blade, you suspected that a quill and his sharp tongue would’ve done him a world of good in another lifetime. His flowery speech had charmed you time and time again, and you were left captivated.

Oldtown had become your home, a sanctuary of which you and Gwayne had built a peaceful life together. With Prince Daeron in your care, it was something of a family — one that you suspected would grow in the near future.

“As have I,” With a gentle sigh, your fingers danced along his velvet-clad forearm, your arm interlaced with his as he led you through the teeming labyrinth. At twilight, it had become wonderfully quiet, a place of solace away from the bustling hum of the Red Keep. “It is a dour place.”

Dour was a mere understatement — Gwayne knew what harm this city could do, crushed beneath the oppressive weight of the Red Keep. Even in its architectural splendor, it remained a shadow, haunting your every step as it loomed above the both of you.

Even in the sanctuary of the Gardens, one could not escape it. He did not envy his sister for being sequestered here for most of her lifetime — he imagined that it likely led to a path of misfortune and frustration. Being in Oldtown, he could afford many liberties, freedoms that weren’t permitted in King’s Landing.

As you continued on your path, a stone terrace opened before you, a comely overlook with a sizable gazebo, marked by dimly-lit torches. Save for the picturesque view of Blackwater Bay, it was surrounded by foliage and flora on all sides.

Gwayne felt your concern in waves, an unspoken sentiment, knowing that he would be called to leave again. Cole’s armies were rallying to march to Harrenhal, and he was summoned to ride alongside him, the second-in-command. You had made your disdain for this known, and Gwayne couldn’t fault you for it.

“I would sorely dislike it if our time together was to be spent in silence,” He watched you through cerulean hues as you rounded the gazebo, moving toward the overlook. Waves gently lapped at the outcropping of rock, breaking upon it, saltwater kisses peppering your cheeks. “I have a duty, dearest.”

A begrudging sigh tore past your lips, and you staved off the sudden onslaught of turmoil. You had come to-terms with the inevitability of his departure — you had dealt with it once before, but the sting never lessened. “I understand. I loathe you and love you for it.” You murmured, your smile threadbare.

Your answer retained a twinge of lightheartedness to it, in the face of a bleak future. Gwayne couldn’t help but scoff, visage dancing with amusement as he stepped toward one of the massive walls of gardenias. Plucking a pale blossom from its stem, he crossed the stone to you, a gesture of affection.

“Loathe me, is that it?” Gwayne wouldn’t have your last moments together spent in melancholy — and you seemed to be in agreement. He placed the blossom behind your ear, carefully tucking it into place. “Have I vexed you so easily?”

Planting a palm against his chest, you allowed your fingertips to trace across plated velvet, dancing toward the Hightower sigil, embroidered into the collar. He was resplendent in noblemen’s garb, painfully handsome and fresh-faced, save for the healing cut upon his lip and bruised brow.

A taut, muscled arm moved to snake around your waist, effortlessly caging you in against him. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, swarming around his head like a thick haze, one that he delighted in. Beneath the evening sky, he made his ardor for you known, a real and living thing.

“You are swift to credit yourself, husband. I may resort to knocking you from your pedestal.” You teased, tender voice growing softer, a mere purr to his ears. Gods, you were wonderfully divine — Gwayne brazenly squeezed your hip through your gowns, auburn brows lifting in amusement.

Instead of puffing his chest with a playful retort, Gwayne could no longer resist the tempting curve of your lips, craning down to kiss you. It was a sweet mingling of mouths, slow and exploratory, happy to take their time with one another.

The first inklings of an amorous heat crackled between the both of you, a rapturous hunger that hadn’t been sated since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You simply could not get enough of your beloved husband, hands clamoring from his plush doublet to his mane of copper tresses, gripping them tightly.

Even with the thicker material of your dress, Gwayne greedily grasped at your curves, able to feel the pliant swell of your physique beneath. You had already seduced him with your steep necklace and ample bosom — sometimes, you were more of a salacious minx than you were a maiden. He enjoyed you both ways.

Your chambers in the Red Keep seemed so far away, and neediness began to take root, desire flourishing where propriety could not. As you insistently tugged upon his auburn locks, Gwayne felt his cock stir to life within his trousers, twitching as if to remind him of his carnal need for you.

“Incomparable, I must confess,” Gwayne exhaled, hot breath fluttering across your visage. Hints of wine retained their presence upon his tongue, skin smelling of woodland musk and fine soaps. “Not a single wandering eye to find us here.” His timbre dropped into a delectable purr, lips pressing themselves to the curve of your jaw.

Exhilaration struck at the pit of your stomach, coupled with the familiar wave of arousal, its inklings slick and warm between your legs. “What are you implying, husband?” You asked, breathy and wanton, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

A low, teasing hum slipped betwixt his lips, mouth molding to your flesh, gliding across the slender column of your throat. One hand dropped to cup your derrière through the thicker material of your dress, longing to see it around your feet, instead.

A sheepish moan tore past your mouth, unabashedly stoking the fire that simmered between the both of you. Gwayne greedily lapped at your sweet skin, like a thick honey upon his tongue. “It is just you and I, sweetling. Might you indulge me?” He hummed, desperate to have you now that desire had taken hold.

Gods, you wanted him terribly.

It was a fascinating twist, with Gwayne wanting to have you here, given the publicity of the locale. He was often a man to take you to your chambers in the name of chivalry, but this daring, yearning side to him — you quite enjoyed it, his change of heart.

“Gods, I love you.” You sighed, feeling him relocate the both of you towards one of the thick, stone columns that held the gazebo aloft. It was rough against your back, but you cared little for it, hastily unlacing the bodice of your dress. The silken smallclothes you wore beneath would suffice.

A low, stifled groan escaped Gwayne’s mouth, cerulean hues sharp and amatory, roving over you with a thinly-veiled desire. “Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, wife.” He murmured, swiftly relieving you of that mound of azure velvet.

The simple slip you wore beneath clung to your curves, accentuating your physique in pale shades of ivory, nipples peeking through the thin material. His hand slithered beneath, seeking to find the slick heat of your cunt, pushing your legs apart with his thigh.

Gathering your slip within your hands, you tugged the material up, until it pooled around the swell of your hips, giving him unhindered access. Gwayne careened forward, mouth colliding with yours, lips desperately craving every fiber of your being.

His other hand moved to cup your breast through your gown, thumb languidly swiping over your pebbled nipple, teasing the bud as he rolled it between his fingers. A sharp, noisy gasp escaped you, followed by the unrestrained sound of a moan.

Your hands clamored to perch atop his shoulders, sinking down into the velvet, longing to see him naked. If you closed your eyes, it was easy to imagine, but you desired the real thing. With haste, your digits slipped toward the line of golden clasps along the front, aiming to get it unbuttoned.

“You minx.” Gwayne panted into your mouth, digits beginning to stroke along your slit. Much to his delight, you were already warmed, wet and honey-thick upon his fingers. Lips twined in hot clashes, and he never allowed it to devolve into something sloppy. Each kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you.

As you unclasped his doublet, he moved his arms enough to relinquish the stuffy weight of the fabric, musculature lean and taut, his skin pale and glittering in the gentle twilight. It let you squeeze his shoulders, tracing over the freckles there, reveling in his bare flesh.

Gwayne released a few breathy ‘I love you’s’ into your lips, before he relocated to the sensitive column of your throat. He spoke with reverence, as if he had come to worship his goddess, lay himself down at your feet. Your fingers wove themselves against the nape of his neck, tugging on his copper locks.

Practiced, dexterous digits continued to caress along your cunt, before pushing past your folds. He grazed your clit, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. “Gwayne,” You moaned, the sweetest melody to his ears as you rocked forward, desperate for any shred of friction. “Please!”

His cock twitched again within his breeches, aching with something powerful, needing to be inside of you. Patience was his virtue and his agony — he still wanted to taste your first. He continued to knead into your breast, evoking another blissful whine from you.

Despite wearing his honor and chivalry like a coat of armor, he cared little for the consequences of potentially being caught. He would ravish his beloved wife here in these gardens — there was no sin in such an act. Kissing along your jugular, he felt you grip and pull on his hair, filling him with an excitable fire.

“Gods, I must taste you,” Gwayne groaned, voice tinged with an alluring husk, palm continuing to caress the plush swell of your breast. The thin, silken strap of your slip began to sag, and he did not fix it, exposed to the unblemished plane of your collarbone. “If you will permit me to do so.”

“You needn’t ask, husband,” A wanton whimper left you when Gwayne’s digits abandoned your cunt, though it would soon be replaced with the fine heat of his greedy tongue. Through a lovesick gaze, you observed in rapturous silence as Gwayne sank to his knees, as if he were preparing to pray. “I belong to you.”

Watching his auburn crown move towards the apex of your thighs was a most tantalizing sight, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Molten heat surged within your belly, churning with a violent anticipation as you braced one hand atop his shoulder.

A sight to die for, to kill for — Gwayne would’ve fought a thousand battles if it meant that you were the reward at the very end, a resplendent maiden in all of your glory. He would’ve endured torture unimaginable for you, razed down armies, destroyed cities all for you.

The first lap of his tongue caused your knees to buckle, raking hot embers across your cunt. He wedged his way in between your legs, shoulders keeping you apart just enough. Gwayne was quite candid about his enjoyment of tasting you — thoroughly cunt-struck.

A groan stirred within his chest as your fingers grazed through his copper tresses, finding their purchase near the base of his skull. He did not relent, tongue carefully splitting past your folds, greeted by the saccharine onslaught of your arousal.

“Gwayne.” A breathy sigh tore past your parted lips, lulled into subservience from the steady, exploratory laps of his tongue. He was sluggish, allowing the anticipation to mount, nose brushing along your mound.

Your taste was ambrosial, thick and heady, like a haze that he had no desire to escape from. There were many moments where he’d dreamed of this, on the march to Rook’s Rest, sprawled across his cot, fantasizing of you again and again.

He quite enjoyed the way in which you sighed his name, passion bubbling forth from your chest, head rolled back against the stone column. Careworn palms reached for your haunches, delighted to take their fill of you, caressing along the backs of your thighs.

“Exquisite,” Gwayne exhaled, catching his breath to press a string of kisses all along the inside of your thighs. “By the Seven, you taste divine.” He groaned, drunk and dizzy from your cunt. A soft moan escaped you as you coaxed him back, and he willingly obliged.

With another hot, eager lap of his tongue over your core, your knees rattled like leaves in the breeze, feeling his shoulders bully their way between your legs. A brusque, warm breeze fluttered throughout the gazebo, bathed in the waning light of the sunset. Stars began to glisten overhead, unhindered by the clouds.

Gwayne’s eagerness was palpable, able to be felt as he buried his face into your cunt, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. A groan stirred within his throat, fluttering throughout his chest as you fisted his auburn tresses, soft beneath your palms.

You could not get enough of him, keeping your hands on him in whatever way you could, chest heaving with wanton sighs. Carnality and desire permeated the air, the atmosphere thick with desperation. You always treated each moment as if it would be your last.

His mouth fervently worked against your slick cunt, sending pleasant shockwaves into the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps danced along your spine, followed by a shiver that made you moan. Your hips rolled forward, shamelessly grinding yourself into your husband’s waiting lips.

With a flick of his tongue, Gwayne sought the pearl of your cunt, lips eagerly kissing their way to your clit. He planted feather-light kisses around that sensitive clutch of nerves, causing you to tremble, digits tightening within his hair. Your grip was ironclad, but it was pleasurable for him, knowing you were enjoying yourself.

“Gods, Gwayne,” You whined, listening to the lewd noises of your chivalrous paramour suckling on your clit. Another onslaught of molten heat swirled within your stomach, seeping into your bones, manifesting as arousal between your thighs. “Do — Do not stop!” The urgency in your voice had increased exponentially.

If there were any evening stragglers in the Royal Gardens, you prayed to the Seven that they would not stumble upon the both of you.

The sight itself was inherently sinful, with you haplessly pressed against the stone column, gallant dress strewn across the ground, slip sagging along your physique. Gwayne’s emerald doublet had joined your garments below. You reveled in the sight of his head between your thighs, causing you to whimper.

Gwayne could detect when you were accelerating towards your release, able to feel the twitches and tremors in your thighs. He soothingly stroked along your silky flesh, interchanging between the greedy suckling of your clit, to long, broad strokes of his tongue.

His lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. Gwayne worshiped you, kissed the ground you walked upon, and he did not feel an ounce of shame in it.

His cock throbbed with a desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of depravity. You hadn’t a clue of the things you did to him.

In a brazen maneuver, his tongue prodded against your entrance, gingerly thrusting inside of you. You gasped, biting at the inside of your cheek, digits raking through his auburn locks. You let your grip loosen, hips careening forward into his mouth again.

Gwayne ravished you, with the ravenous appetite of a starving dog. He moved back just enough to lap at your cunt, making a blazing trail from your entrance to your clit. “I’m close,” You huffed, issuing some warning to him before the dam had burst altogether. “Gwayne!”

It was the only word you knew in the present, his name — it rolled from your tongue in a delighted cry, laced with ardor and reverence. You reached your peak, shamelessly spilling yourself upon his tongue, and he was enamored with you.

With careful, sluggish strokes of his tongue, he delicately cleaned the mess he made of you, allowing you to bring yourself down from your peak. Even if the intensity had made you burn at a fever pitch, you were far from finished, tugging on Gwayne’s tresses to get his attention.

“Take me, husband,” It wasn’t a request — it was a demand, a command made upon a yearning wife. Desire glistened like a thick sheen within his cerulean eyes, which happened to widen at the sight of you. “Please.” You didn’t have to beg — Gwayne wanted you just as terribly.

He swiftly rose from between your legs, pupils dilated with lust as he steered you toward the stone bannister of the overlook, wide enough to support you. You sat down, hastily fumbling with the leather ties of his trousers. Gwayne parted your legs again, bending over you as he sought your mouth.

The taste of arousal — yours — fell heavy upon your tongue, lips clashing together as you desperately sought to free his cock from its confines. “I need you,” Gwayne husked against your mouth, pearlescent teeth briefly snagging on your lower lip. “Gods, how I’ve missed this, missed you.”

“Gwayne,” A moan escaped you, intermingling with his husky pants and sonorous groans. His forehead nudged against yours, lips hot and needy, and you were more than happy to reciprocate. “I need you, I …” Your voice tapered off when his cock slid against your folds.

He kept you steady, hands caging you against the bannister, the stone biting into your back as he kept you at an angle. Silk gathered around your hips, friction wafting between the both of you as he thrust forward, cock sinking into you.

Hitching a leg around his waist as best as you could, your hands roamed to his chest, nails digging into his collarbone as he began to find an erratic pace. He was loving and passionate, even still, but there was something inherently quick about his rhythm.

Perspiration glittered along his brow from the warm evening, yet it did not stop him from pounding away at you. His cock filled you perfectly, providing a delectable stretch that made your toes curl. It wasn’t an intimidating thing, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him.

Through his clenched teeth, Gwayne sang your praises, savoring the way in which your cunt constricted around him, as if drawing him in. “Seven Hells, your cunt is perfection,” Such lewd, crass words sounded so eloquent coming from his lips, as debonair as a Prince. “I cannot get enough of you, sweet wife.” He groaned.

Despite his crudely-spoken compliment, you were lost within the throes of your own pleasure, body rocked into submission by each snap of his hips. His cock bottomed out within you, movements swift yet punctuated, as if every thrust possessed meaning.

You loved Gwayne unconditionally — perhaps too much, if such a thing were possible. Your chest heaved with sweet, passionate sighs and gentle moans, forehead occasionally brushing against his. His hands kept themselves firm along your waist, curling into the silk of your slip.

His cock battered away at your slick cunt, aided by your mounting arousal. Everything felt so feverishly warm, as if you had been set ablaze, nerves feeling like they were steeped in fire. “More,” You moaned, and it effectively caught Gwayne’s attention. “Gwayne, please.” He was weak to your soft pleas.

Your beloved husband lacked harshness when it came to intimacy, something you adored about him. Even when his thrusts became desperate and erratic, chasing after his release, he never resorted to using you. His lips sought the column of your throat, nose brushing along your jugular.

A string of kisses peppered themselves against your sweet flesh, with the occasional suckling of his lips to your neck. A myriad of throaty whines and whimpers continued to leave you in droves, cunt pathetically clenching around him.

Buckling forward, Gwayne planted one palm against the stone bannister, the other caging in around you as he continued to pound away into your needy cunt. He kissed you wherever he could, dwindling into desperation and the innate desire to taste your sweet flesh.

His lips parted slightly, a strained grunt escaping him as he thrust forward again, until there was nowhere left for him to go. Gwayne pulled back just enough, the head of his cock still inside of you before he moved forward again. The friction made you shiver, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck.

His name continued to slip from your mouth, over and over again, like a whispered prayer. Your nails left behind red crescents upon his skin, sharp brands of your lovemaking. Gwayne groaned against your throat, desiring to kiss you once more, lips laying claim to yours with a fervor.

With another snap of his hips, Gwayne shuddered, nearly collapsing into you as he reached his peak. Hot ropes of seed brazenly spilled inside of you, warming your insides as he attempted to catch his breath. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing with him, allowing your hands to slack.

Gwayne politely removed himself from you, mindful of your garments as he fixed your gown back into place. The slip itself was disheveled, but he ensured its tidiness before you got dressed again.

“How divine you are,” Gwayne hummed, planting gentle kisses along the side of your face before it ended at the curve of your jaw. “Beautiful beyond comprehension.” He murmured, using two digits to delicately place the strap of your slip back upon your shoulder.

“You flatter me, husband,” Your smile was warm and amiable, the brightness of springtime, bringing a rosy flush to his features. “I quite enjoyed your brazen streak.” Through a smitten confession, Gwayne kissed your brow, lips twitching into a debonair smirk.

“I am not ashamed of ravishing my wife, be it in our chambers or in the garden,” He replied, reaching for his velveteen doublet and your azure dress. It was easy for him to slip back into the stuffy material, and he was more than happy to assist you. “I cannot get enough of you.”

His words were tantalizing, as if intended to bring about another string of salacious thoughts. Gwayne stood behind you as you stepped back into your dress, helping to lace your bodice up again. He planted a kiss along your exposed shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck.

You reached for his hand, letting it drape across your shoulder as you pressed a delicate kiss against his bruised knuckles. “You shall have me, Gwayne — for as long as you desire me.” You sighed, feeling his nose brush along your cheek, the warmth of his body pressing in behind you.

With a kiss to your temple, one oozing with such fondness and ardor that you feared you might melt, Gwayne’s lips hovered near the shell of your ear. In the twinkling dusk, he held you close. “Forever, then.”

#house of the dragon #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #hotd x reader #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #game of thrones x reader

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holybibly · 10 months ago

Text

The unholy hour of the day, my sugar bunnies: Weirdo nerd Seonghwa has had a fondness for you for a long time, perhaps too much to be normal. So when he sees you on a crowded subway carriage, he takes the opportunity to pay his respects to you.

Warnings: Pervert nerd! Seonghwa, sub!reader, non-consensual groping, dubious consent, obsessive crush, light yandere, forced masturbation, light dub con

'Please be careful; the doors are closing'. The monotonous, mechanical voice of the underground's automated announcement system echoes through the carriage, almost completely lost in the noise of the crowd. The tube is packed, but at this time of day, that's to be expected. You hated taking the train at rush hour, but unfortunately your classes always ended at that time, and you had no choice but to use the Tube to get home, even though it felt like hell at that time, rather than a comfortable and fast ride.

You always travelled the same way. Day after day, month after month, and in all this time nothing has changed about your trip. Firstly, the subway was always crowded, and having lived in Seoul for the last two years, you'd already gotten used to that. Secondly, there are never any seats when you get on, so you always have to stand. You even somehow managed to put up with the fact that you were always being pushed or squeezed into a corner, which you managed to squeeze into despite the carriage being almost full.

Today was no different at all. You let out a heavy sigh and made your way to the nearest available handrail in the far corner as you were pushed for what seemed like the hundredth time when the carriage doors hissed open and a new stream of passengers poured in. You grabbed hold of the cold metal handrail, trying to take up as little space as possible, while other passengers squeezed past you or kept changing their position in an attempt to get the most convenient and comfortable seat. Someone's elbow is resting on your rib, and you frown, trying to move as far away as possible, which only makes you squeeze harder into the corner. But there's not enough room, and you shriek slightly as the pressure on your ribs increases. The girl next to you bows her head, apologising as she hears this, and moves away from you, finally allowing you to breathe normally. You let out another sigh, clutching your bag tightly to your chest and gripping the handrail even tighter as the train continues to rush forward.

Just a little longer, you say to yourself, eight more stops to go and you'll finally be able to get out of here.

Once again you hear the mechanical hissing of the doors and the automated voice warning the passengers to be more careful, and it seems to you that the carriage has become even more cramped, but it still does not prevent you from trying to adapt in some way. Dozens of people get on and off at each stop, and you're pushed again, but this time relatively gently. It doesn't matter anyway, you're used to it and ready to just brush it off, but someone's broad, cold hand rests on your bare thigh, just where the edge of your pleated skirt ends. For a second, you feel the stranger's fingers slide over your soft skin under your short skirt, and your breath catches in your throat, your heart beginning to beat faster with each passing moment. This can't be happening, can it? Maybe you're just imagining it? The stranger's cold touch on your thighs fades away as suddenly as it came, but it's enough to make you feel the cold lingering on your skin for a long time afterwards.

"You're so beautiful." A soft, velvety voice whispers from behind you, and you almost jump at the sound. 'So beautiful…' The carriage you're in is packed to the point that you can barely turn your head back to look at whoever that voice belongs to, which one makes goosebumps crawl across your skin. Your eyes widen as you see behind you none other than university oddish nerd Park Seonghwa, who is literally trapping you in a crowded subway car. He's too close to you. Close enough to be intimate.

Not that you had a bad opinion of Seonghwa; no, he was a relatively nice and harmless guy, but there was still something about him that made people stay away from him. Maybe it was the too intense and focused look in his dark cat eyes, or maybe it was his slightly odd behaviour that was hard to explain; either way, Park Seonghwa was not popular, even though he was pretty, and not just pretty, but really handsome, as if sculpted by the hand of a great master. Another thing that put people off him was that he was a real nerd and had an obsession with Lego and Animal Crossing. You didn't see much of him in your classes, even though you were in the same study group as him; from what you heard, he was in an advanced class and was more likely to jerk off to textbooks than girls. In general, you didn't know much about him other than the gossip you heard from your friends.

''S-Seonghwa, let me go, please…'' Your voice trembles slightly as you turn to him. There is a strange expression frozen on his handsome face, one that you are unable to decipher. He looks drunk—his big eyes are blurry and unfocused, his mouth is open from heavy breathing, his cheeks are flushed, and there is a bead of sweat on his forehead. There is obviously something wrong with him, but Seonghwa is a good guy, isn't he? He wouldn't do anything to hurt you, or at least you wanted to believe that.

You don't hear him answer as the train makes a sharp turn and Seonghwa pushes you against the wall of the carriage, his body pressed tightly against yours. You freeze, like a mouse caught in the claws of a cat, as you feel his cold hands squeeze your soft, plump thighs, right under your buttocks. You tug at the hem of your skirt in an attempt to push Seonghwa's hands away from you, but he doesn't let you go; instead, his fingers dig harder into your flesh even more, and you're sure you'll be bruised afterwards. You feel the fast, erratic beating of his heart against your back as he leans into you, as if he's trying to melt into you, to become one with your body.

"I'm sorry…' He whispers to you again, his hot breath brushing your ear and his sensual, full lips touching your soft, thin skin with each letter. You've always admired his lips—so full and kissable—and you've even wondered what they would feel like when he kissed you, but right now you wish you could erase that touch from your skin forever. Something hard and intimidatingly large presses against your lower back as he grips your hips tighter, literally piling on top of you. The sickly sweet smell of strawberries and cream invades all of your senses, and you find yourself trapped between the dirty wall of the subway car and the hard, hot body of Seonghwa. You've never noticed how tall he is compared to you—you're invisible behind him; nobody can see what he's doing to you. "I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it… You're too beautiful… too beautiful for me to control myself. I'm so sorry…' He lowers his head onto your shoulder, his long black hair tickling the skin on your neck as you stare unblinkingly into the dirty wall, terror running through you to the bone, rendering you completely immobile as Seonghwa pushes his hips into you, fucking your arse on the crowded train like a dog in heat.

Your lips begin to tremble, hot tears gathering in your eyes, threatening to spill out and run down your cheeks, smearing your make-up, as Seonghwa's one hand slides up the curve of your hip and higher up your waist, your ribs, over the thin lace of your bra to cradle your right tit.

'Oh fuck...' Seonghwa hisses as he squeezes the soft flesh of your breast in the palm of his hand. His fingers pull the cup of your bra down so that your tit is completely exposed. "Exactly as I thought... your tits are so big and soft. I want to fuck them so badly. I want to come on your tits; cover them with my sperm. I want to suck on your fucking tits while you are riding on me, angel." He continues to rub his cock against your plump buttocks, whimpering into your skin.

'N-no, please don't, Seonghwa. Please stop it...' You sob, hoping that your pathetic pleas will bring him to his senses. But it seems to have the exact opposite effect, making him even more aroused. You tremble at his touch as Seonghwa continues fucking you, his rough hand caressing your naked breasts, his hard cock sliding between your buttocks through his jeans and skirt.

"Please move away from the doors." The train stops, the mechanical hiss of the doors hissing through the crowd. You pray that Hwa will let you go, but he doesn't. For a moment, he stops pushing into you and keeps you pressed up against the wall. His breath is unpleasantly warm against your ear, making you shiver.

'Seonghwa...' You try once more. "Seonghwa, please let me go. I won't tell anyone... I promise. Please leave me alone..." The tears begin to flow freely down your face as you continue to beg him to let you go. But Seonghwa is completely unresponsive; instead, he starts to leave wet, smeared kisses on your neck. His lips are soft, too soft, like down pillows, unpleasantly slippery and wet from copious amounts of saliva mixed with lip balm as cloying strawberry as he is. From the outside, you probably look like a couple deeply in love. Seonghwa is protective, wrapped around you like a snake, and to everyone else, he looks like a caring guy. If only they knew...

The thought of screaming crosses your mind, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared when the train starts moving again and Hwa slips his other hand under your shirt and wraps it around your left breast. His hand greedily squeezes the soft flesh over the thin lace of your bra before he pulls it down as well, exposing your tits to the full extent. You hate yourself for the fact that his touch is causing your nipples to begin to tense and your pussy to clench around nothing. You've always been hypersensitive, and that's generally nothing unusual, but this situation...

You shouldn't react like this; you don't want Seonghwa to touch you; you don't want to feel his hands on your body, but then why are you biting your lip and trying your best to suppress the obscene sounds that are coming out of your mouth right now?

"That's it, Angel. I'll make you feel good. I'll be worshipping you, pretty girl, the way I've always wanted to be. And you can't blame me for that; you've got everything to blame yourself for. You're too beautiful, too beautiful for me to let you go..." Seonghwa's hands, gently rocking your breasts as if he could feel the weight of them, his fingers running over your aureoles, stimulating you while avoiding your swollen nipples.

You sob loudly as you feel your pussy getting wetter by the second. You don't want to give in to the pleasure that is growing deep inside you, especially not in the presence of so many people and even less so in Seonghwa's hands, but there is nothing you can do about it. He gives you a sharp pinch on your nipples as the mechanical voice announces the name of the next stop, and it covers up the moan that escapes from your lips.

"You feel so good, angel." He whispers to you in a velvety voice. "Your little nipples are so hard and tender. I want to take them into my mouth and suck them until you come. I'm sure I can make you come just from that." Seonghwa's voice is full of dark promise, and it makes more and more moisture pour out of your hole. Shame washes over you like a wave, and you cover your eyes, trying to come to terms with the unwanted pleasure that is growing inside of you. You clench your hands tighter around your bag as Hwa continues to play with your breasts. Squeezing and massages them, rubbing and pinching your nipples, at the same time leaving hot, painful hickeys on your neck. "You were made for me, my angel. I always knew it. I knew it the moment I saw you." One of his hands releases your breasts and slides down your body. Your eyes go wide in horror as you realise where Seonghwa's hand is going, but it's too late because... He slides his hand easily between your thighs, wrapping your pussy, over the lace of the thong, whose fabric is soaked with your slime.

"Look at you; you're all wet for me."

'I-I'm not, please, just stop...' For the first time since Seonghwa cornered you, you try to resist him. Your hand trembles as you try to pull his hand off your cunt, but Hwa just pushes it away. Then you start to wriggle in his grip, trying to push him away from you, but it doesn't help. Seonghwa is bigger and stronger than you, and all your movements instead make you rub your wet pussy harder against his palm between your thighs.

"Don't be embarrassed about it, angel. You just have to admit that you want it just as much as I do."

The train stops again, and Seonghwa takes the opportunity to pull the wet lace of your thong aside, exposing your smooth, plump pussy to his touch. You can't hold back a moan as his fingers outline a figure of eight around your clit.

"Please... Seonghwa... you don't have to do this." You sob, lowering your head to somehow hide the way your cheeks are flushed from everything he's doing to you.

'But how can I, angel? You're so ready for me...' He pulls his hand away from your pussy for a second and brings them up to your face. You watch in horror as he spreads his fingers, pulling strands of your arousal between them before they break apart, coating his long appendages with your stickiness. "You see that? Your slutty pussy is all wet and sticky; how can I ignore it?" You barely manage to hold back a loud moan as Seonghwa slides his hand down and, without any preamble, pushes two fingers into your wet cunt. The stretching stings, but with it comes pleasure. It's clouds your mind and overshadows any sense of decency or shame. Seonghwa begins to fuck you, twisting his fingers inside you and stroking your slippery, trembling walls with slightly calloused fingertips. Over the din of the other passengers' voices, you can almost hear the squelching of your unacceptably wet pussy.

"You are so tight, my angel. I should stretch your cunt before you take my cock. I'll do my best; we don't want your sweet pussy to be in pain, do we?" With these words, Seonghwa inserts another finger into you.

Everything in you shrinks in shame as the pleasure becomes too much to ignore—your legs spread so Hwa can fuck you harder and deeper, his finger pads pressed against your sweet spot, and your eyes roll back at the sharp pleasure coursing through your body.

It's disgusting, no, it's more than disgusting, and deep inside you despise yourself for giving yourself up to him so easily, for not putting up any resistance at all to Seonghwa, for letting him fuck you so expertly with his long fingers.

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader

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pedge-page · 1 year ago

Text

Live a Little, Give a Little

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You're looking to boost your OnlyFans ratings with a big public stunt. Lucky for you, an eager stranger happily helps you out, and gives you more than you expected!

Warnings: Exhibitionism, public sex, train sex, being caught, unprotected sex, creampie, groping, dub con, thigh fucking, mention of oral / cum eating, male masturbation, (*SPOILER*pregnancy) surprise at the end at the end :)

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Starting an Only Fans account to earn a bit extra money turned into something a bit more of a hobby than a cash grab. You enjoyed the attention you got from the thousands of strangers, particularly men, who lurked on the internet, asking you to do ridiculous things for their sexual pleasure. The higher your ratings went up, the more they were willing to pay. And the less likely you were to say no.

Which is how you find yourself on a crowded public train during rush hour, wearing a tight as fuck blouse with your tits ready to burst out if you sucked in too big a breath and a short frilly skirt that came higher than the lowest part of your ass cheeks with no panties, bare pussy out for anyone to see.

Or touch, for that matter.

You’re standing close to one of the doors, facing towards the city passing by in a blur through the window. You should be more nervous than wet. People brush by you, or press up against you, touching your lower back then going along like it was something innocent. You know there’s at least a few perverted fucks on here who are thinking with their cocks with just one look at you. It’s hot as hell on the rattling cage, though that could just be your exhillerated nerves. Your face feels warm, hands clammy at the hope that one of these men will “accidentally” grope you—and they’ll be in one hell of a surprise.

You feel the presence of a particularly large, built man behind you. You can’t see him, but he hasn’t made an attempt to squeeze by either. He just stands there, looming, close enough to feel his breath against your shoulder when he sighs.

This is the one.

You can’t even see this strangers face, but you intentionally bump your butt against him. The train sways, and a warm, thick palm comes up to your hip, holding you securely—no, pulling you closer to him. You gasp a bit, not ready for your senses to be so on edge by his bluntness. Maybe it was an accident. But by the way his hand is still gripping you so close, maybe not…?

The train stops swaying, returning to a smooth track despite the hoard of people it carries. His hand starts to retreat. You quickly tuck your elbow in, grazing his forearm with determination: don’t leave, you plea.

His beefy fist only pauses for a second, as if contemplating your gesture. It continues back down to his side, to your disappointment.

What you didn’t know was how he was staring down your back, noticing something very bold, very daring, and very pretty hiding under your skirt.

He flicks his wrist back up as if to rub his nose, and there he sees it: your naked ass on display, swishing daringly, as if on cue, to flash him before the fabric settles back over.

Your eyes close when that little breeze fades. He’s seen it. There’s no doubt. You can hear him clearing his throat before he’s pushing his full front against your back.

“Mmmf!” You peep, biting your lip not to moan when his massive fucking bulge pokes against your slit. The train is packed even more tightly now, though that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Your perverted savior’s fingers are dancing along your upper thighs, delicately rubbing little circles, tickling your skin and hiking up your pathetic excuse for closing to feel more of you.

The scratch of his beard against the back of your head tells you that he’s looking around, head on a swivel to see if anyone has caught wind of your dirty little secret.

Stomach clenching with exhilaration, you hope he makes another bold move to feel just how much you’re dripping, all clenched up between your thighs to prevent leakage. All because of him.

The stranger looks down and can see a phone in your hand, easily pointing towards your bum. And even less obvious, the camera being on and displaying your lower half and his.

He smirks to himself, brushing off his groan with a cough again.

He does what any man would do and pulls his dick out.

Almost too easily.

The man pushes closer to you so others can scoot by behind him. There’s no way he’s going to let anyone come between you two right now.

You hope the next stop isn’t for a long while now.

Fuck, here it goes.

You let your free hand drop down behind you and tug his cock playfully. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking huge! It jumps excitedly in your hand, warm and hard as a rock, fleshy, beating in your grasp. You can feel his sticky precum smearing against your inner thigh. The poor thing just begging for attention.

You loved attention.

More struggled grunts behind you. Rubbing his nose excessively, clenching his jaw and looking around the compartment. Nothing mattered to you more at this moment, not even being on a crowded train, than getting that girthy slab of meat inside you. Your legs work of their own according, parting ever so slightly.

He senses it. The man sheaths himself closer upon your invite, your body melting into his muscular physique, broad and overpowering your physical senses. Everything around you screamed him. His smell, his chest rumbling, his belly conforming to the arch in your back. His digits slide in front of your thighs, carving up under your skirt and between your legs to feel the generous slick drooling from your clit.

He stifles a groan at the same time you swallow your whimper. Jesus, his fingers were thick too, rolling over your clit as you tugged on his erect member.

He glances at the phone in your other trembling hand. You feel the strong embrace of his paw hold it steady, and your heart drops knowing he’s aware you’re filming the two of you—but more so that he’s encouraging it. He sees your cute ass cheeks and dripping pussy on display while his cock slides into frame.

He defiles you so considerably slow, gliding his length along your folds, collecting the slick to lube himself. Fucking your thighs. Teasing your little nub with the hooked slink of his tip each time he pressing forward and then up.

The static sound of the train speaker comes to life as the conductor announces gibberish, conveniently muffling that cry you let out when he slides his pulsing cock into you. He’s got you pinned, knees braced as he pushes in fully. You can’t help but jolt forward, falling against the door with your hand braced out to hold you.

It’s so full, engulfing every millimeter of space and then some inside you. So unlike the cold silicon dildo’s you’ve been fucking yourself with for your fans every week. You had almost forgot what it was like to have a real man inside, warm and twitching and fucking massively alive, but my god, never one this fucking filling. He stretches your walls like a gum band around an elephant.

You don’t need to see the reflection of your cross-eyed fucked out expression in the window in front of you. He can see it though, pride settling over his bones at what a fucking whore you must be to let a stranger impale you on a crowded train.

Though, given how wet you were, he’s curious if he’s the first.

He starts languidly thrusting, casually glancing around and coughing his grunts to see if anyone is looking. They’re slow, methodic. Blending in with the natural bouncing of the train car.

Your tits smash against the glass, the buttons of your blouse almost begging to tear. While it seemed no one inside the train with you might be called to your attention, anyone looking from outside towards the train would be able to see you in the compromising position.

His palm splays out over your tummy, making sure your ass sticks out and happily engulfs his throbbing cock into your tight heat. Thank God the rumbling of the wheels on the track mask the squelching noises and patted slapping of skin against skin.

He’s leaned so close, the scruff of his beard tickling your temple, but the ripple of the moving city prevents you from being able to see his image clearly. You catch just feint glimmers of brown and grey curls, patches along his beard—combined with his rough and calloused demeanor. You’re certain that he’s much older than you had originally guessed.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot as hell.

You’re barely holding in moans now. He fingernails dig into your skin, warning you. But you want him to hear, to encourage his fucking of your slutty cunt. The desire to feel him in your stomach for days, long after he’s disappeared. You want him to leave a mark, a memento so you remember this wasn’t just a dream.

There's other people on the train standing close enough who catch whim of you and your perverted partner but they quickly pretend to look away, embarrassed, nearly in denial at what’s happening right before them. Most of these people wouldn’t hesitate to watch without shame, cocks and pussies out, rubbing together at the sight of this on their phones at home. But out in this space, it’s a sin to consider, to acknowledge the presence of.

It feels so much better when it’s wrong.

You catch a woman’s eyes, smiling with your tongue out as your faceless fuck-buddy ruts into you with precise yet minimal humps. It fuels your actions more, being caught and still going without shame.

Your core tightens, and he feels it. He keeps using you like a flesh light, and you happily let him. Your orgasm slams you hard. His hand cups over your mouth as you wail out without care, pussy convulsing around his length and milking him. His fingers invade your mouth and muffle your moans, his tip crashing into your cervix before stilling. Floods of his hot load empty into your pussy, pulsing long thick ribbons before pulling out and jerking the rest of his pearly spend onto your petaled lips and smearing it over your slit.

You breathe deeply, trying to regain your regular heartbeat without looking as if you were just fucked a mile from heaven.

The train begins to slow, the next stop approaching so quickly you don’t even register it. It was over so fast. Your skirt falls down, just barely hiding the white stains along your inner thighs as he zips his softening cock back into his trousers.

Your body turns just as he squeezes by you on the other side, and you can’t catch his even a glimpse of his face before he's walking off onto the platform and disappearing into the crowd.

The doors close, and the train lurches forward again, your mind too dazed to realize you’ve missed your stop.

6 Months later

Joel crashes down on the couch, his body aching after a rough day. He fishes out his phone, routinely on time for his nightly and less than satisfying jerk off session with a bottle of beer.

He scrolls aimlessly to his favorite searches, desperate for something new. Its been months since he last got laid, nothing feeling quite as thrilling as that one time…

His eyes widen when he finds an incredibly familiar clip online titled: “Creepy Perverted Old Stranger with Massive Cock Fucks My Pussy Raw on a Crowded Train While I'm Ovulating!"

He clicks on the video, and instantly recognizes your blouse and frilled skirt, the setting of the train, like it was yesterday. The camera doesn’t reveal any faces, just your little ass and pussy from below and eventually, Joel’s crotch.

The video’s time stamp notes that this was uploaded 6 months ago, and its got one hell of a following with 23 million views.

There’s a description that starts with "60 year old creep…” and he almost wants to comment that he is actually 56, for your information.

He watches the video 8 times, unable to even touch his hard cock begging helplessly because he’s too mesmerized by just the sight of your beautiful pussy. Even in your shaky grasp, he can see clearly your pretty folds, his cock invading you and stretching you beyond a reasonable limit. He was denied the image then, but etching it in his brain right now.

He closes his eyes, remembering that feeling of being inside you so vividly: your tight walls swallowing his dick like a champ, suffocating him yet pulling him back in with each draw. He relives it in his mind, has been doing it every few nights. Nothing had ever felt quite as good since you. The thrill of the setting. Your tight sexy body in his grasp, your wet swollen nub twitching on his thumb, and the sight of you—something the camera doesn’t pick up on, something that is only private to him, but he remembers it as though in front of him now. Seeing your expressions so clearly in the window’s reflection, eyes rolled over, tongue lolled out as he rocks your world. It was the last best cum he’d had, and even then it was repressed, slow, and hard to get to when he was being quiet and holding back, it still ranked higher than any high he's had since.

The video continues after he’s pulled out and departed from the train, showcasing the mess he left and your swollen flower now wrecked from his doings. He wishes he had stayed, knelt down and buried his tongue into your folds, lapping the mix of your combined juices and cleaning you up so nobody else could enjoy the sight he’s beholding now on his tiny screen.

He clicks your account and sees the most recent upload was last week. It didn’t seem like you were very active in these few months, but the vigorous commenting and hearts on your recent video has people stirring, and Joel’s curious to know why.

As the video plays, your pretty face and upper body are in frame, smiling to the camera and waving. You look exceedingly radiant, glowing with an effortless aura as you thank all of your fans. He pumps his dick to the sight of your beautiful complexion, soft yet deviously sexy smile crystal clear and staring directly at him. He can’t believe he was inside you, that he dumped his seed in you on the whim a chance and here he is only just now learning your name and true face.

You speak eagerly as you announce a surprisingly unexpected news as a result of that video. The camera pans down, revealing your heavily rounded tummy.

Joel stops his movements on his cock, feeling a harsh throb practically jumping towards the screen at the image of your pregnant body. Your hand glides over your beautiful naked belly, thanking the perverted stranger on the train for giving you such a generous gift to remember him by.

A pained gasp boils out of his throat. His pupils dilated. Mouth parted. Heart skipping a long beat.

He didn’t even realize he had already cum, his hot glue dribbling down his knuckles and shirt as the video ends with your winking kiss.

Permanent Taglist:

- - - -

Part 2

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #last of us smut #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us smut #tlou smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #last of us fic

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fawnhunter · 11 months ago

Text

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

#hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd smut #hotd headcanons #i’d give this man so many kid it’s not even funny #chatterboxclaire #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic

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pure-smut · 11 months ago

Text

addicted.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, groping on public transport (exhibitionism maybe??), a smidge dubcon, orgasm denial, missionary, mating press, size k*nk, Sukuna is a stalker and super possessive/toxic, unprotected s*x

word count: 2.6k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for all the love this series has gotten!! kinda feel like this maybe isn't the end?? idk i feel like sukuna's got more tricks up his sleeve so lmk if you'd like to see more~

It’s been a few days since you had that wet dream about Ryomen Sukuna and you still can’t get it out of your head.

Weird enough that it had come completely out of the blue – it’s not like you’d really thought about him since you slept together – but it was so vivid. The feel of his tongue on your throbbing clit, broad and deft as he made you cum on his tongue.

You shudder, growing wetter even as you remember it.

You’d seen him around campus a few times but despite his usual intense look, he hadn’t acted any different to before. You didn’t mind – despite being a great night, you knew Sukuna was a fuckboy through and through. You have no interest in spending more time than necessary with a guy who couldn’t give a shit about you.

So, you’d ignored him back.

Except for that wet dream.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the memory, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re at the train station, waiting with a thick crowd of commuters as you wait on your train home. You usually leave class a bit later than everyone else, staying behind to study, specifically so you could avoid the crush of people at rush hour. But today, your textbooks were getting delivered and the timeslot was less than convenient, forcing you to rush home with everyone else.

You try to make yourself small as the train arrives and you’re swept up with the crowd.

Everyone files on quietly, squishing themselves into the cramped space. You mumble a few apologies as you press into the commuters around you, finding a corner that you can face, hugging your bag to your chest. The train shudders as it starts up but you’re so crushed into the corner, you don’t even sway at it moves. You sigh heavily. It’s going to be a long journey home.

You start to zone out, wishing you’d thought to bring your earphones so you could at least listen to some music. When you feel a hand on your hip, you don’t even register it, assuming it’s someone in the crowd squeezing past. It’s only when you feel hot breath on the top of your head and the hand slides lower, touching your bare thigh, that you jolt.

You try to turn around but you’re pressed into the corner, not able to move. You heart hammers in your chest, your breath catching. Some random pervert is feeling you up!

What do I do?! You think to yourself, panicked.

And then you hear him.

“Relax, baby.” Sukuna’s voice is low so only you can hear, his mouth against the shell of your ear.

You freeze.

“S…Sukuna?!” you squeak.

“Shh,” he hushes you, his thumb tracing circles on your thigh. “Keep quiet for me, angel.”

You risk a quick glance behind you, but Sukuna’s large frame covers you completely, blocking you from view. You twist your neck to look up and see him grinning down at you.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you say back, blinking. “What are you-?”

Before you can even ask, he’s answered you. Sukuna’s hand moves up your thigh and under your skirt, cupping your panty-clad pussy. You gasp and Sukuna tuts in your ear.

“Be quiet, remember?” he says firmly.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, but give a small nod. Despite the absurdity of the situation, a weird thrill runs up your spine at how brazen he is. You’re in public. Anyone could see. The train rocks on the tracks and Sukuna takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties.

You bite back a gasp.

“Good girl,” Sukuna purrs.

He starts to stroke small circles around your clit, already slippery with your arousal. Your body responds to him on instinct and you spread your thighs slightly, allowing him more access.

The train stutters to a halt. You remain rooted to the spot, unmoving, as people file off and on the train. Thankfully, it remains full to the brim, so no one notices Sukuna groping you in the corner. You only breathe when the train starts moving again.

“Tell me something,” Sukuna says lowly. “Who were you speaking to earlier?”

Your mind is foggy with lust, too focussed on his fingers playing with your pussy in public. You blink several times, trying to understand his question.

“Um…” You falter as he applies more pressure, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “W-who?”

Sukuna growls in your ear and he pulls his fingers away. You fight the urge to whine, your clit still needy.

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice is quiet enough for only you to hear but has a dangerous undercurrent. “That white-haired jackass.”

You furrow your brow, confused. You had bumped into one of your classmates earlier outside your work and had ended up chatting to him for maybe ten minutes. But how did Sukuna know about that? And why was he angry?

You’re jolted from your thoughts as Sukuna lightly slaps your pussy.

“Well?”

“T-that was just a c-classmate,” you stammer out.

“You seemed awfully cosy with him.”

“How would you know?” you shoot back, a nugget of defiance forming in your chest. “And why do you even care?”

“I care,” Sukuna whispers in your ear and it sounds more like a threat than reassurance. “I care a lot.”

Your breath catches in your chest as Sukuna’s fingers return to your puffy clit, stroking it again. You nearly groan but bite your lip to contain it.

“Does he get to do this to you?” Sukuna asks. “Does anyone but me get to touch you like this?”

“N-no. Of course not.” You’re trying to keep the waver out of your voice but the way he’s rubbing your sensitive bud is making your knees weak.

His deft fingers quickly bring you to the brink. You press your back against his hard stomach and chest, stifling your moans as Sukuna dips a finger between your folds to gather more of your slick. You tilt your head back, resting it against his chest as your breathing turns ragged. You’re nearly there. You’re so close.

And then Sukuna pulls his hand away, withdrawing out from under your skirt completely.

“What…” you puff out, frustration and surprise colouring your cheeks.

Before you can twist your head to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, Sukuna intertwines his fingers with yours. As the train stutters to the next stop, he pushes through the crowd like a battering ram, pulling you by your hand behind him.

“Where are we going?” you protest. “I don’t live at this stop.”

“I do.”

Sukuna drags you out of the station but once you’re free of the rush hour crowds, he slows his pace, letting you walk in step beside him. You notice he doesn’t drop your hand.

You open your mouth several times to ask what he’s doing but the answer is obvious. He wants to fuck. Why, is the bigger question. Why when he could have any girl he wants, at least for a night. So that's what you ask him.

“Why me?”

Sukuna brings you to his front door, an eyebrow cocked as he pulls his keys free.

“What kind of a question is that?” He rolls his eyes.

“Why do you want me?” you insist.

Sukuna sighs, slotting in his keys and opening the front door. He drags you in, slamming the door closed before pushing you against it.

“Because you’re mine,” he states plainly.

Mine.

The word echoes in your mind as Sukuna dips his head to kiss you roughly. His lips part yours, his tongue demanding entrance. You open yourself to him as he grabs you loosely by the throat.

“You’ve been making me wait,” Sukuna groans into your mouth. “You’ve been testing my patience.”

Before you can question him, he scoops his large hands under your ass and picks you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around him.

“You’re not working tomorrow,” he says, almost a question but not quite.

“How do you know that?”

“Yes or no?” he ignores you, carrying you through the hall and into his bedroom.

“N-no.”

“Good. We’re not leaving this house for two days.”

Sukuna doesn’t ask you. He tells you.

He throws you on the bed before lying on top of you, pressing his mouth against yours to swallow any protests. His hand tangles in your hair at the back of your head, cradling your skull against his palm. His lips are soft even as his kisses are rough, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Between his prolonged teasing on the train and his annoyingly good kisses, you feel your thighs growing slick with how turned on you are.

You snake a hand to the back of his neck, fingers gliding through his soft, pink hair. Sukuna grinds his crotch against yours, the friction making your clit throb. You whine with need.

“Let me cum,” you beg. “You got me so close before.”

“Say it again.”

“Let me cum, Sukuna.”

“Again.”

“Please! Please let me cum, Sukuna.”

He pulls back to grin at you.

“That’s all you had to say, angel.”

Sukuna reaches down to undo his jeans, pulling his cock free. You know he’s big, the memory of working it inside you still imprinted on your mind, but seeing it in person again makes your eyes widen.

“You were too tight last time, baby,” Sukuna coos, stroking himself. “Need to loosen you up first.”

Sukuna moves his hand from his cock to your clit, resuming his previous tight circles. Your back arches and your nails sink into the hard muscles of his shoulders. Sukuna uses his other hand to tug your shirt up, exposing your breasts. Still playing with your pussy, he latches his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at it.

“Ah!” you whimper, the combined sensations overcoming you.

Sukuna feels you wriggling beneath him and pins you down at your hip, forcing you to stay in position. Your breathing gets short as you squeeze your eyes shut, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train.

You cry out Sukuna’s name as he makes you cum on his fingers, finally fulfilling the promise his touch made on the train. Sukuna talks you through it, his cock responding to the sweet noises you make because of him. With a satisfied smile, he pulls his hand back.

You collapse back onto the bed, dazed, as the head of Sukuna’s hard cock nudges at your entrance.

“Keep your legs spread for me, baby,” he commands. “There’s a good girl.”

Still coming down from the high of your orgasm, you’re pliant and obedient. You push your thighs apart, resting them on the cut of Sukuna’s hip muscles as he leans forward over you. Sukuna’s fat mushroom tip meets your hole and then slowly, so slowly, he pushes it inside you.

Your breath hitches, your brows scrunching up in the middle. You look down to see him splitting you in half, his cock stretching you so deliciously.

“Ah-!” you gasp. “Fuck, it’s so big…”

Sukuna doesn’t stop himself from grinning. He’s never been on top before, never thought anyone could take him like this. But he knows you can. And he’s willing to be patient for it.

Your pussy is slick and relaxed from your orgasm, stretching to accommodate Sukuna as he sinks himself another few inches inside you. He’s only halfway but the feel of your walls pulsing around him is setting his skin on fire. He grits his teeth and pulls back slightly, fucking you with a few shallow pumps to spread your juices along his cock.

You feel heavenly. He could cum just like this but he knows you can do more. He can wait.

Sukuna pulls your legs up, hooking your ankles over his shoulders so he can go deeper. He presses himself further, your welcoming pussy swallowing another few inches, your lips wrapping around him so tight.

You fist the bedsheets next to you, his cock rubbing against every nerve along your walls.

“S-Sukuna!” you cry out.

“You can take it, baby,” he soothes you, holding himself agonisingly still to let you get used to him. “You did before.”

You know he’s right – in fact, you made a point of taking his entire cock last time, just to spite him. And you don’t want him to stop, not really. You’ve never been with anyone who’s reached so deep inside you before. It feels strangely intimate, this secret thing that you only share with Sukuna.

Sukuna waits until you stop squirming before moving again. He’s so close, only an inch or two left. He thrusts in and out a few more times, drawing another whimper from your lips, before sinking in fully.

The front of his thighs meet the back of your ass, pressed together as he leans some of his weight down on you. Your lips fall open, a million curses waiting at the back of your throat, but all you can think is – you feel so full.

“Your pussy was made for me,” Sukuna groans, teeth gritted.

That’s exactly how you feel. He fits so snugly inside you, so tight and stretched, the thick ridges of his cock dragging so perfectly along your plush walls. Sukuna starts to thrust, keeping himself deep, never wanting to leave the warmth of you for long, and every stroke sends you hurtling towards another orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sukuna’s eyes are glued on where your bodies meet, at where his girth slides in and out of you, coated in your juices.

He’s addicted to the way you sound, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the desperate moans from your lips. He’s obsessed with the feel of you around him, swallowing him whole. He’s infatuated with how you look, folded beneath him as he fucks you, your face contorted in the pleasure he’s giving you. Beautiful. Perfect.

He is never letting you go.

Sukuna picks up his pace, hips rolling. Your bodies are both coated in a thin sheen of sweat, the sounds of slapping flesh filling the room.

“You’re mine,” Sukuna growls. “Say it back to me.”

You’re delirious, drunk off the feel of his cock pistoning in and out of you. When you look up at him, your eyes are half-lidded and glazed.

“I’m yours,” you breathe.

“You going to ignore me again?”

Sukuna punctuated each syllable with another brutal snap of his hips. You cry out, so close to cumming even as your pussy aches.

“No!” you sob. “Never.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m yours, Sukuna. I belong to you!”

“Good fucking girl.”

Sukuna leans down further to kiss you roughly, his tongue lapping at yours without breaking pace. His cock rubs against just the right spot and you dive headfirst into another orgasm.

Sukuna feels you cream on his cock, your pussy like a vice grip around him. It’s enough to bring him to his own finish. He tips his head back, a flurry of curses falling from his lips as you feel him spill thick ropes of cum inside you.

Your thighs fall to either side of him as Sukuna half-collapses on top of you, chest heaving. You hold him to you, pressing soft kisses against his neck.

“Sukuna…” you say quietly, unsure.

He rolls over to the side of you, pulling you with him so you’re lying tucked into the side of him, your cheek pressed against his chest.

“I meant it,” Sukuna says, seeming to understand you even without you asking. “You’re mine.”

He looks down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“And I’m yours. Always.”

Taglist: @tojis-ball-sack @moonjellyfishie @kalulakunundrum @benimarusimp33e @samoankpoper21 @travistheaussie @jazzywazzzy @cla1r20 @namjooningera

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mrsnishimuraaa · 2 months ago

Note

Street racer Niki, car sex…stay with me…

back seat

oh im with you alright 😛😛😛😛😛😛

it’s late night somewhere in the outskirts of tokyo, crowded with cars and people, a small haze in the air from tires and the sound of loud engines, your standing over near niki. lent against the hood of his car as you small talk with him, listening as he tells you about himself and vise versa, it’s cut short when you see flashing lights in the distance “shit, get in” he hurries you, opening the passenger door for you before jogging over to the drivers side, leaving out the back way just before the rush of other cars trying to run off from the police.

he drives for what you think is about twenty minutes before you park out in a empty lot. he checks his side mirrors and sees nothing but an empty road, the tall street light lets you be able to see him take a sigh of relief before turning to you.

and somehow you find yourself in the backseat of his car, straddling his lap as your makeout gets handsy, the windows fogging up from the heat inside, the lewd sound of wet and messy kissing as small groans and whines as your hands roam eachother. your hands find their own way to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head before crashing your lips back together, everything feels like it’s not enough as your own shirt goes, piling with his somewhere in the car.

his hands find up your skirt, groping and kneading your ass as you moan into his mouth, hands tugging on his hair as tounge dominates yours. one hand stays on your ass whilst the other slips down further, rubbing your slit through your skimpy panties, causing you to whine and lift your hips slightly. he chuckles against your lips before continuing to kiss you deeply. the need growing between the two of you and he continues to rub and tease you through your panties, feeling it grow damper and damper as he kisses you.

you pull away panting, quickly reaching down to fumble with his jeans, undoing the button and quickly pulling down the zipper as he leans back and watches you as you desperately pull them down. and holy fuck he’s packing, you moan at the sight of the buldge hidden under his boxers and he chuckles, unclasping your bra as you pull his boxers down enough to free his dick. your bra is thrown to the side before he pulls your skirt up, giving you one last rub over your panties before pulling them to the side.

he finally gets a feel of just how wet you are “fuck all that from some kissing and teasing baby?” he has a clean smirk on his face that makes your arousal pool more. you feel him rubbing slow circles around your clit as you bite your lip. “please” your tone is begging “gonna make you feel so good baby” he teases you, and god was he right. pushing his cock into you slowly as he lets you sink down. you grip the seat behind him and whine. he groans and lets you adjust for a brief moment before letting his fingers dig into the skin of your hips, guiding you up and down his shaft.

and fuck he already has you moaning, that teasing little smirk as he watches your eyes roll back. thrusting up into you slightly as you come down on him, earning a lewd moan from you. “fuck your so tight” his voice strained as he bounces you up and down on his dick, letting his head lean back as you clench around him. whines and moans falling out of your mouth as the car gets sticky with the scent of sex.

“k-ki” it comes out as a whimper, and it’s enough to tell him your close, his hand reaching down to rub your clit just right as his cock hits the deepest parts of you, that you never knew you had. “cum for me baby” he encourages you, holding you to thrust up into you now. your moans growing louder, your head lolling back and he takes the chance to wrap his fingers around your throat gently, not to choke you but to stabilise you as your orgasm hits you like a train.

your thighs shake over him, with a loud whimper as your walls pulse and tighten around him. your eyes fluttered shut as they roll to the back of your head. a loud and broken groan comes out of him, his own orgasm triggering as he pushes you down onto him, taking him as deep as possible as he finishes inside of you, his cum pushes deep and he can only pray your on birth control.

the two of you catch your breath for a moment, foreheads pressed together as your lips connect again. feeling him stop pulsing and slowly soften inside of you, the windows completely fogged.

“fuck that might have been the most intense sex i’ve ever had” he chuckles, you chuckle along with him, still catching your breath as you process the moment.

you both know that this isn’t going to be just a one time thing.

#enhypen #kpop #enhypen thoughts #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #enhypen x reader #kpop smut #smut #ni ki #ty for req

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yesmasterblog · 1 year ago

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Imagine we were on the same crowded train, I have you pushed against the glass door groping you, forcing my hand up your skirt, pressing my cock into your tiny little skirt, your hear my sick quiet moans, as you stay super still thinking this can't be happening frozen in shock being molested in public like this, slowly pushing harder into you, your body starts to betray you as I glide my cock under your skirt " shh if you make any noise people will hear you and know what a dirty slut you are" I whisper into your ear while I circle my cock around your ripe delicate little cunt, rubbing my cock up and down your exposed wet little slit, feeling me penetrate you as you fall forward slightly, you need to stay quiet people squished up all around you, you shake and vibrate as I slowly slide in and out of you, just some muffled moans while you bite down hard on your lip as I thrust hard keeping you pinned up against the glass, fonlding your tits while my cock expands pulses and then explodes in you, keeping it plugged in you for a few seconds before I pull out leaving a trail of cum leaking out of you" well this is my stop, thank you" as I leave the train and you never see me again

I hope everyone on the train knows what you did and use me. It’s obvious I’m just a free use whore

#free use slvt #r@pe k!nk #r@pe kink #r@pe fantasy #r@petoy #fvcktoy #fr33use #c0cksleeve #cvmdump #breeding k1nk #exhibition kink #public freeuse

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dadsbongos · 4 months ago

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mouthwashinglings porn history/preferences

+18! mdni

inspired by @lanternlighting

CURLY

girls kissing he watches girl on girl and genuinely gets turned off if a man is introduced at any point in the video

jerk off instructions also... sultry voices affectionately cooing how fast he should stroke his cock just to command he edge himself

HATES blowjob scenes, they feel so awkward to him. he much prefers watching some chick get bent like a lawn chair until she gushes on his pelvis

JIMMY

fucking freak watches japanese time stop porn. old men magically pausing all physical space in the middle of a crowded train car or library to reach up pencil skirts and blouses

age difference is a big turn on for him, step-moms teaching their girls how to fuck right and step-dads preying on their sweet step-daughters

fake taxi, fake cops, fake agents - anything where a woman is getting tricked and fucked, he is such a weirdo...

i want him

ANYA

semi-public to public. side of the road trysts, women flagging down help for "directions" while exposing their cunts and getting groped, alleyway face fucking, etc.

pillow humping where you can see the person's cum soaking and staining the sheet

warm up porn is erotic kissing vids on twitter or tumblr

DAISUKE

DROOL! spitting in mouths, slobbering on fat dicks, smearing slick against the sheets and their partner's cheeks. anything that emphasizes drool makes him twitch

happy ending, massages in the back dropping allll the way to the prostate or g-spot

step-siblings. pervert likes the fantasy of having a live-in sex doll he has to sneak around with

SWANSEA

old school hotrods bending pretty ladies over pool tables for all the biker gang to ogle and smack

yeah, gangbangs. to the point where he's gotta watch ten guys pile around before it interests him at all

i can see him watching those porn parodies like of the wizard of oz or snow white but it's full of fucking. he's a classic guy, it doesn't take much to get him going

#mouthwashing smut #daisuke x reader #curly x reader #jimmy x reader

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koipepo · 10 days ago

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Morden AU idea for ya!

Sammie is on a train and gets groped by a stranger when actually it’s remmick because he’s obsessed. Bonus if he’s drooling on Sammie while he touches him 🤤

CHOO CHOOOO CHOOOOOOO 🤸‍♀️🔥🔥🔥

Sammie being plonked onto noncon hentai scenarios is A+ idea, good job anon.

Sammie being a newcomer in the city, barely knowing anyone else other than his cousins, would feel too anxious to make a scene. Commuting in crowded train is definitely a new thing for him and looking at how many people are pressed with each other in this metal boxes every day, looking like they barely tolerating one another, Sammie wouldn't realize right away what happened. He's seen how easily fight broke out just from small disputes so he would try not to make a scene if he could help it. Involuntarily touches and friction are bound to happen.

At first Sammie would shift away in small increments because he thought Remmick was just trying to get more space but as he got slowly pushed and backed into a small corner, and then got felt, Sammie realizes belatedly the horrifying situation he's in.

Remmick's crowding on him, trapping him in a corner in such way that other people can't spot his transgression, and Sammie cant move away at all. Every attempt of trying to push away or escape this fucked up stranger seemingly only made himself grind involuntarily (to Sammie's horrifying realization) onto the other's hardness. The only consolation he has is that he's not facing this pervert so at least he doesnt have to see what kind of expression he'd sport... But it's a small relief when it means that Sammie can't see what's happening and can only feel what is being done to him.

It's the most agonizing minutes in Sammie's life so far but he manages to clamp it up until Remmick slides his hand down Sammie's arm, and massages his inner wrist in circular, deep motions while still grinding his dick from behind him... Even stroking Sammie's guitar case as if it's such precious thing to him 🥴 Somewhat this mockery of intimacy got Sammie the most and he's ONE second at screaming and thrashing, fuck public peace and whatnot, when suddenly the door swishes open and sea of people immediately pours out the train, saving Sammie from further indignity but also lets Remmick to slink away.

I bet Remmick would stalk Sammie sooner or later ashdhsjks sorry Sammie, you will never be safe in any AU 🫠

#sammick #cw: noncon #replies #remmick wouldve sniffed and licked his fingers after their contact.... creepy ass fuck

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moonchild701 · 4 months ago

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⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Train Stalker: Part 1- On the Train

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Part 2

Summary: Your stalker follows you onto the train, taking advantage of the crowded place.

But it turns out he's someone familiar to you.

Pairing: Stalker Dabi/Fem Reader

Content Warning: Sexual Assault, Chikan, Noncon Groping and touching, Turns Consensual, Dubcon, Public Sex, Public Transportation(Train), Fingering, Humiliation, Degradation, Self Degradation and Blaming, Victim Blaming, Stalking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: Had this in my drafts for a while, contemplating to post it lol

I Do Not condone this, Stalking or Assault. I don't think I should have to say that, but just in case. Don't Like? Don't Read.

My Masterlist

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You don't really want to go to this company dinner.

What with the constant judging and personal questions, not to mention the token creepy guy, it's just never worth it.

But your only work friend begged you to come, and you're unfortunately inclined to be a good friend, so here you are on the train, on your way to the venue.

There was an accident on one of the main subway lines, and traffic is horrible and rush hour is still unforgivingly a thing.

There's so many people confined in this one small subway carriage, you're practically packed like sardines. You'd gotten on early, before the influx of people, and it would be a good thing if it wasn't for that fact that you just might spend the rest of the ride sandwiched between the mass of bodies and the corner walls of the carriage.

Things are somewhat bearable for a while. You zone out, trying to think of a passable excuse to get out of this thing that would maybe make your friend believe you.

When nothing comes to mind, your thoughts stray again, this time to your most likely stalker. You sometimes feel eyes following you, lingering for a bit too long. The gaze burns, yet you could never find where it comes from. Even today, as you left your apartment, you could feel them watching you.

And of course, when you went to report it, you were written off as "paranoid" and "imaginative".

Useless fucks.

Before you can dwell on it further, the train lurches, making the crowd shuffle and push, and you end up being further plastered to the wall.

You push back against the people surrounding you in an attempt to reclaim some of your space, only to freeze when you feel a hand pressing against the small of your back.

Your first thought that comes to mind is that you really hate public transportation.

Your second is that the hand is big and warm.

A lump forms in your throat as you swallow your voice. You decide to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt, hoping that it's just an accident; a misunderstanding, as you wait for them to pull away.

But instead, the stranger moves his hand down, resting it on your ass; and squeezes.

A gasping yelp escapes your throat, which goes unheard in the drowning noise of the train and surrounding people.

You curse under your breath as you feel a weight settle over you, pushing you even closer to the wall, till you're completely trapped between the corner and a broad chest; the heat and pressure of the stranger's body suffocating and overwhelming.

You can't believe this is happening.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm down, contemplating your options.

Maybe someone will notice.

You try to look behind you at the packed carriage, but you can only see a black hoodie and a tall frame. Dread washes over you as you realize the stranger's body is completely shielding you from the view of the other passengers; from the posssibility of someone noticing what is happening.

You know. You know you should scream out for help, but you just can't bring yourself to. The thought of bringing attention to yourself like this, to reveal what you've allowed to happen to you is...humiliating.

There's a fleeting thought to defend yourself, but your body is completely frozen; the fear keeping you rooted in place.

And all you can do is clench your eyes and grit your teeth as you feel a second hand move up to grip at your hip, holding you in place, as the first slips beneath your skirt, sliding up your thigh to your underwear.

"Oh?"

You flinch upon hearing the stranger speak, low and breathy, right into your ear. His voice is deep and rough, his breath hot on your skin.

There's a passing thought that he sounds vaguely familiar, but it's quickly pushed aside as he continues.

"Lingerie in public, hm?" His fingers toy with the fabric of your panties, tracing the delicate lace; and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he taunts, "Slut."

A mix of shame and indignation runs through you, yet your body heats up as the stranger continues to play with your underwear.

Hot breath against your neck, mouth dangerously close to the tender skin, sends goosebumps along your skin. An involuntary shiver goes up your spine when his fingers slither underneath your panties, trailing over the soft, round flesh of your ass, his touch feather-light.

A pathetic, whimpering sound of refusal spills out of your quivering lips, which is of course ignored.

Your eyes sting when the stranger's lips meet your neck; his mouth closing around the tender flesh, rough skin and metal...piercings?...grazing your skin. An embarrassing little sound catches in your throat when he licks and sucks at your pulse, marking you. It dissolves into a sob when the hand on your hip slides up your shirt, slipping under your bra to fondle and grope your breasts, and something terrifyingly close to a moan slips past your lips when a thumb brushes over your nipples. Traitorous jolts of arousal run through your body, pleasure clouding your senses.

You come back to yourself when you feel him pressing against you, his chest warm against your back, and something twitching against your lower back and oh fuck that's his dick.

You let out a pathetic little whimper at that, and then you feel his fingers begin to trail along your inner thighs and slide further up between your legs, and a mix of dread and anticipation washes over you as they reach your crotch.

"Look how wet you are," he hums into your ear, fingers brushing up and down your slit through your soaked panties, and you can't help the feeling of shame and disgust with yourself when you realize just how aroused you are. And how good the touch of this stranger feels. "Fucking slut... You actually want this, hm?"

"N-no," you choke out, "I-I don't—,please—"

"Shh, be quiet, Y/N. We don't want to make a scene, yeah?", the stranger coos, voice a soft murmur, yet tinted with the threat of danger, as he gives a squeeze to your tit. Your heart speeds up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you freeze at the sound of your name, spilling like honey from this stranger's mouth.

This man knows you.

This wasn't random.

You were targeted.

Your mind races at that, and you hysterically think to yourself, 'Well, I found my stalker! Useless! Fucks!'

Yet it does nothing to curb the steady arousal licking up your spine as a heated, sleek finger pulls your panties to the side and runs along your slick folds, your body trembling. Anticipation and fear pool in your tummy, yet it's drowned out by the hot, shameful arousal there.

You suck in a sharp breath as you feel the tip of his finger prodding at your entrance, petting at it, before slipping in with embarrassing ease; you clench around the intrusion, but you're so wet that it does little to stop his finger from making a home in your tight heat.

With a bitten off whimper, you scramble for something to hold onto along the uselessly smooth wall as he slowly pumps the thick digit into you.

Almost too soon, he pushes in a second finger, his other hand still tugging and pinching at your nipples, and you desperately try to swallow your moans.

Which is futile as he slowly thrusts them inside you, curling his fingers and caressing your walls, and stretching you, scissoring you open so good.

Long and thick, the stranger's fingers reach all the right places, making you squirm and shake, and your hand clamps around your mouth as you feel a whimpering moan bubbling up your throat,

Your neglected clit aches to be touched, as he finally adds a third finger and you gasp at the delicious stretch; his hot fingers rubbing at your walls making you melt.

He breathes heavily into your neck as you squirm against him, the slow thrusts maddening. He gradually speeds up, into something rough and mouth-watering, fucking his fingers into you at an intense, mind numbing rhythm; the obscene squelching sounds of your soaked cunt as it's stuffed so good just barely getting drowned out by the rattling of the train.

The satisfaction practically drips off of the stranger's voice like honey, thick and sweet, as he hums into your skin, "Fuck, that's it, such a good girl for me..."

You can't help the whimpering moan that escapes through your covered mouth, that specific wording along with the man's deep voice sending liquid heat through you, even as mortification goes along with it. You clench around his fingers, rocking your hips down to chase the sweet friction, lost in the pleasure. The announcer's voice echoing through the carriage is a small mercy, masking your desperate cries as you throw your head back when he hits your sweet spot.

It's fucking mortifying, getting aroused by being assaulted on the train. And to the point where you're turned into a needy, whimpering mess of a slut, is achingly, deliciously humiliating.

You shake, eyes wide with pleasure, and you catch a glance at part of his face.

Your hips stutter to a halt even as his fingers keep going; your breath catches in your throat and you swear your heart simultaneously freezes and tries to beat out of your chest.

Because you recognize him.

You know who this man is.

And how could you not?

Dark scars along his throat and jaw, staples holding it to smooth, healthy skin, who else could it be?

You look up further and your heart lurches as your eyes lock on burning blue, the same ones you've always reluctantly found breathtakingly gorgeous, ever since you first saw them in a dingy bar last year, up close and personal before being kissed stupid, drunk and horny, and then again in his video detailing his life.

The villain Dabi grins down at you when he sees you looking at him; a devilish, dangerous thing, all heat and sharp edges, as his fingers curl, making your breath hitch.

"Missed me, Doll?"

You never did quite forget how he pressed against you, heat and tantalising danger wafting off him; smelling of smoke and sandalwood, tasting of cheap beer and something sweet.

Not getting further than making out and heavy petting, for whatever reason, this is the first time you truly had his hands on you.

And you can't deny the late hours of the nights, after seeing him on the news, bloody and wild eyed, surrounded by his pretty, blue flames that set your heart alight with awe at its beauty, with sweat coating your skin and a hand slipped between your thighs; can't deny that it's his name you cry and chase in your pleasure on those nights.

Yet, this couldn't be real.

It couldn't be.

You swallow dryly. Without thought, the word spills out, a whisper of a thing.

"D...Dabi?" your voice is small and disbelieving, yet so sweetly hopeful.

His fingers slow down, and he smiles, amused and smug.

Scalding lips brush the shell of your ear. "Mhmm.", is the rumbling confirmation and you sag back against him, subconciously rolling your hips.

"Dabi—" you choke out, confusion and arousal warring within as you try to grasp what the fuck is happening right now.

Your voice melts into a whimper as you feel his fingers move faster again and you clench around them as they rub and curl inside you, exploring every inch of your walls in a way that has your hips bucking down to meet him, desperate for more despite your questions.

Because right now, the man you've wanted for so long, your guilty pleasure, is knuckles deep inside of you, and fuck if you're going to deny yourself that, but you want answers dammit.

"Why—mmn—why are you—" you struggle to speak around the moans and pleasure, "—why are y-you here, doing thi—ahn—this?"

His replying chuckle is low and dark in your ear, his answer making your knees buckle.

"I've been watching you for a while now, Sweetheart. And I never did get a taste of this sweet cunt." he accentuates his words with a grind to your sweet spot that has you seeing stars.

And you're suddenly very grateful that you're cornered against the wall; because you know that your eyes are wide, blown and hazy, lips parted and face flushed, and you don't know if you could take the look in his eyes if he sees the slutty, debaunched expression on your face at his words.

Though, he doesn't even need to see it to know, not when he hears the wanton little sounds you let out as he fucks his fingers in and out of your tight heat.

His thumb brushing over your throbbing clit has you biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out, the touch sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body.

"You always look fuckin' hot but today," he breathes into your neck, his voice dark and rough, exhilarating in the best of ways, as he punctuates the last word with a grind against you, the thought of his hard cock so close yet so far is almost enough to make you lose your goddamn mind, before growling out, "Today, you look fuckin' edible."

Heat washes over you at the depraved praise as you let out a tinny whimper.

"Oh fuck," you breathe out, high-pitched and needy. The thought that he's been watching you all this time, wanting you all this time, added to the sensations ravaging your body to the point it's almost too much, and you're just on that precipice, heat coiling low in your tummy.

You desperately clutch at his scarred wrist as his pace quickens into a near brutal rhythm, fingers simultaneously fucking into your pussy and rubbing at your clit, while his other hand fondles and kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between the rough pads of his fingers, and it's just all so much, so good.

The pleasure is overwhelming, he is overwhelming, in all of the best ways they could be. His smoky scent, his deep voice, his filthy words, the feel and heat of him against you, the fingers that play you with the ease and prescision of a pianist; his very pressence electric, his every touch incendiary.

"Such a good girl for me, baby, so fuckin' wet for me, so fuckin' pretty..." he groans, muttering into the crook of your neck where he's nuzzling his face into, as his hips jerk forward, pressing and grinding his clothed erection against your ass.

Feeling him so big, so hard against you, for you, you moan; high and needy, dizzy with lust, wishing you could feel it stretching your insides instead of his fingers, pulsing and hot. That thought has you shaking, your eyes rolling back, vision going white, as you go limp; the only things now keeping you up are your shaky, braced hands against the wall and his hold on you, and you feel like a bubble just about to burst.

"Aww, you gonna cum for me, Doll?" He whispers almost harshly against your ear, his tone playful and full of sadistic glee. When you nod frantically he laughs, dark and mocking, "Do it baby, lemme see you."

It's exactly what you need.

Your juices drip down your thighs as you clench around him like a vice, and his hand releases your breast to slide up and cup over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

Ecstasy saturates your very blood, and you feel your cunt convulsing, your toes curling, and you reach your peak with a barely muffled cry, your release gushing down your legs.

Any thought of shame at the utter debaunced indecency of what you did and allowed to happen, is forgotten as pure bliss clouds your senses, sagging back against Dabi's chest, spent.

His body is tense against you, as it takes all of his willpower to not fuck you right then and there in front of everyone, but he wants you to himself, so he endures; breathing heavily into your neck as he mutters, voice strained and husky, "Good girl."

If you could, you would come all over again just from that.

You moan softly as he pulls his fingers out, bringing it to the front of your face to see them glistening in your juices, sticky and stringy where he spreads them, before bringing them up and back. Your eyes helplessly follow them as he brings it to his mouth, lapping at them with a soft groan.

Your chest heaves at the sight as you stand there, dizzy and in disbelief, catching your breath.

He grins, a cheeky little thing, "I said I never got a taste."

You just stare at him, trying to wrap your mind around what the hell just happened; so out of it, you almost don't notice the train slowing down, announcing your arrival to yet another station......and you notice that you missed your stop.

Shit.

Though before you could panic, he speaks into your ear.

"This is our stop, Sweetheart."

Heart racing, you turn around to face him, after he steps back, allowing you space. Flushed and confused, you hastily fix your clothes to be somewhat presentable as you look up at him; at his dilated pupils and the unmistakable hunger in his eyes as he watches you intently.

And you realize what he means. The sweet, titillating promise in his words and what he plans to do with you: to you.

Once you do, you don't even have to think about it before you agree.

As the train comes to a halt and the crowd of people rush out of the carriage, you let Dabi lead you out to the platform, your veins thrumming with excitement.

So much for being a good friend, but you'll just have to apologize to her tomorrow.

You're finally going to have what you've been craving.

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#moonchild701 #mha #bnha #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #my fics #mdni

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